I sloshed the tea around in the pot to lift the leaves from the bottom before filling my cup. Heart beating faster, I began to sip the bitter brew, which had been steeping long enough that it really needed milk to be drinkable.
I tried to imagine what would’ve happened next when Mum had done this. People would have had some reason for coming to her. Perhaps they’d ask a question.
“What am I to do about Mr. Tregarrick?” I murmured. Then I swallowed the last of the tea and tilted the cup to catch some light from the window.
The leaves had all clumped on one side. I carefully rolled the cup until I could see more clearly—and my breath caught.
There under the handle was a copy of what I’d seen in Mr. Tregarrick’s teapot.
Another wolf’s head.
I let the air fill my chest, trying to slow my racing heart.
I had been thinking about wolves all of yesterday. Maybe the leaves could be affected by that. Or it might have to do with my visit to the tavern. Or the gossip in the village.
It could be another warning that he’s dangerous.
I let out a frustrated sigh. How was this ever of any use to anyone?
Maybe don’t expect to be an expert the first time.
I rose from the table and cleared the dishes. After that I paced from one end of the room to the other. Mr. Tregarrick was all I could think of. His many kindnesses, and how he’d sacrificed in all he’d done for me—confronting his fear of blood, allowing a stranger to invade his private sanctuary, exposing himself to Jack’s anger.
Though I wasn’t going to work today, I’d made a smaller batch of pasties for Jack and me. I wrapped up two in a cloth and put them, along with my knife, into my basket. I went out behind the house and picked half a dozen tart, rosy apples and added those, too.
I stood a minute under the tree, listening to the reddening leaves rattle in the breeze, giving Jenny a scratch, and feeling the sun on my skin. Today’s sky was clear and the color of cornflowers, and the air had a crispness you could smell. I thought October might be the best month of them all. I had always loved her golden days and moody mists in equal measure.
“Wish me luck, Jenny.”
She looked up at me with her strange eyes, black rectangles surrounded by a color like light shining through honey.
I picked up my basket, walked around to the front of the cottage, and started down the road. This time when I reached the gap in the hedge, I took the knife from my basket and hurried straight throughbefore my courage could fail me, or guilt over disregarding the advice of those who cared about me could turn me back.
I followed the path around the oak wood, knife in hand, peering into the deep shadows beneath the branches. I wondered whether Mr. Hilliard had searched there, too. Half expecting to find a pair of eyes glowing in the rusty bracken, I walked faster.
As I neared the chapel, I wove around slabs and big blocks oftourmaline-laced granite, strewn about as if by a giant at play. Some of the larger pieces looked like standing stones. Faded heather clumped around their bases, along with a furze bush here and there. Much of the scrub that covered the uneven, sloping ground had dried to gold or bronze in the final hot weeks of summer. Though with the recent cooler, damper days, some things were greening again. The few remaining wildflowers looked timid and fragile, as if they knew they belonged to the previous season. Dewy spiderwebs sparkled in the grass.
At last I reached the foot of the roughly hewn stone stairway, and my gaze followed the tower’s stark lines. I saw that the casement on the lower floor was open, as before.
“Mr. Tregarrick?” I called, thinking it best to give him some warning of my arrival.
I waited a few moments, but no face appeared, and no answer came. He might have been on the upper floor, or somewhere on the grounds.
Or he might not wish to see me.
I placed the knife back in my basket, then took a deep breath, raised my skirts so I wouldn’t trip, and started up.
“Why Aren’t You Afraid?”
Harker
She is coming.
Not passing on the road. Not crossing the heath. She was coming to my very door. I knew it as sure as if I’d spotted her from the battlements.
This is my own doing. I never should have brought her here.
Drawing an unsteady breath, I checked the furnace beneath the copper cucurbit that I used for distilling my vital essence. The vapor was collecting nicely in the alembic and had already begun traveling down the pipe to the receiver. It could be left unmonitored for a while.
