By the time the cottage came into view, she had decided. Why worry John with problems that would never come to fruition? Once she had Thistlemarsh in hand, she would broach the subject of Faeries living in the woods and offering deals to passersby. Mouse nodded to herself about this very sensible plan, while her heart pounded in her chest.
She could make out a figure working in the garden. Engulfed in his bulky white beekeeping suit, John caught sight of her and waved in broad, friendly arcs. Mouse waved back, hurrying along to the end of the path.
The gate opened at her touch, and she smiled at how it swung silently. Typical John, oiling the hinges on the garden gate. Everything neat, in order, and at its full functionality. The mundanity was comforting.
“Did you lose a fight with a rosebush?” John asked as she camenear, a lumpy ghost with his beekeeping suit pulled up around him, the net obscuring his face. “You look terrible.”
“And you look ridiculous. How are the bees?” Mouse asked, changing the subject with what she hoped was subtlety.
“Happier now that winter is over, and my flowers are beginning to bloom.” He raised an eyebrow at her from behind the screen. “You seem cheerful—the Hall is in better shape than you thought?”
Mouse was grateful he mistook her agitation for excitement. “Definitely not. I am just doing my best to keep my spirits up.”
“Good! I am glad that the challenge has not discouraged you.” He pulled the mask off. His hair twisted in sweaty tufts on his head. Mouse sneered, and he threw the mask at her.
“You are lucky I’m a good catch. You might have crushed some of your flowers, and then where would your bees be?”
“I trusted you to catch it, and I see that my faith is rewarded,” he said, smiling broadly. “I am planning on some stew tonight, if you would like to join me. Nothing too elaborate, I’m afraid. Some of us are still merely middle-class wretches.”
Mouse threw the mask back at him, and it narrowly avoided his roses before he caught it.
Darkness settled over the cottage, a reminder that the teasing spring had not settled down over the country yet, despite the day’s warmth.
Mouse’s eyes kept drifting to the windows, marking the forest’s edge and waiting for a flash of gray or the lurch of a moving tree.
“And then Mrs.Woodhouse told me that her son ran away with a dairymaid from Sidmouth.”
Mouse swallowed sharply, coughed once, and looked from the window to John’s face. He lifted his eyebrow.
“Caught red-handed,” Mouse said, sheepish.
“At least I only had to say something slightly ridiculous to reel you back. I will never forget the time I had you nodding along to Mr.Green’s plan to bring elephants to the village.”
“I am sorry.”
“No need to apologize. Everything’s been mad lately. I’d be surprised if you weren’t feeling the effects.” He took a hasty bite of stew, and Mouse did the same, proud that she only glanced toward the woods once. John dabbed his mouth with his napkin before continuing. “If you want to talk about anything, you know I’m here.”
She stared down at her bowl, noting how orange the circles of carrots were against the red brown of the broth. She could not help herself. “Did Roger ever talk to you about our mother?”
The question confused him, Mouse could see, but John nodded. “He spoke of her often.”
She took a deep breath. “Did he mention the Faerie stories she told us?”
John put his spoon down. “In passing. They seemed like the ones told in the village—probably the same ones my gran told me.”
“Did your gran believe in Faeries?”
“Of course; everyone believes in them.”
“That’s not what I meant. Did your gran believe they were still in the mortal world?”
John laughed. “I’m sure she did, like anyone her age.”
“My mother thought they never left. That they still watch us,” Mouse said quietly.
John’s smile vanished. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound dismissive. I would never want to seem disrespectful to your mother’s or my grandmother’s beliefs. That would be hypocritical.”
“But you don’t think that Faeries are still here?”