Page 60 of House of Furies
“Because it’s scary,” I told her. “It’s scary to think I don’t belong anywhere else. That because I’m different, my life is set on a path that cannot be changed.”
“I think I understand,” she replied slowly. “But I also think it is better to belong somewhere with people who like you than to spend your whole life wandering about. That would be quite lonely.”
I let that lie. Solitude had never bothered me, but then I had to consider that it was because I never had trusted friends who weren’t imaginary.
We reached the shepherd’s cottage without incident, though I kept checking the skies for clouds of birds. None came, although the shepherd’s dog did come out to greet us. The lamb kicked in my arms as the two dogs circled each other and sniffed and then growled, Bartholomew’s one yip sending the bigger dog running.
The blind shepherd’s laugh arrived before his body. The door to his little house opened swiftly and he chuckled, ambling out of the cottage with a cane until his dog, Big Earl, returned to guide him toward us.
“We found one of your lambs,” I told him. “Poppy and I came to return it.”
“Thank you, my dears, you’ve done a good deed this day.Joanna!” he called, and presently the kind young girl joined us. She gave me a toothy smile and slid the lamb from my arms and cradled it, cooing.
“Oh, you sweet thing,” she said with a giggle, touching her nose to the lamb’s. The flock was not far away, grazing in a giant white mass behind the cottage. “Let’s return you to your mum, yes? You’ll both like that. I thought you might be gone for good; second wee one this week to wander away. If only we’d found the first.”
“I confess I know little of sheep,” I said, watching her carry the lamb away. “Can they really tell their own children from any other lamb?”
“They smell them, yes,” the old man said, turning his head toward Joanna as she left. “You can see them nose the young as soon as they’re born and long after. It’s like a man’s signature, you see, perfectly unique.”
A man’s signature. I smoothed my hands over my apron, feeling for the scrap of burnt paper in the pocket next to the spoon. The penmanship. I could take the little scrap and search through George Bremerton’s things.... Lee had only checked his bags, but if he kept a journal or any correspondence, I could at least make certain he hadn’t written the note in the fireplace. That would put me at greater ease, knowing that he had nothing to do with the death of Lee’s mother. And if he did...
Well, I knew Lee needed to be away from the house soon, but that would make his leaving even more dire.
“This kindness deserves a reward,” the old man was saying, turning back toward the house. “Why don’t you join us for a bit of brandy?”
Poppy sighed and tugged hard at my sleeve. “Louisa,no. No, no! We should be going. I need to get back to the house and poison that grumpy old man with the mustache,” she said in a whisper that was, quite frankly, too loud to qualify truly as such.
And I agreed we should leave, but not for her peculiar reasons.
“Actually, we’re both needed back at the house,” I said, giving a little bow that he would not see.
“Then you decided to stay at Coldthistle,” he mused, leaning on the door frame and wiping at the sweat under his cap. “Well, my thanks again for the lamb. You ladies have a fine afternoon. It’s good, strong weather we’re having today. Go and make the most of it.”
And make the most of it I would. I told Poppy I would race her and the hound back to the house, and she agreed. We were all three of us out of breath when we arrived. A bank of clouds had followed us over, darkening the formerly sunny skies over the mansion. Chijioke’s whistle wound out from the barn, and Mary was doing a bit of washing under the overhang outside the kitchens.
Gaining access to George Bremerton’s room would requirea distraction. Lee, of course, was the natural person to ask. He might be willing to draw his uncle down to the Red Room or out to the gardens for a stroll. Or, I thought darkly, he might simply want to be left alone and not pulled into a scheme to tarnish the memory of yet another family member.
I slowed down as we reached the yard, but Poppy and Bartholomew flew by, running at full tilt toward Mary and her washbasin. Poppy stopped short, but the little brown hound took a flying leap, plopping into the sudsy water and soaking him and Mary both. He barked with delight, splashing around and flinging water in every direction.
“Bad!” Poppy shouted at him, but she was giggling as she did.
“Would you control this infernal menace!” Mary screeched.
Poppy leaned into the basin, trying to fish out the slippery pup, who wriggled and bucked until at last he was on the grass and shaking away the droplets on his coat.
“Look what you’ve done,” Mary scolded, standing up to reveal her soapy frock and apron. “Mrs. Haylam will be very cross when I tell her.”
I stood back and watched, amused, biding my time while I concocted a plan to get Bremerton out of his chambers. From behind, I heard the crunch of horse hooves on the drive. Mary and I both turned to look, finding an elderly man riding in with a heavy satchel hanging from his saddle.
“That will be the post,” Mary said, waving to the man. “Can you collect it, Louisa? I’m in no fit state to be seen.”
She began gathering her things and wringing out the wet clothes, hurrying back inside the kitchen door. Poppy and her hound were of no use, rolling around together in the grass until both of them were covered in green smudges and dirt.
“It’s up to me, then,” I muttered, trotting off toward the drive. The man was balding, the naked skin on his head red from sun exposure and covered in brown speckles like an egg. He swung down from the saddle nimbly enough for a man of his age and dug in the bag tethered to the saddle.
“You’re a new face, miss,” he said kindly, giving a little bow.
I returned the courtesy and waited while he retrieved the messages.
