by Lisa Doan
The sun shone brightly through the windows when Henry woke. Matilda and Harold were tugging blankets between them, each battling for dominance with defiant puppy growls.
Sir Richard sat at his desk, shuffling papers. “Look, sir,” Henry said. “Harold is playing. He’s going to be all right.”
“No doubt of it,” Sir Richard said. “One of the remarkable things about a puppy, Henry, is they appear to have a memory like a sieve. I doubt Harold remembers a thing about his recent adventure. While you or I might be traumatized by such an event, Harold is living for this morning and this game and is not at all reflecting on what happened yesterday.”
“Have you sent a message to the duchess to give her the news?”
“I thought we might take him back in person,” Sir Richard said. “Assuming you feel up to it?”
“Yes, sir,” Henry said, struggling into a sitting position. The fact was, he did feel better after a good sleep, though the skin that had been punctured by the barbs was sore and had started to itch.
The sun was high in a cloudless sky and the air was mild. Sir Richard carried Harold, as Henry had to keep scratching his back to keep the itching at bay. They happily strolled up the duchess’s drive, both anticipating how pleased she would be to get Harold back.
Henry had resolved that he would not take the duchess’s reward. He and Sir Richard had caused the problem in the first place and giving her a puppy had been Henry’s idea. Taking the money felt not exactly … on the up and up, as Mr. Clemens used to say.
The front windows of the duchess’s estate were thrown open to admit the fine air of the day. As they neared the steps to the front door, they heard the unmistakable voice of Mr. Snidefellow.
“Your Grace,” he said, in the sniveling tone he reserved for the duchess, “you must also consider your duty to the estate. You are still of … of,” Snidefellow paused. “Well, you can still have children.”
Henry and Sir Richard stared at each other.
“I already have a child,” the duchess answered. “He will inherit the estate and carry on the line.”
“Of course,” Snidefellow said. “There is every hope the boy will be recovered. But in good conscience it would be wise to plan for, well in the unfortunate case that …” In a louder, more confident voice, Mr. Snidefellow said, “I have consulted this situation often in my prayers. God would wish you to remarry. To a moral man. A man who can be trusted to know the Lord’s will.”
Henry could not believe it. Was Snidefellow attempting to court the duchess? How could he ever think such a fine lady would marry him?
Sir Richard looked dumbstruck. Henry tugged on his sleeve and pointed to Harold. Sir Richard recovered himself and nodded. He rapped on the front door and waited for the butler to answer. Considering how prompt Croydon usually was about opening it, Henry suspected the butler had been at the drawing room door listening to Snidefellow.
Croydon saw the puppy. His face lit up and he chucked Harold under the chin. “There you are, you naughty thing!” He caught himself and put his stern butler face back on. “Normally, sir, I would not presume to interrupt the duchess while she is in conference with the councilman, but I believe I may make an exception in this case. Do go in.”
Henry turned to wait outside, but Sir Richard put a hand on his shoulder. “You must come in, Henry. You rescued Harold, after all.” He handed the puppy to Henry.
Henry flushed. He’d really rather wait outside, but Sir Richard strode forward and threw open the double doors to the drawing room.
Sir Richard stopped short. Mr. Snidefellow was on one knee in front of the duchess, who was studiously looking away from him.
“What the devil!” Sir Richard exclaimed.
Snidefellow struggled to his feet. Crimson crept from the top of his neckcloth to his hairline. “Sir,” he said, “what is the meaning of bursting in here without even being announced?”
Henry hurried in and stood next to Sir Richard.
“Harold!” the duchess cried. “You’ve found him!”
The duchess ran to Henry and swept the puppy from his arms. Harold licked her face and his tail thumped against her gown. She whispered to the puppy as she sat down on a divan. “Where have you been, you wayward little man?” She looked to Sir Richard and said, “Where on earth did you find him?”
Sir Richard bowed and said, “We searched for him last night and Henry spotted him at the base of a tree near the post road. He was in a bad way, so we nursed him through the night. As you can see, he has rallied nicely.”
Snidefellow stood rooted to his spot. The duchess seemed to forget he was there. She nuzzled Harold and said, “Naughty you!” She held him up. “Has he sustained any serious injury? My goodness, look, right there on his neck, two puncture marks. Perhaps we truly do have wolves in the area.”
“Just whatever poor Harold’s adventures were, I cannot say, but I suspect he is lucky to have come through them,” Sir Richard said.
The duchess rose from the divan and approached Henry. “You have restored a great happiness to me. I promised ten pounds to Harold’s rescuer and so you shall have it.”
“Please, Your Grace,” Henry stammered. “I’d rather not.”
“Rather not?” she asked. “Rather not have ten pounds?”
“Rather not,” Henry repeated. “It was just by chance I found him. Anyone who was looking for him might have found him.”
“Indeed,” the duchess said. “However, I suspect not everyone was looking for Harold. You were.”
“Well, it just does not seem to warrant a reward. Perhaps you could give it to the poor?” Henry said.
The duchess looked at Henry thoughtfully. Quietly she said, “As you wish.” She turned to Sir Richard and said, “You have found yourself a little gentleman in this one.”
Sir Richard bowed in reply.
“You must stay to lunch, Sir Richard,” the duchess said.
“An honor,” he said.
The duchess glanced over at Snidefellow, seeming to suddenly remember he was there. He had changed color from a blushing red to a sickly white. “Mr. Snidefellow, thank you for your call. Good morning to you,” she said firmly.
Snidefellow had no recourse but to stiffly bow and leave. Henry thought he looked murderous.
Sir Richard and the duchess had a picnic in the gazebo in her back garden. Henry sat at the kitchen window with a plate of cold mutton and fried potatoes that the cook had kindly given him.
Sir Richard leaned toward the duchess and said something. The duchess threw her head back and laughed. Harold bounded around the gazebo, chasing his tail and enjoying the sunshine. Henry thought the duchess and Sir Richard looked natural together. They were a fork and a spoon, just like Mrs. Splunket said. And to think! Snidefellow had been down on one knee! Would she marry him? It seemed so farfetched. The elegant duchess and the sneering councilman? But Henry had seen at the council meeting what a powerful persuader Snidefellow could be.
Billy Brash flew into the kitchen and was scolded by the cook. Considering how unconcerned he looked, Henry guessed that he always ran into the kitchen and she always scolded him for it. But she didn’t seem to really mind. The footman threw himself into a chair. “I saw your dog,” he said to Henry.
Henry knit his brows together. He was fully prepared to go toe to toe with the footman if there were any insults hurled at Matilda.
“I like her,” Billy said.
“Oh,” Henry answered.
“She’s got a certain way about her,” Billy continued. “A bit more refined than Harold, though I’d deny it if you told the duchess I said so.”
“She does have a certain way about her,” Henry said, warming to the subject. “I knew it as soon as I saw her. Did you know that Farmer Giles was going to snap her neck? I got there just in time.”
“What?” Billy cried. “That woulda been a crime.”
Henry and Billy spent the next hour comfortably discussing the merits of his dog. It was decide
d that Henry would apprise Mrs. Splunket of Billy’s new standing as an admirer of Matilda, and Billy was to be let in to play with the pup at any time that Mrs. Splunket found convenient.
After lunch, Henry and Sir Richard strolled down the lane toward the manor. “All’s well that ends well,” Sir Richard said.
“Has it all ended well, sir?” Henry asked.
Sir Richard stopped in the lane and turned to Henry. “Don’t you think so? Harold is back with the duchess and she’s as pleased as punch about it.”
“That part is good. But it seems like other parts aren’t so good. Snidefellow was in a fury when he left.”
Sir Richard waved his hand.
“And he was proposing, sir.”
“The duchess will never marry a scoundrel such as that,” Sir Richard said.
“Mightn’t she not, sir? After all, he can be persuasive.”
Sir Richard’s lips compressed into a tight white line. “Darla, with that no-good, morally bankrupt windbag of a poser!”
Henry thought he could guess what was happening. Sir Richard was in love with the duchess, or very nearly so, but did not know it himself. It was exactly as Mrs. Splunket had believed. No wonder Sir Richard had made a special chair for her. Henry had thought that was odd, but had reasoned that it might be something you needed to do if you wanted a duchess to come to your house. Now he thought otherwise. “Mightn’t you marry her?” Henry asked.
“I? Well, I certainly could—what I mean to say is, I have considered from time to time, someday in future, right time and all that …” Sir Richard stopped speaking and stared into the distance.
“Perhaps, sir,” Henry said quietly, “the right time is now. Before she marries Snidefellow.”
“Now?” Sir Richard paced the lane, mumbling to himself. “It would be very sudden; she’d not see it coming. After all, I didn’t see it coming. Still, Snidefellow! But now? Perhaps strike while the iron is hot? Don’t overthink the matter. Yes. I’ll do it!”
Sir Richard spun on his heel and strode back toward the duchess’s estate.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sir Richard leapt up the duchess’s steps two at a time and bounded through the front door without knocking.
Henry lingered on the steps after Sir Richard had disappeared inside. Now that he had suggested Sir Richard propose, he began to wonder what would happen to him if the duchess accepted. Would she let Sir Richard go on with his experiments? Henry didn’t know the duchess very well, but it seemed like the kind of thing she wouldn’t approve of. If she didn’t like it and made him stop, Sir Richard wouldn’t need an assistant anymore. What about Mrs. Splunket? Would she be out of a job too? Maybe he should have just kept quiet. The baker had always said, “If you stick your nose in another’s business, don’t be surprised if it gets chopped off.”
Croydon poked his head out the door and looked about. Henry said, “Sir Richard’s gone in. Best not interrupt him.”
The butler had a puzzled look on his face, then he seemed to get Henry’s meaning. “Indeed.” He smiled and closed the door.
Henry paced outside the front of the house for more than an hour. Billy briefly hung himself out of a second floor window and called, “Why is he back?”
Henry explained, in no uncertain terms, that he was not at liberty to say.
Billy shrugged and shut the window.
Finally, Sir Richard burst out the front door.
“It’s all settled,” Sir Richard said. “She’s agreed to it. Goodness me, I’m to be married!”
That night over dinner, Sir Richard said, “It turns out, she wondered why it took me so long to get around to asking. I explained I was merely waiting for the right time. She said, if all men waited for the right time, the human race would have died out long ago. I daresay she’s right about that.
“I told her you were in the habit of dining with me and there were some sticking points there,” Sir Richard continued. “She is a duchess after all, but she saw it my way in the end. You helped your case by not taking the reward; she thinks you have the instincts of a gentleman.”
Henry was relieved that he would still have a job, but he was a little frightened of having to eat with the duchess. He didn’t think his table manners would be up to her standards and if he knew anything about Billy, Henry guessed the footman would always be trying to make him laugh or drop something.
“Will Mrs. Splunket still be your cook?” Henry asked.
“Ah yes, it seems Darla’s cook is planning to retire, so Mrs. Splunket shall continue her reign.”
The rest of the evening passed with Sir Richard relaying more of his and the duchess’s plans. The matrimonial banns would be read within the week.
Henry thought an unintended happy consequence of the engagement was that Snidefellow would likely drop his accusations against Sir Richard. As furious as the man would be to hear of the engagement, he would not dare go against the duchess. The councilman’s living was hers to give and she could just as easily take it away. Henry doubted Snidefellow would be so rash as to risk his livelihood.
The next morning, Sir Richard wrote to John Fitzwilliam to invite him to act as best man, while Henry fed Mr. Terrible a handful of dead beetles. He had to be careful to drop them in without touching the sides of the aquarium in case there was any poison on the glass. A furious pounding on the door interrupted him.
Henry ran to answer it and found Farmer Giles leaning against the doorframe and out of breath.
“Oh no,” Henry said. “Don’t tell me Harold has run off again.”
Sir Richard came out from the laboratory.
The farmer heaved in a breath and said, “A man’s gone missing. Red Callahan. He was last seen leaving The Buck and Boar at eleven last night. We’ve searched the road from the tavern to his cottage, but there’s no trace of him. He’s a bad sort, and I’m guessing he came to a bad end, but he’s a fellow human being so we’ve got to do our best to recover him.”
“I know Red,” Sir Richard said. “A terrible drunkard. He’s probably sleeping it off in the woods.”
“Aye,” the farmer said. “But his wife is in a nervous state as this is the first time in her life that he ain’t come home. The whole village has been out searching for him since early this morning. Not a trace of him to be found.”
“We shall join the search willingly,” Sir Richard said. “Though I suspect he’ll make an appearance once he sobers up.”
Farmer Giles seemed to have more to say, but kept staring at his shoes.
“What more?” Sir Richard asked.
“Ah,” Farmer Giles said. “That councilman has been putting it about that it’s a consequence of a padfoot bein’ let loose on the neighborhood. First a dog goes missing, now a man. Next, it will be our children.”
“That’s preposterous!” Sir Richard exclaimed.
“I’m inclined to think so,” Farmer Giles said, tugging on his cap. “But Snidefellow has been plantin’ ideas in poor folks’ heads. He says how comes it was you that knew where to find the duchess’s puppy? He says you knew where the padfoot would take it, on account of it bein’ your creature.”
Henry gulped. Farmer Giles could have no way to know how close to the truth that really was.
Sir Richard said, “I’m glad you appear to have more sense than that. We shall set off at once and conduct a search for Red.”
After Giles went away, Sir Richard said, “To the cave, quickly. And bring torches. If the spider has killed a man, we must dispose of the creature. And I must take full responsibility for the loss of life.”
As they trotted toward the post road, Henry said, “What’s a padfoot anyway? I never heard of it.”
“Ah,” Sir Richard said, waving his hand dismissively. “My old nurse told me the tale of the padfoot. She claimed it was a fierce-looking black dog with fire in its eyes—an omen of death. The beast moves silently, but one can detect its presence by the unusual tracks it leaves—six toes on both forelegs. My nurse used to c
laim it was always on the hunt for disobedient boys. Of course, a man of science does not give any credence to such nonsense. Though when I was a boy it was an effective deterrent to any trouble I might have thought up.”
Henry gripped his reins in a tight fist. Six toes. It was too coincidental. Maybe his mother had been right—his toes really were a sign of the devil. Maybe he was turning into a padfoot in his sleep and then not remembering it in the morning. He would have to think of a way to find out. Of course, he had no idea what he would do about it if he were a padfoot. Was there some cure, or would he have to go away from people? Would he have to go and live somewhere deep in the Queen’s Forest so that he wouldn’t be a danger to anybody?
Henry and Sir Richard climbed up the slope to the cave. In the daylight, Henry saw that they stood on a flat ridge between the slope down to the road and a steeper slope up to the top of the mountain. The entrance to the cave sat as a black, open mouth looking to devour all who entered. The cheerful chirping of birds in the trees sounded unnatural near such a place.
“I don’t hear a man,” Sir Richard whispered. “Let us hope we are not too late.”
Henry lit the torches from a flint and they stepped inside.
Now he could see the sticky material he had only felt on the night they had rescued Harold. Mary had spun a circular burrow inside the cave. It swept up the walls and covered the roof, creating an oblong nest. There was no sign of her. Or Red Callahan.
“Heaven help me if Darla ever saw this,” Sir Richard muttered. “The very spot where the duke was killed, defiled by a creature of my own making.”
They stepped carefully over the fine silk floor, some of it sticking to their boots. Henry was careful to keep his torch away from the walls, as the substance looked flammable. Strangely, as they went deeper into the cave it became lighter, not darker. Light shone in from the opposite end of the burrow. Henry had assumed the cave was sealed, but now he could see that it led somewhere else. Sir Richard and Henry crept toward the light.
