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“I’m sorry,” Abigail muttered.

Alistair nodded. “Hold the puppy tight, now.”

“Why?” Jamie looked up.

“Because the badger sett is right over there.” Alistair pointed with his walking stick. The badgers lived in a low mound, covered in gorse. “See the freshly dug earth? That’s one of the tunnels.”

“Ohhh.” Jamie squatted to look. “Will we see one?”

“Probably not. They’re rather shy, but they can kill a dog, especially a small one, if they’re challenged.”

Jamie hugged Puddles to his chest until the puppy squeaked, and whispered hoarsely, “Where do you think they are?”

Alistair shrugged. “Perhaps in their den asleep. Maybe out hunting grubs.”

“Grubs?” Jamie wrinkled his nose.

He nodded. “That’s what they seem to like.”

“Look at this!” Abigail very carefully squatted with her skirts tucked under her rear.

Alistair went to where she pointed and saw a small black mound. “Oh, well done! You found a badger’s scat.”

Behind him, Helen made a muffled sound, but he ignored her. He squatted next to Abigail and, taking a twig, poked at the mostly dry scat. “Notice these.”

He scraped out a couple black flakes.

Abigail peered closer. “What are they?”

“The carapace of a beetle.” He shrugged off his satchel and opened a pocket, rummaging until he found a very small glass jar. He picked up the beetle parts and dropped them in the jar, stopping the top with a tiny cork.

“What’s a carapace?” Jamie asked. He was squatting now, too, breathing anxiously through his mouth.

“The hard outer shell.” Alistair poked some more and found a thin, pale bone.

o;Then Sir Alistair came in,” Abigail continued, “and he saw me and he saw Mr. Wiggins, and, Mama, he moved so fast! He took Mr. Wiggins by the neck and dragged him from the room, and I didn’t even know what was happening until I went into the hall, and then you and Jamie and Miss Munroe were there, and you told Sir Alistair that he must stop.” She took a deep breath at the end of this recitation.

Helen was silent a moment, thinking. She finished the braid and set aside the brush.

“Hold the pins,” she murmured, “while I do your crown.”

She placed the hairpins in Abigail’s hand and began wrapping the braid high across her daughter’s head.

“Thank you, darling.” She accepted a hairpin from Abigail and placed it carefully in the braid to anchor it. “I was wondering if anything else happened in the room where you hid with Puddles?”

Abigail held very still while she did her coiffure, but her eyes were lowered to the pins in her hand.

Helen’s heart missed a beat. Something seemed to be clogging her throat, and she had to clear it before going on. “Did Mr. Wiggins touch you at all?”

Abigail blinked and looked up, her eyes puzzled. “Touch me?”

Oh, God. Helen made her voice casual. “Did he put his hand on you, sweeting? Or… or try to kiss you?”

“Ewww!” Abigail’s face screwed into a mask of appalled disgust. “No, Mama! He didn’t want to kiss me—he wanted to beat me.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know.” Abigail looked away. “He said that he was going to, but then Sir Alistair came in and dragged him out.”

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