Charles blustered on, as though speaking quickly would prevent the wound of the war from festering. “Lord Dewhurst had a sister whodisgraced herself years ago by running off with an Irish gardener. She even married him. Her father, the old lord, disinherited her, but after the death of the heir, her son was next in line. He’s no longer in the running either.”
Mouse felt a prick of indignation, but she pushed it down. The carriage was silent for a moment, each person aware of the presence of the war, but unwilling to broach it. Beside Mouse, James’s breath hitched.
Finally, Dorothy spoke. Her tone was hollow. “So, it is to be demolished, then?”
“I don’t know. I understand that the disinherited sister had another child, a girl. I could not find any information in the society papers. And considering that she is half Irish and a gardener’s daughter, who could blame them for not printing anything?” He shook his head, his tone brightening. “Anyway, I chose not to include it in our itinerary—too much scandal, not enough fun. Don’t you agree, James?”
James did not respond. Against Mouse’s side, she felt a quiver run through his body. His eyes bulged, and he gasped like a rabbit caught in a trap. Dorothy shrieked as he slumped in his seat.
“Good God, James!” Charles cried, crumpling the map as he rushed to his friend’s side. Mouse’s instincts flared, and she was on her feet.
“Take his arm and have him drink this,” Mouse barked, forcing her thermos into Charles’s hands. Dorothy and Charles stared at her, their mouths agape. She fought the urge to snap at them. “If you want to help him, do as I say.”
Mouse pulled her bag down from the rack above, digging through it even before it landed on the seat. None of her sedatives came with her to England, but she had an unopened pack of cigarettes tucked between her socks. It would have to do. She held out the packet to James. He stared at her, his expression wide and panicked.
“Take one. It will help,” Mouse said. “Trust me, I’ve seen my fair share of shell shock.”
“I do not want to be a bother,” he gasped. His cheeks were flushed, and Mouse could not tell if it was from embarrassment or lack of oxygen.
“It’s no bother—they aren’t even mine. I confiscated them from a man in a hospital ward. Mustard gas and cigarettes do not mix well, in my experience. You would be doing me a favor by ridding me of the temptation. I do not want to fall into the habit.”
James opened the package with practiced grace, despite his trembling fingers, and tapped out a cigarette. Charles rustled up a lighter from his luggage, and soon a cloud of smoke filled the cabin.
“You are interested in Faeries,” Mouse said, keeping her voice soft as she sank back down into her seat.
“Yes,” James said.
“He studied them at university, before—” Dorothy’s sentence cut off at Charles’s warning look.
“My goal was to collect Faerie folklore from southern England. I do not know how successful I’ll be if just talking about an old house leaves me in shambles,” James joked feebly.
“I have a story, if you would like to hear it,” Mouse offered. “It is about that house in Tithe.”
“That’s not—” Charles started.
“Yes, please,” James cut in around another puff of the cigarette.
“Have some tea, and I’ll start.”
James hummed, pressing the thermos to his lips, and Mouse began, closing her eyes as she fell into the familiar rhythm of the words.
“Once, when the road between the mortal world and Faerie was still clear, the Faerie King would grant gifts to his most valued mortal servants. This was partially to reward them, but it was also to keep them within his power. From Faerie beasts and enchanted gowns tocrowns made from Faerie silver and flowers that only grew under Faerie stars, the gifts of the Faerie King were known for their beauty and impossibility. The most coveted of his gifts was a Faerie-blessed house. Such a house would guarantee prosperity, good fortune, and protection from political enemies.”
She heard the map crinkle beneath their shoes as her listeners leaned closer.
“Thistlemarsh Hall was one such house. The Faerie King granted it to the Dewhurst family, a pack of his best warriors and most talented liars. For many years, the Faerie King and the Dewhursts lived peacefully, with the King visiting twice a year and the Dewhursts paying him their tithe of mortal servants and gold.”
“Hence the village’s name?” Dorothy chimed in. Mouse nodded.
“Still, the Dewhursts knew that the Faerie King was a fickle creature. They feared he would take back their Faerie-blessed house, filled with their Faerie treasure, so they came up with a plan to keep it from him forever.
“Like all Faeries, the King loved games, and his greatest love of all was creating impossible riddles. Knowing this, the Dewhursts proposed a deal. If they could solve his hardest riddle, they could keep Thistlemarsh without paying the tithe. If not, they would return everything to him and remain under his control.
“A rather shocking deal, you might think. The odds seemed stacked against them. But you forget, although Faeries cannot lie, mortals can. They cheated the Faerie King, using a network of spies to discover the answer to the Faerie King’s riddle.
“In his eyes, they answered correctly, and he granted them their reward. By the time he discovered their betrayal, it was too late. The magic was done.
“Furious, the Faerie King laid a curse on Thistlemarsh. He could not have it while the Dewhurst line continued, but the family wouldsuffer for as long as they remained within the walls. Then, when they were laid low and the last of the Dewhursts was defeated, he would reclaim his Faerie-blessed treasure.