Page 61 of Miss Ashbury and the Anatomy of Mending a Heart

“Do not come in here!” he bellowed.

He checked the door to his bathing chamber, relieved to find it closed. He scowled—that meant the little bugger had been lying in wait, or had slipped in when the footmen delivered the water.

“Whatever is the matter?”

“One of your creatures has joined me in the bath!”

There was a moment’s pause. “That’ll be Hurbert. He dearly loves a swim, and I haven’t drawn him a bath in ages.”

“Mother,” he snapped in exasperation, swiping at himself haphazardly with a towel.

He jerked his tunic over his head quickly, not wanting to lose sight of the raccoon. But the little beast spared him no attention—it was now lazily swimming laps in the copper tub.

“Yes, dear?”

Her voice sounded strange through the door—was she laughing at him? The idea of it only agitated him further. He yanked up his trousers, accidentally snapping his chest with his suspenders in his haste, and stomped to the door.

As he suspected, his mother waited with a brightness in her eye that could only be attributed to merriment.

He scowled. “I’d very much appreciate it if these animals were removed from the house!”

“I know, dear. But the fact is that most of them have lived here longer than you, as of late.”

“Meaning that they take precedence over my comfort?”

“Their lives do; yes.”

“I’m not saying you have to kill them, Mother. I’m simply asking for them to be relocated. Don’t the stables have room for some cages or whatnot?”

“Cages? Certainly not. They wouldn’t be comfortable in cages.”

Stephen opened his mouth to argue that it was now coming down to his comfort versus the animals’ comfort, and he was still losing, but at that precise moment, the raccoon trundled out from his bathing room and shook himself dry on the carpet. Stephen was struck momentarily dumb by the sight and resisted the instinctual urge to punt the thing across the room.

His mother swooped down on the offending animal, picking him up and cradling him to her chest. “Did you have a good swim, Hurbert? I’m sorry if his yell upset you⁠—”

“Mother!”

But she was already turning for the door. “Yes, dear?”

He slid a hand down his damp face and sighed, defeated. “Please keep your animals out of my rooms, at least.”

“Of course, dear.”

* * *

If Stephen expected sympathy when he repeated the story to Vera the following afternoon, he was sorely disappointed. Vera laughed and laughed until he stared at her with exasperated patience.

A little laughter was to be expected—even he could see a glint of humor in it, now that he was nearly twelve hours removed from the experience—but this much? Certainly this much laughter was excessive. Still, Vera’s laugh was that low rasp of hers that Stephen had come to love.

Love? What a shocking word to use in this context.

They were on their way back from Mr. Douglas’s once more. Though the weather had turned cold, he seemed to be improving and was in much better spirits.

“Do you not like animals?” Vera asked after she’d recovered enough to speak.

This had taken some time, as she’d relapsed into laughter several times, with small breaks of hiccuping recovery between.

“I do. Normal animals, such as dogs and horses.”