by Nancy Warren
“Would you like another drink?” he asked politely. I knew enough about British pub culture to know that this was my round. I said, “Would you?”
His eyes twinkled attractively when he smiled.. “You’ve yawned twice in the last five minutes. I think if you have another drink, you’ll fall asleep at the table.”
I put a hand over my mouth to stifle another yawn. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.” Partly thanks to him coming into the shop in the wee hours. Then, twice last night I’d woken, thinking she was standing at the bottom of my bed. “It’s been such a shock.”
“Come on, then. Let’s get you home.”
As we got up to leave, I saw the goth girl I’d seen yesterday when I first arrived in Oxford. I probably wouldn’t have noticed her if she hadn’t seen us and ducked behind the young guy she was with. Unfortunately, when she did, she bumped into a waitress carrying a tray of food and sent a plate of fish and chips crashing to the ground.
Goth girl walked away as though the disaster was nothing to do with her, but Rafe stepped into her path. “You’re not old enough to drink,” he said in a warning tone.
She glared at him. “Yes, I am. I just don’t look my age.” She sounded like a whiny teen, and she sure looked like a whiny teen. I was willing to bet she was lying her pouty face off.
“Go home,” Rafe said, “Before you get into trouble.”
He was old enough to be her father but I hadn’t pictured him having kids, somehow. They glared at each other. Cold blue eyes to hot brown ones. There was never any contest. Within ten seconds she was dropping her gaze and turning away. I don’t know what she said to her guy, but he followed her as she stalked out of the pub.
I didn’t ask, but my curiosity was so rampant Rafe could probably see it. He said, “She’s the daughter of a friend of mine. She’s at a difficult age.”
I felt a stab of sympathy for the girl. “When you’re that age it seems as though you’ll never be old enough for all the adult privileges and the teenage years will last for all eternity.”
“For Hester, they may.”
I laughed. “Do you have children of your own?”
He looked down his nose at me. “Not that I’m aware of.” Spoken like a Regency rake.
We left the pub. The streets felt utterly silent and empty after the noise and bustle. I’ve never believed in time travel, but when you walk around Oxford late at night, you are walking through history. Except, of course, for the cars parked on the side of the road and a food truck sitting alone outside the Sheldonian selling kebabs.
The air was crisp, the night clear, and apart from our footsteps the only sound was an owl letting out a haunting cry as it circled, no doubt looking for some unlucky mouse.
When we reached Cardinal Woolsey’s, I saw something move in the shadows. I jumped, then the shadow resolved itself into the shape of a black cat. No, not a cat. A kitten, with a skinny body so I worried that it had no home. Its green eyes glowed as the moonlight caught them and it took a dainty step toward me. I wanted to check for a collar and make sure the poor thing wasn’t homeless, but when Rafe came up beside me the cat melted back into the darkness.
Before I unlocked the door, I turned to Rafe. “Thank you for the drink. I’m going to bed now. Why don’t you come back tomorrow to look at the book?”
I thought he would argue, and then, obviously seeing that I had no intention of letting him inside, he said, “Of course. Perhaps tomorrow evening?”
“That would be fine.”
He looked down at me and for a crazy moment I thought he was going to kiss me. The moment stretched. He said, “I hope you decide to stay.”
CHAPTER 5
Before I could decide how to answer, or even what he meant by those cryptic words, he had turned and was walking away down the street.
I let myself in and just for a second I wished that I had invited Rafe inside. I wondered how long it would take until the urge to call out for my grandmother faded. I wondered if I would stay here long enough to find out.
After making sure that the door was securely locked behind me, I went upstairs to the flat. I was glad that Rafe had reminded me of our family book. As tired as I was, I knew I wouldn’t sleep until I had looked through it to see if Gran had added her own chapter to our story. Knowing how much she loved history, I suspected she had. I went straight into the living room, switched on lamps, and knelt in front of the glass-fronted bookcase where she’d kept her treasured books. As far as I knew, the family diary had been there forever. Certainly as long as I had been coming here. Gran loved books, and her house was filled with everything from the classics to knitting books to popular paperbacks, but the special ones were in this cabinet.
There was the family Bible, an early, illustrated collection of Dickens’s complete works, obscure books of various sizes and antiquity, and some old tomes on folklore and herbs. I’d never really studied the books. They’d just always filled the cabinet. If she hadn’t made a point of showing me that family diary, I probably wouldn’t have known it was there. I opened the bookcase. The key was in the lock as always and I turned it carefully and opened the glass doors. The book wasn’t in the spot where I’d remembered it, the top row towards the right-hand side.
I carefully looked at the titles one by one. Our family history wasn’t there. I looked again, more slowly this time, pulling out any book that appeared remotely similar to the one I remembered, but still, I didn’t find the book. I closed the cabinet at last, feeling puzzled. Gran wasn’t the sort to leave a book that was both precious and fragile out somewhere. If she’d been reading it, she’d have marked her place with a bookmark and returned the book to its spot. Well, she must’ve moved the book to a new home, and now I would have to find it.
I yawned so wide my jaw cracked. The sleepless night, and that glass of sherry, were catching up with me. I would search properly for that book in the morning.
I was barely settled in bed, and beginning to float in that twilight between being completely awake and completely asleep when I heard something at my window. No doubt it was the wind, or the old place settling for the night. I turned on my side facing the wall and ignored it.
The sound came again, like someone tapping on the window. A shiver of fear ran over my skin and my eyes popped open wide. I cursed every horror movie I had ever seen, and the entire works of Stephen King, as I reached out and turned on the lamp on my bedside table. I picked up my cell phone, but I felt a little foolish calling 999 to report unidentified tapping on the window. I would have to investigate.
The floor felt cold under my bare feet. I clutched my phone ready to call for help as I edged closer to the window. When I heard a pathetic and plaintive meow, the fear was immediately washed away by relief. I recognized the black cat. It was the same one that had been hanging around outside the shop’s front door. It stared at me through the dark glass and meowed again. I opened the window and the cat stepped inside and onto the windowsill.
“Well, look at you,” I said, putting out my hand to stroke the silky fur. The cat arched its back against my palm and began to purr immediately. To be honest, I was delighted to have another living thing in the house. “You’re so skinny. Doesn’t anyone feed you?”
By way of answer, the cat meowed again, jumped down onto the floor and circled, its furry body brushing my legs. I leaned down to check but there was no collar.
“You know, in Egypt, they worship the cat. You should go there, you’d have a better life.”
Having spent more time at digs in Egypt and the Sudan than I’d spent at summer camp meant I was full of strange facts about the past. “Bastet, that’s the name of the cat goddess. Bastet,” I said. “Is that your name?”
You have to remember how completely sleep deprived I was, and forgive me for this inane conversation I was having with a kitten. Did I really think it was going to answer me? It gave me a look as though thinking it had chosen the wrong window.
I didn’t know much about
cats, but I had a strong feeling that this one was hungry. And yes, I asked if it was hungry and would like some milk, and the cat meowed. I picked it up and the small, warm body curled comfortably against my chest as we walked downstairs and into the kitchen. I poured a dish of milk into one of the flowered china bowls and placed it on the floor. I didn’t want to think of the tiny creature as ‘it’ so I played with names.
The kitten sat, curled her tail around herself and began to lap at the milk. I wasn’t completely sure the kitten was a her, not wanting to pry, but I thought it was female.
As I looked at her shiny black fur and thought of her being out in the night, I recalled the story about Nyx, the daughter of Chaos, and goddess of night. “Nyx,” I said aloud, and I could have sworn the kitten gave a nod of approval. I pronounced her name to rhyme with tricks as she seemed like a tiny trickster.
I hadn’t done much in the way of grocery shopping, and I didn’t see anything in the fridge that would appeal to a cat. When I searched through the food cupboard I found a tin of lobster pâté, which I opened and put on a plate. The cat made short work of the lobster pâté, then finished the milk, and looked at me as though waiting for the next item on the agenda.
It was too late to try and find the owner, and I didn’t want to send the small creature back out into the night. I remembered that owl circling the area, hunting, and decided to let my new friend stay if it wanted to. I went back to the bedroom and Nyx followed me.
I opened the window wide enough that she could leave if she wanted to and then got back into bed. She stared at me, blinked, and then jumped up onto the bed. She curled up beside me and immediately went to sleep. I switched out the light and settled myself. It was nice having the cat curled up, warm against my side, and purring softly. I had the feeling that neither of us wanted to be alone tonight. It was my last thought before I fell into a deep sleep.
I woke suddenly without knowing what had woken me. Was it a dream? I had a sense of darkness, and someone had screamed, but I couldn’t capture the dream. Or was it a noise that had woken me? I blinked against the darkness. I’ve read many times that if you wake in the night and want to get back to sleep, it’s best not to look at the time. I looked anyway. It was three in the morning. I calculated I’d slept about four hours. I tried to settle myself once more for sleep but a small, furry head butted itself against my shoulder. I reached out to pat the kitten but it evaded my hand and kept butting me. Maybe she wanted to go out. I didn’t know that much about cats, but I had left the window open, and assumed that if the kitten could climb up from the street and tap on my window, then she could walk back out again. But, it seemed the cat had other ideas. “All right,” I said at last and reached out to turn on the lamp.
The cat led me straight to the kitchen, and when I’d poured her a saucer of milk, she lapped the milk greedily. “I hope you’re a good mouser. And just so we start off on the right foot, don’t think you need to leave me dead rodents as gifts. I’ll take your purring as thanks.”
She lifted her head, looked at me, and burped.
CHAPTER 6
I awoke the next morning feeling much better. The heavy weight of grief still pressed upon my chest, but it’s amazing what a solid night of sleep will do for a person’s perspective. The kitten was still in my bed and rolled around playfully when I stroked her belly. I knew I was going to have to start searching for her real owner, but given how skinny she was, I wasn’t in a big hurry. This morning I decided I would find that book, try to track down my parents again by telephone, and make some definite decisions about what I was going to do with this shop, and my future.
I put on a pair of the purple and green hand-knit socks I found in the top drawer of the bureau in my room, wrapped myself in my robe, and padded down to the kitchen. I made myself coffee and toast, and Nyx enjoyed a dish of deviled crab which had lain hidden in the back of the cupboard. I suspected it and the lobster pâté had been part of a gift basket. There were no other cans that were likely to tempt Nyx, though, so I decided to visit the Full Stop.
After showering and dressing in my best jeans and a black sweater, I wrote a note saying that if anyone was missing a small black kitten, they should call my mobile. Full Stop had a community board, where I could pin my notice, and no doubt the Watt sisters would display one too.
This reminded me that I hadn’t changed over to a UK plan for my phone, so I did that first. I dithered for a second over which plan to take. I usually go with a one month pay-as-you-go, but if I was staying, I should get a proper plan. Was I staying? I was still far from certain, so I stuck with my usual temporary plan and put the number on my homemade flyers.
The cat regarded me with its head tipped to one side, as though she was considering whether she wanted to stay with me or not. She was so adorable I laughed. Her green-gold eyes seemed to glow and I thought I’d angered her. I shook my head. How foolish I was acting over a kitten.
There was a good chance that someone in the neighborhood would recognize the cat so, I decided to take her with me. Nyx seemed quite amenable to this idea and when I repurposed one of the wicker baskets that we used to store wool and placed a folded towel into the bottom, she quite happily jumped in.
We made the short stroll up to the grocer’s. An older gentleman was running the cash register. I politely made my request, and if he looked slightly askance at a cat in his food store, he was too polite to throw us out. I find people in the UK are much more tolerant of animals in shops than I’m used to in the States.
On the community board were such delightful announcements as that private tutoring was available in Latin, bell ringers were wanted at one of the churches (previous experience helpful) and someone had a pianoforte for sale. Who knew pianofortes were so expensive? Someone was looking for accommodation, and someone else was offering a room in a house. It seemed those two should talk.
There was no note, however, asking for the return of a small black cat. I pinned my own notice up in a prominent spot and then began to collect a few items to purchase.
There weren’t many options in the cat food department. When I held the basket up and showed Nyx the choices, she turned her body all the way around as though she wouldn’t lower herself to look at canned cat food. I’d have thought this was a coincidence except that I noticed her tiny paw stretched out behind me and when I turned I was standing in front of a selection of tinned fish.
Surely not. A tiny kitten couldn’t possibly recognize canned seafood, could she? I stepped closer and held the basket up. Nyx stretched out her paw and touched the cans of tuna. I put three in the basket and then, thinking that that a steady diet of tuna might be dull, offered her such options as salmon—sockeye or pink—mackerel, oysters, and sardines. Her paw remained inside the basket.
“Okay,” I said. “Tuna it is.”
For myself, I picked up some eggs, a block of cheese, a fresh loaf of bread, and a packet of tea. I was about to reach for a bottle of milk when I nearly collided with a man bent on the same task.
“After you,” he said, drawing back and allowing me first choice of the milk on display. If I was a cat, I’d have purred. He had fair, wavy hair, humorous-looking green eyes and the kind of skin that freckles in the sun. He wasn’t much taller than me, but he looked like he worked out. He wore black trousers, a white shirt and a tie loosened at the neck.
I had a momentary impression that he’d seen and done things he’d rather not have. I didn’t want to stand in the middle of the small shop and stare, though he was definitely stare-worthy, so I thanked him, helped myself to a pint of semi-skim and went to the front counter to pay.
While the older gentleman rang up my purchases, I said, “I’m wondering if you recognize this cat. She seems to be a stray.”
The man did not appear to be a cat lover. He gave the briefest of glances into the basket and shook his head, disapprovingly, I thought. “No. Haven’t seen it before.”
The hottie who’d almost bumped into me over the m
ilk lined up behind me, holding a chocolate bar and a ready-made sandwich along with his milk. The man behind the register jutted his chin at him. “You’d best ask him. He’s a policeman. They know about missing persons.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Missing persons?”
“He’s joking. This cat appears to have mislaid its owner.”
He looked from the cat to me. “Or found a new one.”
“I’m not sure I want a cat. I’m not even sure I’m staying.”
“You’re American,” he said. “Attending one of the colleges?”
I shook my head. “I can’t even imagine being smart enough to go to one of the Oxford colleges. Do you go to college here?”
“Mr. Teasdale was correct. I’m a local police officer.”
I nodded. “I’d guessed military.”
I paid for my groceries and, with a nod, left the store. I hadn’t gone far when the police officer caught up with me. I was flattered before I realized that he was about to pass me, and was simply a quicker walker than I was. Before he got more than a step ahead of me I said, “Could I ask you something?”
He turned. “Of course.”
I couldn’t stop thinking about Gran’s broken glasses, those few spots of what I thought were blood on the floor, and signs that her shop had been rapidly tidied up by someone who didn’t know where things belonged. There were so many things I didn’t understand. “My grandmother died a few weeks ago.”
“I’m very sorry to hear it.”
“Thank you. The thing is, I wasn’t here, and all I know is that she apparently died in her sleep. I don’t even know what was wrong with her. Would there be some kind of coroner’s report?”
He looked at me curiously. "You’ll want to ask your grandmother's doctor for that information. It wouldn't be a police matter." He kept his gaze on my face and I had the feeling that he could see inside my head to the worries I had about those broken glasses.