name of our mutual acquaintance, and now I let it out and allow my eyes to find his face again. He is looking at me quizzically.
“Do you know her then?” He looks at me like he can read me like a book. He is positively scanning my very soul with those eyes.
“ No, no I don’t know her, but I have heard of her,” I falter.
He smiles ruefully. “Yes, our Rose’s reputation always precedes her, I’m afraid. What has she done this time?”
“ Oh. Oh, well, I believe she stabbed someone through the hand with sewing scissors.” No point in lying to the poor chap; he’d find out eventually.
Mr. Connelly surprises me by laughing outright. “Ah, that’s my girl,” he says, fondly. “I do apologize on her behalf, of course. The staff should know by now not to let her near weapons though. If I’ve warned them once, I’ve warned them a thousand times. Actually, I have warned them a thousand times.” His rueful smile is back, and though I’ve not the foggiest notion what he’s talking about really, I can’t help but smile, too. “Where is she then? Do you know that? Miss Helmes seems vague on that particular detail.”
“ I’m afraid I don’t know either. Not exactly. I don’t know her personally or by sight. I do know...” I take a deep breath, but feel as though I cannot go on with the divulging of my secret. It would be sharing her, sharing Rose, and though I’ve no love for her, I do not want the diary confiscated until I can finish it.
“ Yes?” Mr. Connelly prompts.
“ I do know her words, that is, her handwriting. That is, I have this. It belongs to her.” I reach in my apron and bring out the small, red journal. He takes it from me and turns it over in his hand, flips through the pages. Though they aren’t terribly old, I know now, I’m still worried for them.
“ It seemed older at first,” I interject. “I thought she was a patient a long time ago. I had no idea she was still here.”
“ She’s always here,” he muses. He had said that just a few minutes before, hadn’t he? “But yes, yes, it seems old because it is old.”
“ I don’t understand.”
“ I know,” he looks at me quite sorrowfully. “One of these days though, my girl, I’m afraid you might.”
“ Whatever does that mean?” I am taken aback.
“ Nothing. Nothing at all. I was only hoping you’d know her, know my Rose. But you don’t, do you?” His eyes search me again, but this time, he is the one to pull away first. “It doesn’t matter. Will this tell me where to find her then?” he looks again at the diary, this time with more interest than before.
“ I don’t know,” I pause. “I haven’t made it all the way through yet. I am still learning about her.”
“ And what have you learned?”
“ Well, your Rose seems a bit...” I pause, once again, but this time because I am choosing my words carefully. “A bit confused and lost.”
“ Ah. You’ve hit the nail on the head. She was indeed. And are you reading of her childhood then?”
“ Yes, I’m up to the part where she thinks she’s traveling with a sideshow. Ring any bells?”
“ Mmm. India perhaps, or the gypsies?”
“ Gypsies, yes. They’ve taken her in, and they are traveling while she chucks knives at wildlife.”
Mr. Connelly laughs. “Yes, she told me about that. And then? Where did she go from there?”
“ I don’t know yet. Perhaps you could tell me once you read it?”
“ Me, read it?” In surprise, he looks down at the diary as though he’d forgotten he held it. He hands it back to me. “No, I think you’re doing splendidly on your own. I already know the past. Only the future interests me. If you find a clue to that, Miss, would you let me know?” He tips his hat. “And don’t worry, she’ll turn up.”
After the bear died of old age a few weeks after he became my partner in the knife throwing, Solomon stepped in. Of course, it made him seem terribly brave or terribly stupid, but really
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