Deadly Closeness #2
Mrs. Moyle rubbed her lips together, thinking. “I don’t like the idea of them fixing on an innocent man, especially with the rumors already swirling about him.” She looked at me. “You’re sure of his story?”
“If he was the killer, I would be dead.”
I thought about the ways he had convinced me of what he was. I hated to imagine what would happen to him if people in the village knew. I recalled the angry mob from my dream.
Mrs. Moyle shivered. “All right. I don’t like this, but I know you’ve got a good head on your shoulders.
It sounds as if Mr. Tregarrick has taken you into his confidence, and I don’t believe confidences should be betrayed without very good reason.
More than that, however—from the things you have told me, I’ve begun to suspect that he has been acting to protect you in recent days.
” She fixed her eyes on me. “But hear me, Mina. You are not the one to help him stop this killer.”
“No,” I agreed, because she was more right than she knew.
I slumped against the pillow, feeling warm and sleepy after the broth.
Mrs. Moyle came and took my cup. “Try to rest now, dear. There’ll be a joint of beef for dinner to strengthen your blood.”
When next I woke, it was to the aroma of fresh bread and boiled beef. Feeling lonely and confined, I made my way to sitting up and then swung my legs down. My heart labored after only this small movement.
When I stood, everything hurt, like I’d been walking for days without a rest. Flashes of memory came to me then—of a slow and creeping journey between the chapel and The Magpie.
I could feel the bruises on my knees from the times I’d stumbled and fallen.
For stretches of it, I had crawled. The short walk had taken ages.
I remembered how I’d fixed on the idea of reaching The Magpie.
Only a little farther now. Soon you can sleep.
Driven by fear of the monsters of Roche Rock.
With a shaky breath, I smoothed my shift and wrapped up in my shawl before making my way slowly out to the kitchen.
Mrs. Moyle fussed to see me out of bed, and when I refused to go back, she made me sit down at the table and drink a small glass of brandy, which she’d brought from home—also “to strengthen my blood.” I recalled brandy was somehow involved in Mr. Tregarrick’s vital essence, so perhaps there was something to it. It did warm me.
When dinner was ready, the two of us ate without Jack.
I tried to imagine where he’d gone. The Wolf’s Head was closed on the Sabbath.
The sun would set in an hour or so, and I worried about him walking home after dark.
I worried that his suspicions about Mr. Tregarrick might have taken him onto the estate.
Though I felt stronger and steadier after the meal, Mrs. Moyle wouldn’t let me help her clear up. After she’d finished, I tried to send her home.
“I can’t leave you here alone, Mina,” she protested.
“I’m much better,” I told her, determined, “and you have a business to see to.” I’d learned over dinner that she’d been taking care of me so Jack wouldn’t have to miss work (that was her stated reason, though more likely she’d been unsure whether he was up to it).
“Jack will be home soon, and his dinner’s made, thanks to you. I promise I’ll go back to bed.”
She eyed me, unsure. “You must also promise you won’t try to come to The Magpie tomorrow.”
I agreed. Even if I felt up to it, I knew better than to test Jack’s patience right now. If he could only look past his own stubbornness and pride, he’d see The Magpie was probably a safer place for me than anywhere else. Our cottage was right on the edge of the heath.
“All right,” she said with a sigh. “But I’ll come back in the morning before opening, just to make sure all is well.”
“You haven’t walked here alone, have you?”
She smiled. “Ghost escorted me.”
Mrs. Moyle had a cart she used when she couldn’t get purchases delivered. It was pulled by a dapple-gray gelding—a kind old gentleman called Ghost—that her husband had kept for her at the livery. She loved him like a pet, and he was still boarded there by the new owner.
“Well, go now, then,” I said. “Before the sun sets. And ask the stable boy to see you home.”
Reluctantly she went, and though I didn’t usually like being alone in the cottage, this evening it was a relief to have time to think over everything without having to answer more questions. Or tell more lies.
The master of Roche Rock had not been out of my thoughts for a single moment since I’d woken.
The attack should have made me afraid of him in a way his words had failed to, but instead, I continued to worry about him.
Besides hating himself, he might be wondering whether I was alive or dead.
And he might be wondering how long it would be before the lawmen came for him.
When I finally went back to bed as I’d promised, my busy mind wouldn’t let me sleep.
I kept remembering the attack, and what stayed with me was not a nightmare of blood and pain—there had been no pain beyond the second it took for his teeth to pierce my skin.
What my mind chose to dwell on instead was his arms crushing me against him.
His hand cradling the back of my head. His hair tickling my throat and, most of all, his lips against me.
I had never felt so alive as when I was dying in his arms.
God help me.
In the moments that I did manage to push all of this from my mind, I went back to wondering what Jack was up to.
Sundays he usually drank at home and slept.
Sometimes he would take care of things around the cottage that I couldn’t do for myself.
I kept imagining him appearing at the chapel door to confront Mr. Tregarrick, and my stomach tied itself in knots.
How would the master of Roche Rock respond to such a meeting?
Again I worried that drinking my blood might have worsened the vampire’s cravings.
At last, I got up and dressed. I was in no fit state to go searching for my twin, but I could at least have a look around outside before the light was gone.
Sometimes he stood between our cottage and the Budges’ place smoking a pipe and jawing with Billy.
Or he might be working on something in the shed out back.
As I started for the door, someone knocked on it, and my heart skipped.
I laid a hand against the wood and bent close. “Who’s there?”
“Roger Carew, miss. Agent for Mr. Tregarrick. I have a letter for you.”
Now my heart leaped into my throat. I drew back the bolt and opened the door.
A smartly dressed gentleman stood outside, holding the reins of a sleek chestnut horse.
His other hand gripped the basket I’d carried to Roche Rock.
He held it out to me, and inside I saw a folded paper resting atop a book.
The letter had flowing handwriting on the outside.
Though I hadn’t read a great deal of handwriting, Mrs. Moyle sometimes wrote out lists and instructions, and I was able to make out my name—Miss Mina Penrose.
“Thank you, sir,” I said, taking the basket.
“I’m to read it to you, if it’s needed,” said Mr. Carew. I studied him, but his face wore no expression.
Lifting my chin slightly, I replied, “That won’t be necessary.”
He touched his hat brim and got on his horse.
“Mr. Carew,” I called, and he looked down.
“You’ll let him know I’m all right?”
The agent touched his hat again and then clucked to his horse.
Gripping the basket handle, palms damp and shaking, I stepped out the front door. It was all I could do not to take up the letter at once, but I looked up and down the road as I’d intended, if for no other reason than it wouldn’t do for Jack to catch me reading it.
A cart full of carrots and swedes rattled by, a boy in the back lifting a hand to wave as it passed. Other than that, the road was as deserted as I might expect on Sunday evening just after dinnertime.
I wondered whether the whole village had heard about what happened to me. Mr. Hilliard had shown he wasn’t one to spread tales, but Mrs. Moyle said I’d been found in front of the tearoom.
Most likely everyone knows. Afraid I might meet a neighbor, I quickly ducked back inside.
I set the basket next to the door, slipped the letter into my pocket, and went to boil water for tea. A cool head would serve me best.
Once I’d dosed a steaming cup with plenty of milk and sugar for courage, I stepped out the back door and called for Jack, in case he might be in the shed.
No reply came, and I sat down on the old milking stool under the apple tree.
The sun had set, but the sky behind Roche Rock was the color of a pearl. I had a little time yet.
I drank my tea and watched a hare cross the downs with its long, rolling lope. I chatted absently at Jenny and the hens while the fresh air soothed my nerves.
Finally, I took the letter from my pocket.
Miss Penrose,
Mr. Carew has been watching your cottage for a time when your brother and employer might both be away.
He has assured me that you live, and that good Mrs. Moyle appears to be staying with you.
I hope you will forgive me this trespass.
I know you cannot forgive me for the other, nor would I wish you to. I will never forgive myself.
I’ve instructed Mr. Carew to deliver this letter into your hands only, so if you are reading it, you are well enough to answer the door, and I thank heaven for it.
Nay, I thank you for it. For granting my wish that you wear the cross, as well as for finding the strength to wield it against me.
I ask that you grant me one last favor, though I have no right to.
Please keep to your cottage, unless in the company of others, until I am able to secure the village of Roche against the present threat.
Finally, though you don’t need my permission, I will give it: You are free to share what you now know—about myself and about the other—with anyone you see fit, if indeed you have not done so already.
When the present threat has been removed, if I am still master of Roche Rock, and you feel secure enough to walk again on the heath, know that I will sense your passing and will be remembering what time we were given to become acquainted. Friends are a luxury my affliction has denied me.
I wish you good health and a long life with all my heart.
Sincerely,
HT
Was it some kind of spell he’d cast over me that, instead of feeling angry for what he’d done, my heart wrenched over the aching loneliness behind all his words?
No. I couldn’t see how anyone who read such a letter could think him truly a monster.
I folded the paper and put it away. Before going inside, I cast a last glance out at the gentle landscape—and froze. The mist had risen thick as twilight came on, but I was certain there was something moving on the heath.
As if feeling my gaze, the thing halted—and seemed to watch me back.