Chapter 26 You are no son to me. #2
She bit her lip, looking rather tempted. “We’ll split, shall we?” So saying, she fetched a set of dishes from the cupboard, served up a portion for herself, and slid the rest across the table to Nigel. “I’m not entirely certain what it is,” she admitted.
“Chicken Special,” Nigel answered.
She poked at a gelatinous substance which smothered the lumps of meat. “And this?”
“Extra special.”
She snorted, broke a warm biscuit in half, dipped it tentatively in the stuff, and sampled it. “Gravy,” she declared. “Not half-bad, either! Best eat up while it’s still hot.”
Nigel tried a bite. It was difficult to make himself swallow, but he managed. He was just going for a second, when his head came up sharply. “What about your curfew, Miss Talbot?”
Luna shrugged. “Bryony is off tonight.”
“Bryony?”
“My roommate. She can let me in through the fire escape if necessary. It’s all right, Mr. Grimm! I can sit with you a while longer.”
“You don’t . . . need to stay, you know,” he said, moving Chicken Special around on his plate with his fork. “I can manage. Whatever happens.”
Luna chewed and swallowed. Then she sat up a little straighter and said, “I had a rat once.”
Nigel frowned, unprepared for this sudden turn of the conversation. “A . . . cat?”
“Nope. A rat.” She laughed at the look he shot her.
“I found it as a baby, half-drowned in the milk jug. Had to throw out the milk, of course, but I somehow convinced Auntie Apolonia to let me keep the rat. I wanted to make certain it was all right before I turned it loose. The aunties were horrified, as you can imagine! But tea witches, as a rule, are sacred preservers of life, so they couldn’t very well make me abandon it, could they? I raised it up, made a pet of it.”
She took another thoughtful bite, her expression faraway in a memory.
“Nasty, meanspirited blighter,” she said in tones of great fondness.
“Hated everyone but me. But oh, how I loved that little rodent! And I think it kind of couldn’t help feeling a bit of something for me in return.
Like it didn’t have much choice in the matter.
” She set down her fork and picked up her tea, swirling it to watch little flecks of leaves dance.
“One day, I was taking it for a walk on the lead.”
“You were . . .” Nigel stopped. Somehow it wasn’t difficult to imagine a young Luna Talbot out in her garden, strolling along with a pet rat.
He could easily picture the poor, scurrying, plaguy beast, wearing a pink bow around its neck.
It was such a clear image, he half-wondered if he was picking up some psychic picture from Luna herself. “Go on,” he said.
“Well,” she continued, “a hawk swooped down, right before my eyes! Caught up my little Ratterson Von Ratpswitch—that’s what I called him—and carried him off, trailing the lead behind him!
You can bet I shrieked like the devil, picked up a stone, and threw it with everything I got.
Hit the hawk square, and it dropped my ratty. ”
“Dead?” Nigel quavered.
Luna shook her head. “But wounded. A big gouge in his haunch where the hawk’s talon pierced him.
Oh, how I cried and cried!” She turned her gaze to the mottle-spotted rose then.
“But,” she said softly, “Auntie Apolonia stepped in. She made a healing tea—Ragtaggle and raspberry blend, if I remember correctly. And she sat up with me, spooning drops down my ratty’s throat every half-hour.
I was so worn out, I fell asleep with my head on the table, but Auntie stayed up with me. All night.”
“And Ratterson Von Ratpswitch? Did he survive?”
“Oh yes! He woke up just at dawn, shook himself out, leapt from the little basket bed, and disappeared into a hole in the wall, never to be seen again. I guess he’d had just about enough of domesticated life.
” She took another sip of her tea, her lips curving sweetly.
“But I never forgot how Auntie Apolonia stayed up with me. This wasn’t so very long after I came to Tealeaf Cottage, you see, and .
. . and it really made me feel . . .” She hesitated a little before finishing. “Not alone.”
She set her cup down again, ran her finger around the rim. “I suppose that’s my long-winded way of saying, it’s my pleasure to sit with you through this trying time, Mr. Grimm. Just think of me as your Auntie Luna!”
Nigel’s brow lowered. He took a gulp of tepid tea.
Suddenly, the rose gave itself a tremendous shake. It was the first movement it had made in many hours, and all of its remaining leaves dropped, scattering across the plates of Chicken Special, while the brown-edged blooms simultaneously burst into little clouds of dust.
Nigel sprang to his feet, dropping his fork. “Is it over?” he gasped, heart lurching. “Is she . . . dead?”
Luna stood as well, leaned forward, and took one of the canes in her hand. She turned it gently, her brow set in a stern line. Then she looked at Nigel. “All the mottle-spots are gone.”
“What?”
She reached out, took hold of his elbow, and drew him closer to the rose.
There were no leaves, no blossoms. Only the thorny canes remained.
But they were free of the the ugly, furry blight.
And when Luna took one of the canes and bent it, it showed green inside.
“She’s alive, Mr. Grimm. I do believe she’s going to make a full recovery! ”
Tears sprang to Nigel’s eyes and spilled over onto his cheeks before he could do anything about it.
He was so shocked by this sudden outpouring, he gasped out loud, and the sound emerged from his throat in a thick sort of sob.
This was, in turn, so excruciatingly embarrassing, he gasped again, only to make the same sound a second time. He fumbled for his handkerchief.
Before he could grab it, however, Luna uttered a little squeal, bobbed on her toes, and wrapped her arms around his neck.
Whatever else he might have been feeling in that moment burned away in a rush of pure fire that shot out from his core and spread through every extremity. He choked on his own breath.
Before he could even remember how his own arms worked to envelop her in turn, Luna gasped a little, “Oh!” and backed away. Nigel’s horror grew. Had she felt . . . every extremity? But no. She turned from him—apparently oblivious—and pointed at the rose. “Look!” she cried. “See there!”
He turned. He couldn’t see a thing through the fire blazing in his mind for some moments. Then he shook his head and looked again. This time he saw them: three little buds, already forming, and tiny green leaves appearing at intervals along the canes.
“Miss Talbot,” he said, his voice rough, “you are . . . you are a wonder!”
“Why, thank you, Mr. Grimm!” She laughed and tossed her dark pin curls. “Auntie Luna does have a trick or two up her sleeve, doesn’t she?”
“Miss Talbot?”
“Yes?”
“May I make a request?”
“Sure.”
“Will you promise to never refer to yourself as my Auntie Luna? Ever again?”
She smirked and smacked his shoulder lightly with the back of her hand. “I’ll bid you good night now, Mr. Grimm,” she said. “I’d best trot off before Bryony takes it into her head to go out slumming, and I end up spending a cold night on the fire escape!”
Nigel followed her from the kitchen, out to the shop, and watched as she gathered her hat.
He silently extended his hands, and she handed him her coat so that he could hold it for her as she slid her arms into the sleeves.
While she was near, he breathed in the sweet, chamomile scent of her hair and closed his eyes.
But by the time she stepped forward, doing up the buttons, he stood demurely with both hands shoved into his pockets.
“I’ll walk you to the door,” he said. “Lock up behind you.”
She nodded and led the way across the floor. “I’ll make up a last dose of that tea in the morning, just to be safe,” she said. “But I trust we’re on the far side of the crisis now.”
“I do believe you’re right,” Nigel agreed. Though, secretly, he had to wonder if his own personal crisis had only just begun.
He opened the door for her, and they both stepped outside under the awning. It was a chilly evening, and the streetlamps were all speckled with raindrops. But Luna, holding her hat to the back of her head, tilted her face up and breathed deep. “It all feels rather fresh now, doesn’t it?” she said.
Nigel watched her face, illuminated by the lamp glow. “I can never thank you enough,” he said softly. “I hope you know how I appreciate what you did for the rose, for . . . for me.”
She turned to him, her smile infinitely gentle.
The light played prettily in the coils of her hair, which framed her face beneath the hat’s brim.
Her lips parted, and she drew a little breath as though about to say something, but seemed to change her mind at the last moment.
Tucking her chin, she finished only with, “I’ll see you in the morning, Mr. Grimm. ”
“Till then, Miss Talbot.”
He watched her as she crossed Addle Street, nipping between automagic mobiles. He continued to watch her as she hurried down the sidewalk, avoiding puddles on her way to Nettleton Lane. She disappeared around the turn, but he leaned against the doorway and remained there a little while.
She would return tomorrow. He knew that now, with confidence.
She would return. And that was enough.
For the moment, it was enough.