Chapter 5 #2
“No. And I’m glad of it. Can you imagine what the war would have been like with magical weapons on top of the guns and the gas?”
Mouse shuddered. “No. I can’t.”
“We’re lucky that they left. We can move forward based on our merit rather than relying on magic and being bound to the creatures who control it.”
“Yes,” she said, her gaze straying to the window again.
“Why are you talking about Faeries suddenly?” John asked.
“Oh, you know how prevalent the imagery is at Thistlemarsh.”
John nodded and swallowed the rest of his stew as easily as he swallowed her lie.
Mouse commandeered John’s sofa after he insisted she stay for the night.
“You keep nodding off, and I do not want to find you sleeping in the bushes on my way into the village tomorrow.”
She griped, but she had to concede that she was exhausted, and she did not relish the idea of walking back through the woods and encountering the Faerie again.
Mouse woke with a splitting headache that even four cups of strong black tea and a breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast could not fix.
A thick tome lay open next to John on the table. Mouse could see it was his copy of the Book of Common Prayer, sprawled out for inspection. Worn leather curled in at the edges, and inky scribbles stained the pages.
“Are you studying God’s word or your own?” Mouse asked around a mouthful of eggs.
The corner of his mouth quirked, but he did not look away from his book. “If you must know, I am writing the sermon for this Sunday. Although I assume you will not be there.”
“Too busy.”
“Heathen,” he said warmly, his eyes still glued to the words. He took out a thin fountain pen, underlined a sentence in blue ink, and tucked it back in his pocket, but not before Mouse caught a glimpse of the gold engraving.
“I didn’t know Bertie left you his pen.”
Roses bloomed in his cheeks, and he coughed. “Yes, it was a parting gift.”
Mouse kicked him gently under the table, and at last, he looked up at her. “I’m glad he did.”
John’s mouth tightened, and he blinked before rubbing his hand over his eyes. Mouse pretended not to notice that his fingers came away wet.
“I’ve been considering your questions from last night,” he said. “I remembered that my gran kept a horseshoe above her doorway and would leave milk out for Faeries every night, a payment to keep her house safe from thieves or disaster. In the morning, the milk was always gone.”
Mouse leaned in, despite herself. “And what did you think?”
“I stayed up one night to see what happened. I bundled myself into the hayloft with a duvet and an iron key that I dug up from my grandfather’s room for protection against Faerie magic.
I was there all night, frozen with cold and fear.
How would my gran react when she found out I frightened away the Faeries?
Would she ever forgive me? Then, I heard a noise. ”
“What was it?”
“The fattest barn cat that I’d ever seen in my life. It went straight to the bowl and licked it clean in a minute flat.”
Mouse laughed in shock. “And your grandmother?”
“I never told her. That was my first lesson in the power of faith. It eased my gran’s worry to put that milk out there, and what harm did it do anyone? Faith, true faith, is more about comfort than it is about any religious doctrine.”
“There’s your Sunday sermon right there,” Mouse quipped.
“Somehow, I doubt the archdiocese would approve of a story about Faeries in the church.”
“Did you stop believing when you saw the cat that night?” she asked.
John went still. His face scrunched against the idea. “No, I suppose I didn’t.”
“What would you do if you met a Faerie today?”
“Ask it questions. Or, more likely, avoid it if I could. They are famous for their duplicity, aren’t they?”
“Yes.”
John nodded once. “Then I would do my best to keep away. Besides, I doubt Faeries care for the church much. After all, aren’t we credited for driving them out of Britain?”
“I think that was the snakes.”
“And what about you? What would you do if you met one in the village today?”
“If I was wise, I would take your advice and turn the other way.”
“But you never take my advice,” John said with a grin.
“Try not to push yourself too hard today,” John said as Mouse mounted his bicycle.
The familiar feeling of the handlebars under her palms calmed her, bringing her back to the happier days of her childhood.
“You did travel halfway across the world this week. Remember, fainting from exhaustion will hinder your improvement plans.”
Mouse flicked at his arm. “I promise to take a nap midday. Happy?”
He nodded. “Do you have enough food? I can send the baker’s boy to the house with some bread and cheese around lunch.”
Mouse was about to refuse, then stopped. How much food was at Thistlemarsh? The housekeeper had gone to stock up on supplies before she left, but Mouse was not sure what those supplies were. There could be an entire storeroom of prunes, for all she knew.
“That’s a good idea,” she said. “Thank you.”
John smiled. “Accepting help? You must be exhausted after all.”
“Charming,” Mouse said. She kicked the brake stand back.
“My offer still stands. I will be out during the day, but you are welcome to come to the cottage anytime. The key is still in the rosebushes under—”
“The freckled stone,” Mouse finished for him.
“Exactly,” he said. There was a notch between his eyebrows, framed by the worry in his eyes.
“Honestly, I’ll be fine,” Mouse insisted. “I’m more worried about you. Those widows and orphans can be vicious when left unattended.”
He laughed. “You would be surprised how true that is.”
Dawson was the last servant to leave Thistlemarsh besides Mr. Hobb. Mouse knew it was happening, but the sight of him leaving still shook her. She would be alone at Thistlemarsh for the first time in her life.
He made a show of stacking his bags at the front door rather than at the servant entrance.
Mouse knew he would have found this kind of behavior unseemly any other time, but it was just her now, and Old Tom Moore had told him that it would cost more to drive around the back since the road was so unruly.
Mouse realized she had never seen Dawson without his uniform. A knot twisted in her stomach, and she could not tell if it was resentment or regret.
I would have loved you as much as I love Mr. Hobb, if you had let me.
“Thank you for allowing me to wait here,” he said to Mouse, his hands tucked behind his back. The cavernous hallway echoed with his words. Behind his head in the tapestry, a grinning embroidered Faerie whispered to its neighbor, eyes alight with malice.
“It’s no trouble,” Mouse said. Her fingers twitched to start work on the Hall, avoiding these last few minutes of awkwardness with the butler, but all the “good manners” drilled into her from her youth demanded she stay put. Still, the air that hung between them made her skin itch.
“I’ve been at Thistlemarsh Hall nearly all my life,” Dawson said suddenly. “I started as a kitchen boy. Can you believe that?”
Mouse nodded, although truthfully, she could not imagine Dawson as anything but the scowling old ghoul of her childhood. He was as much a part of Thistlemarsh as the carved front door or the stone towers, and just as unchanging.
“During my time, I have questioned decisions that Lord Dewhurst made, although I have understood them. Often, they were the correct choices for the sake of the title and the Hall, if not for the lord himself.”
“I’m sure,” Mouse said, mentally cursing Old Tom for taking so bloody long to arrive. The last thing she wanted was a lecture on the foresight of her uncle.
“However, no matter which way I look at it, Lord Dewhurst’s decision regarding the future of Thistlemarsh makes no sense to me.”
Mouse flushed. “You think he should have just sold it off before he died, then?”
Dawson drew back, stung, which Mouse thought was unfair. What right did he have to be offended?
“It makes no sense to me,” he continued, “that his lordship would not just leave Thistlemarsh to you and your brother.”
She jolted, and Dawson looked down to the floor, his eyes focused on a warped bubble in the wood.
“I know I have not always been good to you. I am ashamed of myself for it, but I lacked the opportunity and, perhaps, courage to apologize to you until now. So, although it is too late, I am sorry. You deserved better from all of us.”
Mouse wasn’t sure how to respond.
“Here I am, choosing the coward’s path again and leaving you to do this alone, but the idea of working for Carlyle is just too much to bear.”
“I do have a month to try. Carlyle does not own the place yet.” When Mouse spoke, her voice was sharp as cut glass.
The butler flinched, his eyes darting to hers. “Yes, well. I wish you the best of luck in all of it.” He held out his hand. Mouse stared at it for a moment, uncomprehending, before she realized he was looking for a handshake.
“Where are you going?” she asked, ignoring his extended hand. It dropped to his side.
“I’m not quite sure yet, to be honest. The pension that Lord Dewhurst provided will cover my living expenses, and I have saved a bit on the side. I am too old to butler elsewhere, even if there were openings. My sister suggested I might open a shop in my home village. Perhaps a tearoom.”
Mouse hummed. A horn blared from the drive. She helped Dawson with his bags; there were only two, and they were light enough that she could carry them one-handed. So little, for an entire life within Thistlemarsh’s walls.
When they finished packing everything onto the back of the car, Dawson dipped into a stiff bow, which Mouse mirrored with a curtsy.
He folded his large frame into the back seat. The engine started, and Mouse nodded at Old Tom, who tipped his hat to her. The butler turned away, his focus staunchly ahead. Silver glimmered in the corner of his eye.