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“Good morning, Mr. Todd,” Beatrice called as she passed the steward’s study. The shushing sound of a quire of paper sliding to the floor followed in her wake as the fox stuck his head out the door.
“Ma’am,” he gasped. He joined her, utterly perplexed.
“Are you regretting your decision, Mr. Todd?” She found she was sorry to think so. She knew he would excel as Osborn’s—Arthur’s—their steward.
“No, ma’am, no indeed,” he stuttered. “I, er… There is something amiss I wished to bring to your attention. However, it has to do with our sort, and I do not know where to begin.”
“The beginning originating deep in the annals of time, I suspect?” Todd shrugged and nodded and grimaced. “Come, take it up with Lord Swinburn, if that suits?” Todd only nodded this time; he relieved her of her workbag, and they continued on to the kitchen.
***
The man argued with the bear as they left the cover of the wood, lumbering past the clothing folded neatly on a rock.
***
Beatrice entered the kitchen. As one, the company within froze, like a tableau at a musicale. Conlon, arrested, hovered over one of the warmers. The maids halted in their work, and Mrs. Porter’s breadmaking stopped mid-knead. The children as one hushed their morningtide gurning. Ben paused with his fork halfway to his mouth, and Charlotte held her butter knife aloft. Morag gaped, and the tea she was pouring gushed over the edges of its intended cup.
“Morag,” Beatrice scolded and fetched a tea towel. Her admonition broke the spell, and while their behavior was unusual in the extreme, she did not comment as she mopped up the spill and sat. “Mr. Conlon, I am in the mood for eggs with my toast this morning.”
“Very good, ma’am,” he whispered. Brosnyn charged in with two footmen in his wake; they came crashing to a halt and stared.
“Good morning, Brosnyn. And to you, Corvus and Brock.” Beatrice set her serviette upon her lap and poured her tea. “Shall we discuss the work of the day?”
***
The bear stopped at the edge of the underbrush and threw his head back. Inhaled.
The man within reeled. Impatient, he drove them forward.
***
“…and as ever, should you have any queries, please direct them to Mr. Todd.” She turned to Ben, who was still staring, his fork suspended once more. “Your food will go cold,” she said. He blinked and set the utensil down. “Is there any class of ceremony required to invest Mr. Todd in his new role? Something amongst your sort I may not be aware of?”
Charlotte nudged her husband in the side as he remained agog. “No,” Ben replied. “There is theinitiatiofor the like of the Beta and the Gamma. Mr. Todd is neither.”
“I shall confer with Osborn, for it ought to be marked with some occasion.” This received no reaction. Beatrice looked around at the visibly confounded room. “I must ask if all is well?”
“Oh,” said Charlotte, in a faint tone, “one hopes.”
“Yes,” said Ben, who fiddled with his serviette. “One surely does.”
A resounding thump fell against the door, making Beatrice jump and gasp.
“Good Lord!” Beatrice made to rise, but Ben reacted with greater speed. “If that is yet another unfortunate creature—”
“A fortunate creature, more like,” Charlotte said, and Morag, of all things, of all people, giggled.
The door was pounded upon by what had to be a mighty fist. She heard Ben open it, whisper, and then shut it and rush away. Before she could formulate a query, he hurried back from the laundry, arms full of clothing, and slipped out the door.
It must be Arthur, must it not? If no one else was going to remark upon it, then she would not. Even the children had not roused to their usual vocal heights.
“Let us continue,” she said and shuffled another sheet of paper out of the pile.
The kitchen door crashed against the wall, flung open with vigor. Arthur entered and stood, scenting the air. For the first time since they had been under one roof, the company made him proper obeisance, throats bared.
“Good morning, Osborn, we had wondered where you…” Beatrice began as she too made to rise, and he flew across the room to loom over her. He looked wild and disheveled and larger than usual, his curls a riot on his head, his falls hanging by one button. He dropped to one knee, and his eyes—his eyes were glittering and wild and flashed from his warm brown and the fiery golden yellow of his creature and back again. The rumble in his chest resounded like a struck bell and grew in strength and volume; she refused to fear his creature even if she had no idea what it was.
As soon as she thought that, he looked exulted and relieved and annoyed in equal measure. He took her wrist and breathed into her skin. He leaned forward and ran his nose along her jaw.
