The Faerie wandered down the path to a distance no human could hear from, but Mouse noted the curious tilt of his head.
“Miss Mouse, I promised your father I would look after you. I’m not sure what the two of you are up to, but please be careful. I don’t fancy you being alone with him.” Mr.Hobb leaned closer, his voice quiet and gruff. “I would not trust that young man if I were you. I may not be an aristocrat, but I can tell when someone is not quite right. That Thornwood is more than not quite right. I would bet money that he’s dangerous.”
“He’s helping me—”
“I can’t tell you what to do, miss. Just keep an eye on him. Be careful what you promise him in return for his help.”
Her face burned. Could he possibly know that Thornwood was a Faerie? Had he guessed that she’d already made a deal? “What do you mean?”
Mr.Hobb threw his hands up in frustration. Mouse, more disturbed by this slight outburst than she had been by any display of magic, took hold of his wrists. He looked at Thornwood, who had drifted further toward the house. Mouse wondered if it was to give them some privacy or if it was part of his act and he was still eavesdropping.
Mr.Hobb tucked Mouse’s hands between his. “I do not want to be impertinent, but one hears about these fortune-hunter types,” he said. “I worry about you, is all.”
“Thank you for worrying,” Mouse said. “I will keep an eye on him.”
He released her, and her skin stung at the lingering bite of cold in the air. Tilting his hat, he lifted the handles of his empty wheelbarrow and strode down the garden path toward his shed.
Mouse hurried back to Thornwood. Her fingers quivered.
“He is an uncivil fellow,” Thornwood said as soon as she joined him. “But his musings on weeds gave me an idea.”
“Oh?” was all Mouse could manage in response.
“Meet me in the entry hall tonight at midnight.”
“Why not now?” They stopped before the side door entrance. In the windowpane, Mouse saw her curls straining against their plait and frizzing at the ends, encouraged by the moisture in the air.
“I need rest to attempt this experiment tonight. My power is limited, as you know. If I use too much, I will need another tribute from you.”
Anger flashed through her as quick as lightning, and Mouse pulled him off the path into the rose garden close to the house.
“That was not part of our agreement!”
“Neither was breaking a spell that has had at least one hundred years to grow!” he cried.
“Our deal was for a repaired interior. If we need to break a spell to achieve that, then that spell-breaking is part of the agreement.”
He sank onto the bench. The storm brewing between them broke, leaving only exhaustion and the mist settling over the garden. Mouse watched it roll over the top of the trimmed rosebushes, a veil pulled through the air by an invisible hand.
“I will meet you at midnight,” Mouse said at last. “A touch more tact would help, going forward. I do not respond well to being ordered about.”
“I am used to giving commands.”
“And I am used to disobeying them, especially when they are given by pushy aristocrats,” Mouse said. “A fine pair we make.”
She tracked the progress of a bee humming among the new blossoms, its wings dipping below the top of a hedge before lifting again. She realized she hadn’t had John’s honey since returning to Thistlemarsh. She would have to ask for it when she was finally brave enough to see him. Maybe honey cakes could be her next recipe.
Roger would probably eat honey cakes, she thought. He loved honey when they were little, on the rare occasions when they could afford it. She would just have to serve whatever she made with horrible, bitter coffee.
“I will try to be less demanding,” Thornwood said.
Mouse nearly broke her neck, twisting to look at him.
He scowled. “There is no need to look so surprised.”
“Sorry,” Mouse said. “I did not expect that from you unprompted.”
“Obviously,” Thornwood said. He stood, and Mouse noted that his trouser legs were streaked with mud. His chin tilted, following the flight of Mouse’s bee. “I will admit, I initially wrote you off as useless.”