Page 109 of The Work of Art

“Thank God, it is you. You’re just the person I was looking for.”

Philly stopped short, her dogs close behind her. “Mr. Forsythe! My goodness. What are you doing here?”

Mr. Forsythe stood, hidden by the rhododendrons. His hair was disheveled, his chest rising and falling as if he’d run a great distance. “I’ve come to fetch you. I could think of no one else to turn to.”

“Whatever is the matter?”

“A great deal, ma’am. There’s a dog that’s been hurt. A small fellow, not too different from your little one there. I found him while out walking in your woods. He’s in a terrible way.”

Philly’s heart leapt. “An injured dog?”

“Quite. I couldn’t tell what’s befallen him. He wouldn’t let me near. I’ve no skill with animals. But surely you—?”

“Yes. Yes, of course. I’ll come directly.” Philly hesitated, glancing back toward the servants. She’d better send someone for Arthur, or perhaps the gamekeeper. A small dog wasn’t dangerous, but if it were hurt, it may snap and bite.

“I fear he was on the verge of expiring. We shouldn’t tarry. But then…perhaps it’s best? An injured creature like that. Crying piteously. Frightened and alone. Perhaps death is better?”

“Indeed not!” Philly was appalled.

“You know more about these things than I. Come. I’ll you show you the way.”

She glanced back toward the house once more, torn between the urgency of the situation and her inherent desire to summon Arthur.

“Are you coming, Mrs. Heywood?”

“Forgive me, I… Yes. I’m right behind you.” Her mind made up, Philly followed at a quick pace, her dogs racing along with her.

“Wait!” Mr. Forsythe stopped short. “I beg your pardon, ma’am, but will your dogs not scare the little wretch? He’s already terrified. If he were to see a pack of—”

“To be sure, they would only frighten the poor beast further.” Philly felt a fool for not having thought of it herself. Turning back, she gave her dogs the command to stay. Basil edged forward, the hackles on his neck raised. She held up her hand again. “Stay,” she repeated firmly.

“Will they obey you?”

“What? Oh…yes. Yes, they’re quite obedient.”

His lips curled into a smile. “Excellent.”

Philly wasted no time in contemplating the questionable obedience of Basil, Fox, Jasper, and Dash. She strode ahead, consumed by urgency. Indeed, she had to quell her urge to run.

The poor little dog! Where had he come from? And who—or what—had harmed him? Why, he might have been caught in a metal trap. Or attacked by a wild animal. A very small dog could have easily bled to death by now.

What if she were too late?

“Is he very far?” she asked breathlessly as the woods that ran along Heywood House rose up to envelop them.

“No, Mrs. Heywood. Not far at all,” Mr. Forsythe said. “He’s in the clearing. Just by the pond.”

Philly would never have thought Mr. Forsythe the sort of gentleman to care about the fate of an injured dog. He’d always seemed to be more focused on superficial matters—with particular attention given to the manner of his dress.

But perhaps she’d misjudged him? Perhaps there was more to him than met the eye?

“I must commend you, sir.” She hurried after him along the path through the woods. “Most gentlemen wouldn’t have cared enough to bother with a hurt animal.”

Mr. Forsythe made no response.

She glanced at his face. Beads of perspiration covered his brow. “You needn’t distress yourself, Mr. Forsythe. If we’re too late, it’s not for lack of effort on your part. No one could have done more.”

Just around the bend, the woods opened to the clearing. The surface of the pond glistened in the sunlight, and the surrounding trees cast shadows on the crumbling stone benches.