John strode toward the Faerie, his hand outstretched. Under the scar and the black eye, Thornwood took in John’s proffered handshake.
The tension brewing among the villagers broke like a thunderstorm as soon as the reverend and the Faerie clasped hands.
Smoke from Thistlemarsh’s ruins hovered low over the woods like a fog rolling out into the rest of the valley.
Thevillagers accompanied them to the hospital, and a parade formed as they walked through town. Those few who had not come down to the Hall soon gathered outside on the street. Mouse heard ever-more-embellished tales of the fire and subsequent collapse of the manor house until late in the night. Eventually, the doctor was satisfied that her concussion was not fatal and permitted her to sleep. On his cot, Thornwood curled in a ball under the wool blanket. His eyelashes fluttered in his sleep. Mouse made herself look away when she felt her disappointment rising again.
He does not owe you anything, and you do not owe him anything, she thought, forcing her mind to drift.That is best for both of us.
33
Smudge met them at the cottage gate. Mouse cheered, rushing along the path ahead of the rest of the group. Her feet stung in her borrowed shoes. As soon as Mouse reached her, the dragon-dog leaped up, licking Mouse’s fingers.
Thornwood’s mother loitered behind Smudge. She had changed into a plain brown dress from the parish charity collection. Despite the moth-eaten holes dotting its arms, she somehow managed to look glamorous. Still, the bags under her eyes had darkened overnight, leaving her beautiful face hollow and sharp. She studied the group warily until her gaze landed on Thornwood. She gasped, then joined Smudge at the gate. Thornwood met her there, throwing his arms around her. His mother ran her hands through his hair and over his face, committing touch to memory. Smudge bounced between Mouse and Thornwood.
“Horrible beast,” he laughed, patting her head. Smudge barked merrily as he scratched behind her ears.
John, Mouse, and Smudge ducked into the house while Thornwood and his mother walked arm in arm toward the beehives.
Throwing open the larder, John pulled out a circle of cheese and a loaf of bread.
“Toasted cheese?” Mouse suggested.
“With honey.”
“Brilliant.”
They sat at John’s wood table with blankets pooling from their elbows to their feet. Mouse toed off her borrowed shoes and socks to expose the bandages beneath to the air. The fire in the kitchen hearth kissed Mouse’s cheeks, and she felt warmer than she had in days. She sighed.
“What is it about hot food that makes you feel all is right with the world again?” Mouse asked.
“No idea, but if I could bottle it, I would sell it,” John said, wiping his hands on a napkin. He continued. “So…”
“So?” she returned.
“Thistlemarsh is gone.”
“It is.”
“How do you feel about it?”
“I’m not sure,” Mouse said. “Ask me again in five years.”
“That’s probably the shock. Luckily, you are accustomed to dealing with that, Nurse Dunne,” John joked. “But really, you can stay with me as long as you like. I’ll even let the Faerie and his mother stay, for your sake.”
Mouse raised her eyebrow at him.
“And Mickelwaithe?” she asked. John flushed bright red.
“Him too, should he like to stay,” he said.
She laughed. Smudge ducked under the blankets and nestled at their feet beneath the table.
The fire lulled Mouse’s eyes shut. She felt her breath even, and the rise and fall of Smudge’s chest pressed to her leg set a comforting rhythm. She did not remember falling asleep, but when she nextopened her eyes, John was sitting in his chair, reading a well-worn red leather book.
She shot straight up, jostling Smudge. The dragon-dog whined pitifully. Without a word, John held the book out to her. Hands shaking, she carefully took the edges.Blakeney’swasn’t damaged except for a lick of burned leather at the corner.
Tears gathered in her eyes. “But how did you find it? I know that this book was in the Matchbox. I saw it right before I went down to the ballroom.”