Page 47 of And Then There Was the One
Which was, she insisted to herself, just the way she liked it.
A few hours later, Georgie was on her hands and knees in a pair of dungarees, digging happily in the dirt.
She and Egg had taken a long, muddy ramble through the surrounding hills, an endeavor that had involved clambering over fences, traipsing through sheep-dotted fields, and then walking back home along the narrow dirt path that ran along the shady banks of the Woolly River. She had brought her rucksack and a few jars with her, and had happily collected some plant specimens to take home and study; she would have thought, after a lifetime in this village, that there would be no more delights to uncover in terms of the flora that grew around them, and yet the thing that she loved so much about the natural world was the fact that it seemed to have limitless variation. Something new was always cropping up underfoot.
It was, in other words, the exact opposite of what it was like to live in a small village like Buncombe-upon-Woolly—at least, until people had started getting murdered.
And, added a sly voice inside her head,until Sebastian Fletcher-Ford turned up.
Georgie had ignored this, and upon returning home had donned her worn, stained dungarees that she wore exclusively when gardening, tied her hair back from her face with the silk scarf that her mother had once used for exactly this purpose, and then taken herself off to the kitchen garden, which she had been somewhat neglecting of late, given the other issues occupying her mind. She didn’t know how much time had passed—Mrs. Fawcett had tried to summon her indoors forlunch at some point, but she’d waved her off; Georgie tended to slip into something of a trancelike state when she was in the garden, the earth beneath her hands. Now, however, a sudden shadow was cast over the ground before her, and she glanced up, her neck aching and, she suspected, slightly burned from the sun, to see Sebastian standing over her.
“Hello,” she said, straightening enough to sit back on her heels and peeling off her gardening gloves.
“Hello,” he said, crouching down next to her, wearing a pair of carefully pressed gray wool trousers, a collared shirt, and a jumper of the palest blue, like the early morning sky. She was suddenly acutely conscious of the frizzy mess of her hair, the muddied state of her dungarees, and the smudges of dirt that no doubt were on her cheeks. Something about the way he looked at her made her feel like crawling out of her own skin. It was dreadful, and somehow alsonotdreadful, all at once.
“You were gone an awfully long time,” she said a bit cautiously.
“I’ve been back awhile—Mrs. Fawcett makes an excellent roast beef sandwich, did you know?”
Georgiedidknow; they were her particular favorite. As if on cue, her stomach growled, and Sebastian extended his hand, which contained something wrapped in a carefully knotted napkin. She unwrapped it.
“You brought me a sandwich.” Unable to help herself, she took a bite, suddenly ravenous; the cold beef, sharp cheddar, and horseradish sauce tasted as nice to her as anything she’d eaten in recent memory.
“Mrs. Fawcett mentioned that you’d not come in for lunch, so I offered to bring you something. She said that you forget to eat when you’re in the garden—not something I can personally relate to, obviously, and it sounded extremely alarming.” He smiled easily at her.
Georgie lowered her sandwich, frowning. “Why are you being nice?”
“Georgie.” He placed a hand on his breast. “I amalwaysnice. How have you not noticed that yet?”
“But we quarreled last night!” she burst out, finding everything about this conversation thus far utterly mystifying.
“I don’t know if I’d say ‘quarrel,’?” he objected. “I think we were… seeing things from differing perspectives.”
“I was… unkind,” she pressed.
“Well, actually, I’ve been thinking about that.” He paused, looking at her. “Do you not like your sandwich?”
Georgie glanced down at the sandwich still in her hand. “What? No. It’s delicious.”
“Good.” He waited expectantly, and Georgie sighed, taking another bite.
“You were thinking,” she prompted, once she’d swallowed that mouthful.
“About what you said last night,” he agreed.
Georgie inhaled deeply, reaching for her patience. “And?”
“And,” he continued, “I don’t think you werereallytrying to be unkind to me. I think you were trying to protect yourself, instead.”
Georgie gaped. “What isthatsupposed to mean?”
He was silent, and she quickly took another bite of sandwich.“It means,” he said promptly, “that I don’t think you believe I mean it when I flirt with you.”
“Of course I don’t.”
“Well,” Sebastian said, “perhaps you ought to try.”
“Try what?” She felt the way she had when she was eight and had to learn long division. Nothing anyone had said had made the faintest bit of sense.
