by Tania Crosse
It would take Mr Peregrine a minute or two to go upstairs and find what he was looking for, so while Meg waited back in the drawing room, she cast her eye over some rough sketches he’d left on a side table. He was mainly famed for his land and especially seascapes, but also had a talent for painting animals. Meg picked up a sketch of one of Mrs C’s cats pawing at a butterfly, and there was also a barely started one of a horse in a field he’d seen on a walk a day or two beforehand.
Meg hadn’t had much time for painting of late, but seeing Mr Peregrine’s beautiful artwork suddenly stimulated her own creativity. She simply couldn’t resist the urge. And surely Mr Peregrine wouldn’t notice one sheet missing from his sketch pad? Meg picked up a pencil from a selection in the box left next to the sketches. She’d start with a medium lead. Inspired by Mr Peregrine’s own drawing, she began to imagine exactly what dear Duchess had looked like, her shape, her muscles, her markings, every line of her body…
The magic obliterated all else as Duchess appeared on the paper before her, and Meg didn’t notice Peregrine return until he was standing beside her. She felt her pulse start galloping and she dropped the pencil at once.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr Peregrine. I-I’ll pay for the paper.’
‘No, you won’t, my dear.’ For a second, Meg’s heart was in her mouth. She’d done it now, hadn’t she? But then Mr Perry peered more closely at her drawing, a deep frown pleating his forehead. ‘Clarrie said you were good at art, but I didn’t realise you were this good. Where did you learn?’
‘Oh, I always liked drawing and sketching,’ Meg answered, somewhat embarrassed. ‘It used to be a hobby of mine. But I used watercolours, not oils. I mainly did plants and still lifes, though. Animals were never my forte.’
‘I wouldn’t say that. I think that’s quite remarkable. Now you keep the sketch pad and the pencils.’
‘Oh, that’s very kind, sir,’ Meg faltered. ‘But I do have some of my own.’
‘Well, you keep these as well. Keep practising, and next time we come to stay, you can show me what you’ve done.’
‘Oh, thank you, sir,’ she answered, quite taken aback.
‘You have a natural talent. One which I hope extends to removing paint from carpets,’ he winked hopefully.
Meg found herself grinning back, and then set to work. She got down on her hands and knees and carefully scooped up the worst using the blade of the palette knife. Then she rubbed the remainder with a turpentine-soaked rag, working inwards to avoid spreading the stain. After several attempts, using clean areas of the rag each time, the bright red spot had all but disappeared.
‘There. Once it’s dry, I don’t think anyone would know. And the smell of turpentine will soon go with the French doors open, but I’ll spot wash it with some nice-smelling soap as well.’
‘Ah, my dear little friend, it will be our little secret, won’t it? You have truly saved my bacon. But if the truth ever comes out, I will impress upon Clarrie that I swore you to secrecy. I wouldn’t have you get into trouble on my account.’
He was looking at her, half amused, half pleading. It was a unique expression, mischievous and yet grave. Meg couldn’t help thinking that if Esme had indeed plotted against her, not only had her plan backfired, but it had led to a rapport developing between herself and Mr Peregrine. And it felt to Meg that, although she’d lost her own dear family, she was being drawn more and more into the heart of a new one. So Esme had done her a favour. And wouldn’t she be peeved when she realised!
Twenty-Five
Autumn 1937
‘Has anyone seen Mercury?’
The big house had seemed so empty since everyone had left. Mr Peregrine and his family had gone home to Cornwall, and shortly afterwards, Vic had driven Mr W, Mrs C and Nana May down to join them for a couple of weeks by the sea before the autumn set in. The little party was due back the following day, and Meg was looking forward to seeing them again.
‘Fed up with you doing all those blooming sketches of him every evening, I expect, and decided to keep away,’ Esme declared, smoothing the nasty edge to her voice as Mrs Phillips was in the kitchen with them.
‘Well, I’ve done all my jobs for the day,’ Meg went on, ignoring her remark. ‘But if anyone needs me, I’ve gone out to look for him.’
‘And I’ve got to get off home,’ Mrs Phillips announced. ‘I’ve already had some of the casserole but it’s waiting in the oven for whenever the rest of you want to eat. So I’ll see you in the morning. And don’t worry, Meg, Mercury will turn up soon enough when he gets hungry. Been off on some adventure of his own, I expect. Well, goodnight, everyone.’
Meg followed the cook outside and, as she watched her depart, stood for a moment, wondering which way to go. The pack of dogs were left free to roam, but always kept together unless Patch decided his old legs weren’t up to it and he took a snooze in some nice warm spot instead. But at the end of the day, they all materialised in the kitchen wanting to be fed. So why hadn’t Mercury, who loved his stomach, appeared with the others?
The cool, September evening air made Meg shiver, and she drew her cardigan more tightly about her. Where should she start? The dogs had never been known to wander beyond the estate. There was too much fun to be had about the grounds and particularly the woods at the back. Perhaps she’d head that way first.
Dusk was gathering, a faint mist rising in diaphanous ribbons above the lake. Mercury was nowhere to be seen, but perhaps he’d got caught up in some brambles somewhere in the woods. Yes, that must surely be it.
Meg hurried down the grass and around to the far side of the lake, calling Mercury’s name and expecting him to plunge out of the woods at any second. He didn’t. Meg scurried in among the trees, heart hammering. Her instinct was to run, but she could miss something. She must be systematic in her search, and had to hold back her growing anxiety as she scanned the undergrowth in blocks. But nothing. Inside the woods, it was getting too dark to see. She’d have to go back to the house to fetch a torch and also put on a coat. And anyway, she’d probably missed Mercury somehow and she’d find him back in the kitchen, wolfing down his supper.
As she went back to the house and headed inside to the kitchen, her gaze at once leapt to his bowl. It was still full.
‘Oh, no.’
Her hand went over her mouth as panic gripped her. She felt her legs begin to wobble, her whole body shaking. Oh, Lord, where was he?
‘You all right, Meg?’ Ralph asked anxiously, coming in through the door.
‘No,’ Meg answered, her breath quivering. ‘I’ve been outside looking for ages, but I can’t find Mercury anywhere, and he’s not been back for his dinner.’
She saw Ralph frown. ‘That’s odd. I’ll help you look if you like. It’s almost dark, though, so we’ll need to get some torches.’
‘Would you? Oh, thanks, Ralph.’
‘Well, you must be worried. Come on.’
They went back outside, setting off at a fair pace, and Meg struggled to keep up with Ralph’s long stride as the crippling panic in her belly drained her strength. They instinctively made for the woods, calling, flashing their torches into the darkness. They split up but kept within earshot of each other. The tree trunks loomed silvery and eerie from the shadows, silently keeping their secrets. Meg stopped to listen in case Mercury was trapped somewhere and was whining softly, then struck out again, calling, calling, a horrible, empty terror screwing down inside her.
‘We’d better get some more help,’ Ralph told her. ‘Mum and Dad and Bob will all come, and Louise, too. I’ll round them all up. I won’t ask Esme, though. She wouldn’t lift a finger, and we don’t want Jane coming. She’d only get lost and we’d end up looking for her, too.’
‘Yes, you go and get some more help. I’ll go on looking.’
‘On your own? In the dark?’
‘I’ll be all right. I can’t stop till I find him.’
Her voice was a thin, desperate squeal. Ralph didn’t argue, but hurried
away back towards the cottage where his parents lived. Meg launched herself into the inky blackness of the autumnal night once more. Each time she stopped to listen, silence struck back at her. She pushed on, strands of loose hair falling into her eyes, her clothes catching on brambles, thorns scratching across her face. Twice she caught her foot and stumbled, the second time twisting her ankle. But she must hobble on. Nothing mattered but finding Mercury, all she had left in the world to love and to hold. But with every second that passed, the chasm of despair in her stomach widened. She shone her torch into the undergrowth, tearing at it with her bare hands, oblivious to her torn skin. She must find him soon!
Shortly, she became aware of other beams of light, people’s voices. If she hadn’t been so blinded by panic, Meg’s heart would have sung out her thanks. But just now, her senses were paralysed with fear.
How long was it, an hour or two, before everyone congregated back on the lawn. ‘I’m sorry, Meg, but this is useless,’ Gabriel was saying. ‘If he hasn’t turned up on his own by daylight, we’ll start again then.’
A whimper of protest lodged in her throat, but Meg knew she couldn’t expect anyone to go on searching. ‘Yes. Thank you.’ Her mouth moved mechanically, but her feet wouldn’t move from the spot as she watched them all leave. The agony of the night, of waiting, would be too much.
‘Come on. Back to the house.’ Bob’s voice at her elbow drew her from her nightmare.
‘No, I can’t,’ she barely croaked. ‘I’ve got to keep on going.’
‘No. You’re exhausted,’ Ralph put in. ‘Take her back to the house, Bob. I’ll go on looking.’
Meg was grateful to Ralph for continuing to search, but she knew he was right. She was dropping. It was all she could do to limp back up to the house on Bob’s arm. The kitchen was warm, and Bob made her eat a little of the casserole before he took himself off to bed. Meg promised to do the same, but she knew she wouldn’t settle, so instead she sank into Mrs Phillips’s chair by the range. Weariness clawed at her, and finally her mind crept away, escaping to oblivion.
She awoke with a start. A faint glimmer of daylight had broken through her agonised, fitful sleep, the memory of the night ripping into her mind.
She grabbed her coat and ran outside into the misty dawn, the pain in her ankle bringing her up short again as she viewed the beautiful, familiar grounds. Dew shimmered among the gossamer on the grass, the trees suddenly seemed tinged with autumn gold, a damp tang stung in her nostrils. Stillness. Quiet. Just faint birdsong.
A figure was emerging from the woods, staggering slightly. Carrying something large and black and white in its arms. Meg catapulted forward, numbed with relief, her feet falling over each other. But as she and Ralph came closer to each other, Meg realised that the body of the dog he carried was stiff, paws dangling, head hanging to one side, tongue lolling out of its mouth. It couldn’t be Mercury. It mustn’t. But the awful truth sliced into her heart.
She saw Ralph shake his head, lines of fatigue deep on his face. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, and bent to lay the lifeless body at her feet.
Meg stared down, rebellious, not wanting to believe. Her legs gave way and she sank on her knees. Her trembling hand reached out and touched the cold, dead fur. And the scrap of strength that had somehow kept her alive for the past sorrowful year finally withered and died.
*
‘This is a matter for the police,’ Wigmore declared gravely.
‘Yes. I’ve already called them,’ Ralph informed him. ‘They were busy this morning but they said they’d send someone immediately after lunch, so they should be here soon. I’m so sorry to have had to land this on yourself and Mrs C before you’ve even got in the door. But the police could turn up at any minute and you’d have been wondering what was going on.’
‘And where’s poor Meg now?’ Clarissa’s face was distraught with concern.
‘Lying down. Jane’s with her. She was in such a state, we called the doctor and he gave her a sedative. I hope you don’t mind.’
Wig flapped his hand dismissively. ‘Not at all. Very sensible. Poor child must be devastated after all she’s been through.’
Ralph nodded, although he couldn’t bring himself to tell them just how broken Meg had been by the dreadful discovery. She’d been silent for some minutes, staring as her hand stroked through Mercury’s thick, soft coat. She couldn’t believe he was dead. Was in utter shock. Then, as her slender shoulders shook, Ralph could hear her snatched breaths as her sobs erupted. When she lifted her bowed head to him, tears already streaked her grief-ravaged face. And then such a furious, white-hot rage contorted her expression that for an instant, Ralph had almost felt afraid.
‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ she’d snarled accusingly. ‘Because he kept going on your precious flower beds.’
‘Me?’ Ralph was appalled, jerking backwards. ‘How could you think—’
‘That’s why you knew where to find him! You hid him where no one else’d find him, and then you could claim you had and no one would suspect it was you!’
Her face was vicious, savage, and Ralph had blinked uncomprehendingly at her.
‘How could you possibly think that?’ he defended himself. ‘D’you honestly think I’d have stayed out the whole night pretending to look for him? Or that I could kill a dog? Come on, Meg, you know I could never do such a dreadful thing.’
‘But you did!’ she insisted, her face crumpling now. ‘I know it was you. It was, it was.’ Her voice had petered out in a lame squeal. Fragile. Defeated. There was nothing left, and her agony had to lash out at something. Someone. Her small fists began to pummel at Ralph’s chest, but there was no strength in them. He had finally managed to catch her flailing wrists, holding them as gently as he could. She glared up at him, eyes flashing dangerously as they flooded with tears again.
Ralph had dragged her towards him, unable to bear her anguish. The natural, the only, thing to do. Poor kid. If only he could make it better for her, but he couldn’t.
She had pulled away almost instantly, her arms encompassing the furry body as if she would pour her own being into it and bring it back to life. She shook it, stroked it, howled as the awful truth that her beloved dog was dead began to sink into her head. There was nothing Ralph could do but drop on his knees beside her, his hand silently on her shoulder.
He was grateful when Mr W’s voice rescued him from the heart-wrenching memory of just a few hours earlier.
‘You’re sure the dog was poisoned?’ he was asking.
‘Yes.’ Ralph had to clear his throat as he spoke. ‘Wouldn’t surprise me if it wasn’t strychnine. His back was arched and rigid. And it’s quick-acting, which would be why he didn’t make it back to the house. But I expect the police will be able to confirm it.’
‘How could anyone be so cruel.’ Clarrie was clearly aghast. ‘To think it happened here, at our home. It really is frightening. And the other dogs are all right?’
‘Yes. We’ve kept them in the house just in case. It must’ve been deliberate. We’ve contacted all the adjoining landowners just in case Mercury had strayed off the estate, but none of them had put down anything to kill vermin. What we don’t know is if it was fed directly to Mercury, or whether it was left somewhere as bait for any of the dogs. But if it was, you’d have thought one of the others would’ve eaten some, too. But we thought it best not to do a thorough search until the police have been.’
‘Of course. Very wise,’ Clarrie agreed, clutching at her husband’s arm. ‘I suppose we’ll have to keep a very strict eye on everything. It really is shocking. And poor Meg, after all she’s been through. And just when she was settling in so well.’
‘It’s certainly all very worrying.’ Wig rubbed his hand across his chin. ‘I agree from what you say that it must’ve been a deliberate attempt to get at us. But why? And the thing is, what next? It could be something even more serious if someone’s got such a grudge against us. And who could it be? We need to find whoever it is before
they strike again. Now, let me think. I’ve managed to scrape by without laying anyone off from the factory for about eighteen months now. And before that, I’ve always helped anyone who couldn’t find another job with money from the fund. So… I don’t know. I just hope the local bobbies are going to be competent enough to get to the bottom of this, but until they do, we’re all going to have to be most vigilant. Most vigilant indeed.’
*
‘Oh, Meg, my poor, poor lamb, I’m so dreadfully sorry!’
Clarrie had asked Jane to let her know as soon as Meg began to emerge from her drug-induced sleep. She hurried immediately up two flights of stairs to the servants’ rooms in the attic, ignoring all propriety. For this was her Meg, and she was going to offer her all the comfort a mother would have done. ‘Whoever could’ve done such a despicable thing?’ she murmured, as she perched on the edge of the bed and wrapped her arm about Meg’s shoulders.
Whoever indeed, Meg thought bitterly as the fog of sleep cleared. Mrs C’s words enflamed the raw memory of when Ralph had materialised from the mist-enshrouded woods carrying Mercury’s body.
Meg just wanted to be left alone, but people always wanted to express their heartfelt sympathies. And though sometimes you almost wished they wouldn’t, you knew they were only being kind and had to accept it. Even thank them for it.
Meg knew that from when her parents had died, almost a year to the day. The approaching anniversary had already brought her grief flooding back even before the horror of Mercury’s death. At least the former had been the result of Nathaniel Green’s reckless driving, whereas it seemed Mercury had been deliberately poisoned, whatever the culprit’s intentions. Meg wasn’t sure which was worse. All she knew was that it seemed that every link with her past, her true self, had been cruelly severed. And now she had nothing left.