There are - in theory at least - other people in the village who are inclined to keep records of what might have been going on. But even so, Druitt has to admit that it's not something he's spent a lot of time looking into. Like her, he's much more inclined to be the person who's the cause of something needing to be written down, even if his own records are of a distinctly darker sort than hers have ever been. But there is still that point of similarity, even if neither of them are likely to talk about it.

Instead, he simply stands there, patient as ever as she whirls around to face him. And while he knows better than to assume that she couldn't manage to do some fairly serious damage with the pen she's holding, he doesn't seem to be concerned in the least. He simply stands there, waiting patiently until she's finished speaking.

"No one here knows the details of how. Just that we have been." A pause. "As I would imagine is the case with you."

It's the most logical answer after all, and he figures that it's best to not touch on the part where he's seen her die, scattered into nothing more than a myriad of atoms until he has a better idea of what she remembers. Especially when she has something that could serve as a weapon and he doesn't.

"As to your mother... she's not here."

(That Helen has been here is also something that he's choosing not to mention at the moment.)