Slaying is Such Sweet Sorrow (23 page)

“I don’t know that I’d call him a gentleman,” Fiona responded, “with the mouth he’s got on him!”

“Girl looked a bit of a prat,” said Audrey. She picked up her daughter, who had started to fuss, and stuck a pacifier in the baby’s mouth.

“Pre-Dead,” Jilly responded enigmatically. “But did you have a dekko at the brother? Wicked!” From the look on her face, I figured that was not a criticism.

“He’s all right,” said Audrey coolly. “Not a patch on
my
man, though.”

“Well, I’m going to give them a chance,” I said staunchly. “I need some nice neighbors, and at least they’re not weekenders! I’ll go over tomorrow, I’m sure they’ll be more approachable then.”

Everyone dispersed soon after and I turned back to the cottage, looking forward to starting the fourth act of
The Duchess of Malfi,
which Peter said would curl my hair. I’d picked it up at the public library in Oxford and was reading it slowly, one act a day, savoring the gorgeous poetry but always emerging with relief from half an hour in Webster’s merciless world.

Starting up the path, I caught a flash of black in front of me and focused on it long enough to see Muzzle going through the door with, I was pretty sure, a little gray corpse clenched in his teeth.

“Oh, hell,” I muttered. He hadn’t brought a mouse home for a couple of weeks, and I’d thought he finally understood I didn’t appreciate his generosity. But it didn’t bother me the way it had a month before. There was all the time in the world to get through to him, I wasn’t going anywhere. I stood on the path for a few minutes just looking around, thinking how close I had come to losing it all—Rowan Cottage, the perennial border I was definitely starting tomorrow, the robins in the apple tree, Far Wychwood and its people.

I heaved a sigh of relief and turned toward the potting shed to get the shovel.