“A better one,” she promised. She went straight for the bicycle assoon as she passed the gate. The chain glistened. She beamed at John, and he smiled back.
As promised, they had their tea outside on a blanket, with the sky darkening around the moon. The tea was hot and all the better for allowing them to stay out together as the evening rolled in.
“I think I will start on the entry hall first. Then, when I get sick of it, which will likely be within an hour, I’ll move on to the gardens for a while. At least I know what I’m doing there, and when I’m stuck, I can ask Mr.Hobb for help.”
John frowned and nestled his cup to roost on its saucer. “Are you sure that it’s worth it, Mouse?”
Mouse recoiled. “To keep Thistlemarsh from Carlyle? Of course!”
John nodded once, tucked his chin in, and took a long sip from his teacup. The bees hummed merrily between the flowers. One landed on a blue carnation, which grew in the center of John’s display.
“Of course, I will support anything you think is right,” he said.
“Thank you.” Mouse nudged his shoe with hers, leaving a streak of mud against the black leather. His lip curled, and he dramatically wiped it away with his cuff. She drew a handkerchief from her pocket, holding it out to him in a way that highlighted graying edges, worn down from too many washes. He took it, and Mouse busied herself rotating her empty cup between her fingers. “I am sorry that I’ve been such a boor this visit. It’s hard to concentrate on anything, knowing that Uncle is gone, and I did not get my say in both the good and the bad.”
“You are no more boorish than usual,” he quipped. “If you are hell-bent on staying, you can come here as often as you like. During the day, I will be in the village, but the spare key is still in its usual place.”
“You are a darling! If only you knew anything about estate management, I would have everything sorted in no time.”
“I can see if anyone from the village is available to help you withthe work,” John said. “Most of our able-bodied laborers either fought in the war and did not return or left afterward for better jobs in the city. Still, it does not hurt to ask.”
Mouse flinched at his kindness, recalling abruptly that she had not asked him about his life in the village since she left. They had written often over the years, but it was the first time they’d met since Mouse left for the Front.
“How have you been holding up?” she asked. He shrugged, and Mouse could see the sudden tension in his shoulders.
“It was difficult, at first. I was devastated when the War Office refused me. Still, I tried to make the most of it.”
“Did anyone give you trouble?” Mouse asked, thinking of the women in London who handed out white feathers to unlisted men, branding them as cowards.
“No, no,” John said. “That almost made it worse. No one was expecting a clergyman to go anyway, but I couldn’t help but feel useless.”
“But the village is thriving now. The market looked superb. I know you had a hand in that,” Mouse said.
“Well, yes. I have done my best to keep up morale. I’m gathering funds for a memorial in the town square. For all the boys we lost.”
Mouse hummed at that, blinking away the tears pricking her eyes.
When the stars sprang up from the dark like blossoms, John insisted that he call Mouse a cab from the village.
“The damn bicycle is not going anywhere. It will be here when you come tomorrow to collect it.”
She protested out of habit but was more than a bit relieved when the car came up the drive. The image of Dante’s doppelganger flashed through her mind.
Old Tom Moore held the door to his cab open for her, his smile kind but his eyes far away. His son, Young Tom, died at the Somme. The drive was short, and Mouse was soon back at the entrance ofThistlemarsh Hall. She rang the doorbell. Her heart stilled in her chest while she waited for the door to open. A minute passed, then two. Worry tickled the back of her throat.
Would Dawson keep her out in the dark? If pressed, she could sleep in the garden shed. She doubted anyone would have moved the key. Or she could sleep in the chauffeur’s rooms above the garage if necessary. She knew the lock would come undone if pressed just the right way.
The door swung open, and Dawson gazed out. He oozed disappointment when he saw her.
“We did not know if we should expect you back tonight, my lady.”
“John sent for Tom. It is not that late, Dawson.”
He bowed his head slightly. “As you say.”
They parted in the hallway. Creaking followed Mouse up the grand staircase and through to the Matchbox. The fireplace was empty. Mouse was not sure if it was an intended slight or just that there was not anyone left to light the fires besides Dawson. She eyed the bell cord but decided against it. Who knew if it even worked anymore, anyway? She pulled on two pairs of socks and a jumper over her nightgown before burrowing under the blankets.
The moon shone through the tattered drapes, casting a triangle of light over the tree painting. Traces of pink in the sky brightened, as though the sunrise came early to the world within the frame. Shadows laced through the painted tree bark, and the strange feeling she’d felt when she saw Dante’s look-alike returned to Mouse. She sat upright, her heart pounding. The moon slipped behind a cloud, and the painting plunged back into darkness.