She narrowed her eyes again. “Do you have a son?”
What a catechism this was. Harry shook his head. “None that I know of. And I am not married, before you move on to that question. There is just me.”
She nodded slowly, as though working things out in her head. Then her gaze sharpened as though she’d come to some conclusion. “Very well, Cousin Henry. I see there’s nothing to be gained by me killing you.”
“That comes as a great relief.”
She missed the sarcasm of his words and bowled on. “So we might as well make friends. I see no reason not to be. And my friends and family never call me Margaret. I’m always Megs. So I would much prefer it if you could do the same. The only time I’m ever called Margaret is when someone is cross with me.”
Harry nodded, omitting to mention his suspicion that her being called Margaret must be a frequent occurrence, and kept his expression grave. “I should be honored to call you Megs now that you’ve freed me from the fear of being picked off one day by a gun of yours.”
She tilted her head to one side, and the dog did the same, as though both of them were equally interested in what he had to say. “That is all behind us now. What I’d like to know is why you’re here in our village, and why you were coming out of the rectory.” The frown returned. “It’s early still, but I suppose as a soldier you must be a morning person, like me.”
Harry found himself smiling yet again. Despite young Megs’ confession that she’d been thinking of shooting him, he liked her. She wasa very open and engaging child, clearly used to speaking her mind a little too frequently. “Yes, I am indeed a morning person. I find it beneficial to my wellbeing to be able to take a morning walk each day. I was previously at my sister’s house and she has the good fortune to live close to the sea. During my convalescence, I liked to walk to the beach every day, when my leg and the weather permitted.”
Her eyes lit up and she was back to being just a child again. “You’ve seen the sea? I’ve only ever seen a painting of it, as the furthest I’ve ever been is only Market Harborough, and that’s only six miles away.” She sighed a little wistfully. “But one day I mean to travel and then I’ll cross the sea to the Continent. Only, the place I’d really like to visit is Egypt, to see the pyramids. I intend do that now the pesky French have been defeated.” She paused, her brow furrowing. “Only I have to wait until I’m old enough. Mama says twelve is too young to go gallivanting.”
He smiled. “Not if you’re a boy. My own grandfather, who was also a relation of yours, ran off to sea at your age.”
This brought a deep sigh. “It is a great misfortune to me to have been born a girl. My papa wanted very badly for me to have been a boy, but his hopes were dashed. And now my hopes of adventure are also dashed. Mims says I would need money to travel abroad, and that I do not have.” Her shoulders slumped. She seemed to have entirely forgotten her dislike of him.
Harry found himself smiling with genuine feeling for once. “You never know what might happen in your future. All I can advise is that you should never give up on your dreams.”
Her face brightened. “Don’t worry. I shan’t. Mama told us you helped defeat Boney. That must have been in France, I suppose, or is Waterloo in Belgium? I’m not all that good at geography. But wherever it is, it means you’ve travelled. But that’s because you’re a man, so you could join the army. Which I can’t.”
He nodded, trying hard not to think about what he’d seen on thetravels she was so envious of. “Waterloo is in Belgium. And I was there, which is the most you could say about my contribution to Boney’s downfall.”
She glanced at his cane and right leg. “Is that why you walk with a limp? Mama told us you were wounded at Waterloo. Were you shot? Was it in this leg?” She pointed.
They were straying close to territory into which he didn’t want to venture. “My leg was indeed injured, and you’re right, that is why I have this cane. Although my ambition is to shortly be able to do without it entirely.”
Would he ever be free of the cane? He glanced up the lane in the direction in which Windrush must surely lie. It was going to take him a while to walk home. How to rid himself of this child? “And now, having made one another’s acquaintance so fortuitously, perhaps we should part and I should return to the Hall. I’m sure someone your age must have lessons to attend to.”
She shook her head with satisfaction. “Not at all. I expect to have almost no lessons now, as Mama cannot afford to pay Reverend Mastin’s sister for my education any longer. A stroke of luck, in my opinion. So, as I have nothing else to do this morning and have met you, and you’re already out for a walk, I think I should share you with my family. They’re all bursting with curiosity about you.” A smug expression slid across her face. “My sisters will be so jealous to discover I’ve been the first to meet you.” She reached out and took his hand. “Come along. I’ll walk slowly, I promise, so you won’t tire your bad leg.”
Unable to think of a reason to refuse this request, and feeling somewhat herded into having to acquiesce, Harry managed a nod. “Well, in that case, you’d best call me Harry, not Henry, as that’s what my family do.”
The ugly dog had fallen in between them.
She beamed up at him, clearly delighted at his lack of resistanceand forgetful of her earlier intention to shoot him. “Your family? Do you mean your mama?”
Harry shook his head. “Alas, no. She died ten years ago when I was at university in Edinburgh, studying to be a doctor.”
Her eyes widened again. “A doctor? And what about your papa?”
“He died when I was twelve.”
She nodded. “So you are the same as me, in a way, as my papa died when I was twelve too, so we should be friends. Although I luckily still have my mama, unlike you. Come along.”
Her hand was warm in his as she tugged him along the lane, having immediately forgotten her promise not to walk too fast. His leg ached after the walk down from the Hall, but he wasn’t about to disclose that to a child who seemed so pleased to meet him. Children didn’t need to know what war could do to a man. Not even children who professed they could shoot guns.
He couldn’t help a slight feeling of pleasure that so open a child now considered him her friend. He’d had friends before, of course, but none so trusting as this girl. The long absent feeling that he could be as carefree as she so evidently was lifted his spirits and made his heart soar above the autumnal trees, up with the jackdaws and rooks wheeling in the bright sky.
They hadn’t gone far before she took up the conversation again. “You should know that I have two older sisters who are your cousins as well.” She was skipping along now, still holding his hand. “The oldest is Lissy. She’s very pretty, I suppose, but she’s also very bossy. She likes to think she’s a young lady, but only when it suits her.” She peered up at him sideways as if gauging his reaction. “Melissa is her real name but we all call her Lissy. We all have names beginning with M, just like Mama. She’s Miranda, you see. After Lissy comes Miriam—but we call her Mims. Mama says it’s because when Lissy was just a little girl and Mims was a baby she couldn’t say Miriam so she said Mims. I’m Megs because I positively hate being called Margaret.Mims says it makes me sound like an old lady in a bath chair, although I don’t actually know what a bath chair is. And all our short names begin with M, except for Lissy’s of course. I have no idea why we don’t call her Melly. That would fit better. Melly, Mims, and Megs. That sounds so much more organized, don’t you think, than Lissy, Mims, and Megs? Do you have a shortened name? Is it Hen?”
He found himself inclined to chuckle at her constant chatter, something he’d not done in a very long time. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so amused by anything. “No, just Harry.”
They were walking along a different lane to the one he’d arrived on, tall hedges on either side and the odd gateway giving onto meadows containing cows and sheep. Very different from Ipswich, and also from Spain and Portugal, where he’d been before Waterloo.
