He made it halfway up before it registered what the breaking glass had been. It took little deductive reasoning to know she’d thrown the opium. That had been the only bottle close at hand.
His fingers clutched the railing, stalling his feet. Until that moment, he hadn’t realized how much his weakness disgusted her. For her to cast aside the bottle like that. Even if she could get past his thieving nature, Felicity would never respect him because of the laudanum. Come to think, she’d as much as admitted it, pointing out that delusions must be second nature to him now.
And the most ironic thing of all? He himself wondered if she might be right. What if he’d ruined his mind irreversibly with the drug? What if he’d imagined that shadow in her room last night?
At this point, it didn’t matter. What he saw—or didn’t see—was irrelevant. For he had to walk away and would never know if that turret held the secret to connecting with spirits. And honestly, he no longer cared. Since he’d met Felicity, life had become so much more interesting than death.
Nick slammed his palm against the rail, cast a ravenous glare to the second floor, then turned and came down.
Tobias had the hitch wagon ready the minute Nick stepped out of the castle door with his belongings. Johnny Boy appeared with Nutmeg in tow. The two dogs had become almost inseparable over the past two days. They bounced around his legs in greeting.
He patted them then gestured to the wagon, seeing the stolen pony hitched to the back. “What is this? I planned to take the horse back myself then walk to town.”
Running a hand across his nape, Tobias answered, “Her Ladyship told me last night to give you a ride. Didn’t want you straining your leg, in case you have a setback. It’s a long walk from the countryside to Carnlough.”
Nick studied the messy pile of quilts in the back of the wagon along with the fresh cut evergreen blocks weighing them down. He started to sort through the wood, thinking it might help pass the time to carve on the trip, but Tobias rushed between Nick and the wagon.
“Her Ladyship had me pack blankets in case the rain starts again,” he explained, seeming anxious to get started.
A pine-scented gust of wind clutched Nick’s hat and he wedged it on his head until the brim was secure. The horses nickered, and overhead, a choir of birds worshipped the day. Dawn’s pink was starting to fade, and yellow light filtered through the parting clouds.
Nick and the stable hand nodded to one another, then left without further ado.
As they pulled away from the castle, Nick glanced over his shoulder once. Yes, Felicity cared enough to see him comfortable. But the fact that he didn’t see her watching through her window proved she was relieved for him to go.
The roll of the wagon rumbled through his hips, every dip and rise of the dirt road echoing through the springs and jostling his bones. His insides felt as shaken as his emotions.
He stroked his smooth chin and numbly watched the passing scenery. They were no longer in the depths of the forest but on open terrain—a landscape of rolling hills and plush grass. The earlier rains had dissipated, and he couldn’t even appreciate the fresh air or the clear, dewy morning. For each time he blinked, all he could see was Felicity.
He’d never met a woman so bent on independence. She’d turned down his offer to help her financially that night in the greenhouse because she didn’t want stolen funds.
But perhaps his hands weren’t completely tied.
He tapped his earring. If he were to give this diamond to Tobias … the lad could trade it for necessities at the grocer and mercantile before returning to the castle. It should provide enough supplies to last Felicity and the girls until funding from the peat bog started coming in.
She would have to accept it, knowing what that earring once meant to him.
Once meant.
Shouldn’t it hurt to think of relinquishing this final piece of Mina? The fact that Felicity couldn’t shed the trappings of her shattered past—being as they were etched into her very skin—he’d come to embrace his ability to part with his own as a blessing and a gift.
Incredible. The woman had changed his entire outlook on life.
In his peripheral, Nick caught the sway of Tobias’ fingers guiding the reins. The youth would no doubt be glad when Nick had been dropped at the train station. He would wait until then to hand over the earring.
Then he would leave Carnlough, perhaps even Ireland, and get as far from Felicity and her mysteries as possible. Though he had a sinking feeling she would haunt him even from across the sea’s eternal span.
Seeing the turnoff they needed to take, Nick gestured Tobias to the left. The stable hand cast a skittish glance over his shoulder toward the back of the wagon. With a cluck of his tongue, he guided the horses onto the other dirt road.
Nick’s original plan had been to drop the tiny mare as close to her home as possible without being seen, in hopes the owners or some neighbors would find her wandering around and lead her back. But after all those talks with Felicity, that just didn’t seem good enough anymore.
The wind kicked up again. Coughing a tickle of dust from his throat, Nick patted Johnny Boy’s sun-warmed fur. When they’d left, the dog had curled up on the seat and rested his muzzle on Nick’s thigh as if it were the most natural place to be. Nick grinned, glad to still have his four-legged crony at his side.
Gently tweaking the pit bull’s good ear, he noted the residue of lip rouge outlining the missing ear’s scar with grand sweeps in the shape of flower petals. Apparently, Lia had played dress up with the hound last night in hopes to make him prettier.
“You look like a dandy boy, Johnny.” The dog’s eyes turned up at the sound of Nick’s voice and his tail whipped the seat with a rhythmic thud. “You should be ashamed of yourself, letting Lia paint you up so. Not the way to impress the ladies, you know. I’m surprised Nutmeg gave you a second glance.”
Johnny yawned, not the least bit emasculated and more than happy to be the focus of his master’s undivided attention.
Nick scratched the dog’s muzzle. “Should’ve at least offered some resistance. No doubt you laid there like a toad sunning on a rock. Surprised you didn’t end up with ribbons on your paws.”
“Miss Lia saved those for the hobbie’s mane and tail,” Tobias interrupted, looking stone-faced and straight ahead. “I took them off before tying the pony to the wagon this morn. Good thing we left before she woke. I don’t think she’ll be too happy to find her carousel pony gone.”
Nick’s spirits fell again. It was true. Lia had fallen in love with the pony, even named it.
Butterscotch.
Just another reason for the little sprite to hate him.
“There, Lord Thornton?” Tobias pointed to a thatched-roof cottage which squatted on a small hill just a few yards away. Painted red, it stood out from the brilliant green like a lone winterberry on a bush.
Nick squinted as they rolled closer, recognizing the walking bridge which curved like a dragon’s scaly tail over a trout stream at the side of the tiny house. “That would be the place.”
Behind the cottage, an old woman—shoulders hunched and face wrinkled like a crumpled piece of paper—hung out patched-up union suits to dry. As she pinned each one to the line, their legs and arms danced on the wind, as if performing a jig. She hadn’t noticed her guests yet, oblivious to anything but her labors.
Tobias drew up close to the front door, out of sight of the woman. The home was a bit run down, but charming.
“Wait with the wagon,” Nick said to the stable hand while coaxing the ratty cinnamon-colored pony to follow. Though Johnny loped close behind, offering support, Nick’s pulse drummed uneasily.
The moment the old woman spotted them, she clapped her hands over her withered mouth. “Sir Roland Godfrey.” The breathless words muffled beneath her fingers. Her hazel eyes were directed to Johnny—not to the pony—as if she spoke to him.
The shock of beige-colored hair peaking from her scarf matched Johnny
’s spots. Her eyebrows boasted the same neutral color, making her appear as if she had none at all. She gathered her white apron and gray frock to step around the laundry basket toward them. A gust blew from behind her, and Nick caught the scent of fresh washed clothes and stewed cabbage.
Johnny Boy wagged his tail with surprising enthusiasm as she bent her hunched back to pet him.
“Aye!” she laughed with tears sparkling on her lashes. “Ye look just like Sir Godfrey, ye do! ‘Cept for the missin’ ear.”
Being so preoccupied with Johnny, the woman hadn’t seemed to notice the pony at all.
Letting Johnny lick her hand, she looked up at Nick. “Sorry for the tears.” She mopped her eyes with her apron. “Me dog died just after me husband passed three months ago. Been quiet here without ‘em. Yer ‘bout the same size as Ian … and to see ye walkin’ up with the dog. Well … I’m a foolish old woman, to be sure.”
Feeling a fresh bite of guilt, Nick yanked the pony’s reins to bid her forward so he could take his punishment. The little mare nickered and planted herself behind him, displaying that stubborn streak Nick had wrestled when he first led her to the castle. He twisted around, trying to cajole some obedience.
Johnny yipped and danced around the pony’s dainty feet, not helping matters.
“There there, bonnie bones.” The old woman reached down to scratch Johnny’s ear. “That thief is hardly worth yer labors.”
The statement snapped Nick’s gaze up.
The woman’s grin widened to reveal three teeth on the bottom gums, tucked far in the back. She stood, letting the pony snuffle her hand. “Yep. This hobbie is a thief. Been callin’ on me gardens far too often. I tried to show her that grass is far better fare than cabbages, but she’s stubborn as an ox. Can’t even get her to help me with the chores. Useless as a threadbare rag, she is.”
Nick patted the mare’s neck, at a loss for words.
If possible, the woman’s forehead crinkled more. “I fence her in to keep her from me vegetables, but she’s always breakin’ out. I been thinkin’ of turnin’ her to the hills, but don’t have the heart to leave her all alone. Kind of ye to find her and bring her back.” She hobbled toward the mushroom shaped cottage, motioning for Nick to follow.
Tying the pony’s reins to a post, Nick caught up, uncomfortable with the misunderstanding still lingering between them. The old woman slipped through the back door which hung half off its hinges, in dire need of repair. Nick inhaled the scent of fresh baked pastries.
He ducked across the threshold beneath a queer set of chimes fashioned from a corn-cob pipe and steel gardening tools. A small three-tined cultivator caught on his hat to prompt a clanging song.
The woman chuckled at the sound. “Ian did love a smoke when he gardened.”
Nick worked the tool from his brim, releasing it to collide with the others on another burst of melody.
Soft daylight dusted the tidy one roomed cottage. Glancing at the apple fritters coated with sugar and glistening on a plate, Nick nearly jumped when he saw the table’s headless occupant. A union suit had been stuffed with hay to give it shape. It sat in a wooden chair at the table, as if waiting for its meal. Another union suit was stuffed at its feet, stitched up to look like a dog. Nick struggled to keep curiosity from showing on his face.
The woman turned to him while digging through a sock she’d pulled out of a drawer. “Ah, ye like me scarecrows, do ye?” A jingle of coins punctuated her query.
Nick managed a smirk. “Don’t most people post them outside?”
“Depends on what they be keepin’ at bay. These are to scare away loneliness.”
Her confession rolled around in Nick’s stomach, burning like a lump of glowing coal. Johnny’s adoring brown eyes were turned on the woman, as if he found her just as interesting as a study as Nick did.
“I think three punts be a fair price for bringin’ back a hobbie.” She held out the coin. Unmoving, Nick regarded her trembling, work-gnarled hands. Then his gaze roved the humble little abode.
A portrait of her and her husband, and a dog just like Johnny, hung on the wall over a fireplace harboring a sadly lacking woodpile. A pair of men’s gardening gloves, with the name “Ian” embossed on the faded leather, served as tie-backs for the curtains over the sink. It was as if her husband were still there, holding the draperies open to keep her connected to the outside world. A straw hat, so large it must’ve belonged to Ian as well, balanced on its crown and cradled a thriving potted plant. And to complete the tribute, an abundance of men’s trousers and shirts were folded neatly and set in the corner, as if she couldn’t bear to put them out of sight.
Felicity’s words in the greenhouse came back to him like a vapor on the wind. “Sentimental value. One cannot put a price to that.”
A sudden pang of compassion surged through Nick, imagining how very alone this woman must be to convert her cottage to a shrine of memories. He glanced her way to find her having a conversation with Johnny about the coins. She held them low for the dog to sniff.
It didn’t surprise Nick to see Johnny reaching out. When Nick had been at his lowest point, the dog had burrowed his way into his heart and found something long lost—a sense of humor, a reason to get up every day—revealing that sweet spot with the proficiency of a pig rooting for truffles. Johnny had an uncanny ability to sense what any person was missing and fill that void.
Just as now, the pit bull was drawn by the woman’s loneliness, staying at her feet instead of Nick’s.
An uncomfortable sensation butted against Nick’s sternum. “I can’t accept your money,” he said, forcing his gaze from Johnny.
A befuddled frown on her face, the old woman set aside the punts. “But ye brought the hobbie back. Ye deserve some reward.” The pit bull lifted his front paw to dig at her skirt, distracting her. “Ah, ye like pastries, aye? Apples were Sir Roland’s favorite, too.” Laughing, she broke off a piece of fritter and tossed it down. Johnny dropped to the floor to lick up the crumbs then rolled to his back begging for more, as if it were some routine they had worked out.
Nick watched, baffled and bewildered. As the woman jabbered and fed Johnny another bite, Nick scraped his palm across one of the loose hinges in her skewed door. He didn’t like the direction his thoughts were taking. “I can fix these for you, if you have a screwdriver. A woman needs a sturdy door, for protection.”
Her face brightened, transforming her wrinkles into a hundred smiles. “That be cracker! I did feel safer when I had me dog. But now … well, I been meanin’ to fix it meself, but these old hands not be as steady as they once were.” She squatted to dig through a wooden egg crate beneath the sink.
Nick took the tool she offered. Standing outside on the steps, he propped the wooden panel—every bit as heavy as the weight in his chest—against his thigh for balance. He screwed the hinges back in place. After testing the door’s swing, he opened it to return the screwdriver, only to find the woman holding out the coins again.
Her watery gaze reflected deep gratitude. “For yer trouble.” Johnny laid at her feet, rolled on his back with tail thumping.
Nick cleared his throat against the lump forming. He took a deep breath, hardly able to grasp what he was about to propose. “What say we make a trade instead?”
She waited, puzzled.
Nick launched into the offer before he had time to take it back. “I’ll get the hobbie off your hands if you’ll take my dog. He’s been so long travelling with me, you see. I think he’s ready for a quieter life now.”
As though sensing the bond between Nick and the dog, the woman looked at them alternately. “Ye sure?”
“There’s a darling little girl I know who would be thrilled to have your thieving pony.” Thoughts of Lia’s sleepy smile gave Nick the strength to follow through. He would send the mare back with Tobias.
The old woman’s eyebrows arched to transparent rainbows. “Aye then. A fair trade that be, if ye let me throw in some of Ian’s clothes.” He
r gaze raked over the mended tear in Nick’s pant leg. “Ye look like ye could use a change or two. And take some apple fritters for the road.” Smiling, she wrapped half a dozen pastries in a cotton towel then bundled it all together with several shirts and trousers. She handed him the parcel.
Unable to look at Johnny, Nick forced himself to respond in spite of the freeze upon his soul. “Thank you, Miss…?”
“Hannah,” she answered.
“Miss Hannah. Nice to meet you. I’m Nick.” He tipped his hat then his gaze fell to the pit bull. “And this is Johnny.”
Her toothless gums appeared again. “Johnny. Fine name.”
Nick nodded. “Fine dog. Perhaps I might come visit him one day? I’ve grown rather fond of him … on our journeys together.”
Hannah patted Nick’s arm. “Ye always be welcome here.”
Clenching his jaw, Nick knelt down and curved his free hand around Johnny Boy’s soft head, his lips at the dog’s ear. He breathed in the scent of his fur one last time, hoping to memorize it. “You be good now,” he whispered so only Johnny could hear. “Laugh at all her jokes.”
As he drew back, Johnny Boy licked Nick’s cheek and twisted his black lips to a hearty smile.
Nick stood and turned on his heel. He shoved the door open, ascended the steps, and started toward the pony, pinching the bridge of his nose to stave the burn. He could picture it already. Within a week, he’d be the man his father despised once more. Drugged out and lying in some ditch, a worthless thieving addict. He had nothing to stay sober for now.
“Believe in your own goodness,” said a voice in his head that sounded too much like Felicity’s.
Wrapping the reigns around his wrist, Nick snarled. Brilliant. She’d be haunting him with colloquialisms for the rest of his days. Then again, losing his mind was preferable to being a slave to opium. He cradled the pastries and clothes like a lifeline and started toward the front of the cottage.
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