The Cottage in the Woods (31 page)

“Do excuse me, all of you,” the vicar said. “I am so sorry to
leave, but duty calls. Please continue without me—the evening is young yet.”

Some among us reacted with muted outrage. “Duty? Begging your pardon, Reverend, but is it your duty to minister to that snake Murdley?” cried Edgar. “Him what is stirring up all the hatrid ag’inst us?”

“Exactly so,” replied the reverend quietly. “His innocent child is in need, and he too is one of my flock.” He smiled benignly and added, “Perhaps a lesson in kindness will do him good.”

The grumbling quieted at this gentle rebuke. Mrs. Snover exhorted everyone to please stay and keep her company. The reverend bade us good night, and the group was soon deep in discussion again. It seemed that the mysterious Mr. Drood had escaped some trouble, back in the city he had once called home, and had come to this quiet village expecting to find a safe haven. Now he wanted only a peaceful life, and, like so many, did not wish to involve himself in the strife. I wondered what it would take to move him, and others like him.

Outside the unshuttered windows, the wintery evening light was fading, and the mood turned somber. Mrs. Snover, ever the sensitive hostess, suggested that we join in some singing, asking me if I might accompany the group on the pianoforte. At this, Reverend Wright stationed himself by my side and assiduously turned the pages of the music for me. We struggled through some country ballads, and were finishing up with a few favorite hymns when there came a pounding at the door. Mrs. Snover answered it herself, and brought the caller directly into the parlor. It was Fairchild, looking harried and grim, and breathing heavily, as if he had run a long way.

“They’ve done it!” he rasped. “They’ve gone and done it! The dirty scoundrels! Mr. Vaughn sent me to warn you.”

“Who? Who has done what?” we all cried.

“Slowly, now,” Mrs. Snover urged him. “Is anyone hurt? Tell us from the beginning.”

Fairchild took several deep breaths, then continued. “Mr. Vaughn just got word. Certain handpicked members of the City Council have just had themselves a secret meeting, and they’ve passed the curfew! They’ve got the constables and a gang of newly sworn-in deputies out tracking down the Enchanted, and they’re looking to make an example of someone. Mr. Vaughn says that his people especially will be targeted to make him look bad. I’m sorry to cut your evening short, but the curfew started at sundown, and it’s already dark. Some of you had best hurry on your way before the deputies catch up with you.”

This was met with cries of “Villains!” and “Blackguards!” Reverend Wright stood up to his full height, quite tall for a bear, and said, “They can make an example of
me
. I’ll go toward town till I find them, and lead them away from the rest of you. Let them arrest a member of the clergy and see how that plays out with the public.” Without waiting for a response, he strode to the door, grabbed his coat, and was gone, leaving us all marveling at his unsuspected temerity.

“I have to pass through town to get home,” Edgar observed anxiously. “I’d better go quickly.”

“Perhaps you should stay the night,” Mrs. Snover suggested. “All of you can stay the night.”

“That is most gracious of you, dear lady,” replied Edgar, “but I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. I’ll take the long way around by the railroad tracks. Pigs can be stealthy enough when they want to be.”

“We’ll go through the forest,” Peter Pumpkin-Eater said. “They’ll never even see us.”

“What about you?” Mr. Bentley asked me, rising. “Shall we stay safely here, or give them a run for their money?” There was a glint in his eye as if he rather relished the thought of outsmarting the law. With a rush of exhilaration, I leaped at the chance of sharing an adventure with him. If this were folly, I would deal with the consequences later.

“I believe we should go,” I said, throwing caution to the winds. I gave a quick embrace to Mrs. Snover, thanking her for the delightful dinner and good company, and said goodbye to all. In a matter of minutes, Mr. Bentley and I were gathered at the door with Harry and Fairchild, taking our leave.

“Any sign of them?” asked Mr. Bentley.

“None yet,” answered Fairchild, “though Mr. Vaughn’s man said they were headed this way, coming by the Old Jones Road.”

“Then we’ll stay away from the roads, and take the back way through the cemetery and the woods. It’s an overcast night, with no moonlight, so they’ll have a hard time finding us.” This plan being agreed upon, Fairchild, Harry, Mr. Bentley, and I set out through the churchyard, splitting up as we quickly wove our way back and forth around the gravestones in order to make our tracks more confusing.

Suddenly a dark figure lurched from behind a large tombstone, grabbing me by one arm, and I gave a little scream of surprise. From the corner of my eye, I could see more figures coming out of hiding—men, from the size of them—and our group being set upon. Aiming a hard slam at my attacker, I managed to loosen his grip enough that I was able to wrench my arm free, and, not pausing to look back, I made for the shortcut through the woods on the other side of the churchyard as fast as I could go. Listening for signs of pursuit, I dodged around
tombstones, bushes, and trees, intent on putting some distance between myself and the band of men. I had almost reached the path through the woods when I heard footsteps gaining on me. Realizing I could not outrun my pursuer, I turned to meet him, and collided with the fast-moving form of Mr. Bentley coming up behind me. Before I knew what was happening, we were stumbling to the ground with his arms around me to break the fall. I found myself flat on my back in the snow, with the wind knocked out of me, and Mr. Bentley by my side whispering to me to breathe. I had several terrible moments where I was afraid my breath might never come again, or that the men would find us there, but my breath did finally return, bit by agonizing bit, and we were apparently hidden from the view of our pursuers, so we remained still and silent as the men roamed through the cemetery in the darkness with ever-louder threats and growing frustration.

“It’s a crime to resist arrest!” one shouted. “Just wait till we catch you. The constable will throw the book at you!”

While the deputies searched in vain through the cemetery, Mr. Bentley and I quietly rose and sneaked toward the path and into the woods, where we found Harry already waiting for us. Fairchild, the only human among us, hung back on the path to see if anyone followed. Soon several of the men ran up, all out of breath, and Fairchild, pretending to be one of them in the darkness, shouted, “They didn’t come this way! Try over there!” and pointed in another direction. The men hurried off after the false lead. We bears crept further into the dense woods, with Fairchild following behind.

We traveled silently toward home, straining our ears to hear sounds of pursuit. After a time we perceived raised voices behind
us yelling, “This way! The tracks lead into the woods!” and I felt a rush of trepidation as I tried to place each foot quickly and quietly in front of the other, all too aware of the tracks we were leaving in the snow. I could only hope that the night woods were dark enough to conceal them. We went deeper into the wildest part of the forest, where dense thickets of underbrush were nearly impenetrable, and there we made several false trails, doubling back to hide in the thick brush. We crouched there silently as the men’s voices became louder, and then they were nearly upon us. We held our breath as a group of armed and angry men approached, muttering imprecations. One of them stopped, not ten feet from where we hid, saying, “Look sharp, men. They must have come this way!” For a few dreadful moments the men milled about, unseeing, then passed on. Still, we hid, for perhaps a quarter of an hour, not making a sound.

At last Mr. Bentley stood up. “I think they’ve gone,” he said in a hushed voice, and we each stretched our cramped limbs and climbed out of the thicket. “Are you all right?” Mr. Bentley asked solicitously as we made our way through the dense woods. I assured him that I was only shaken.

“We were caught right in their trap!” he exclaimed. “It’s no secret that Reverend Snover entertains all kinds of mixed company on Saturday evenings. What better place to lie in wait and catch the Enchanted at night?”

“Really? Do they know who we are, then? Do you think they could recognize us if they saw us again?”

“I doubt that very much. It was quite dark, and they can barely tell us apart in daylight. They might guess who we were, but they can’t prove anything.”

As we traveled carefully along, we agreed that we were fortunate
that no shots had been fired, probably because the gang of men were worried about shooting each other in the darkness. It had been a narrow escape, and we wondered if those who had departed before us had gotten safely away.

By the time we were halfway home, the clouds had broken up somewhat and a sliver of moon was trying to illuminate the snowy landscape. Harry was forging ahead, and Fairchild, having a harder time slogging through the deep snow, was lagging behind us. Mr. Bentley and I went on together, with him frequently helping me over some fallen log or other obstacle by holding my paw. How can I express what his simple touch did to my still-raw emotions? After weeks of despair and numbness, this unforeseen adventure had brought us together again. I found myself transported from that old, sad time, smiling to myself over nothing.

It seemed to me afterward like a particularly happy dream, traipsing along by Mr. Bentley’s side, through the ethereal landscape, with our easy rapport restored. We came upon the back of the Cottage, traveling across the kitchen garden and up to the kitchen door. Reveling in Mr. Bentley’s company, I found myself unwilling to go inside. Once I went in the door, the night was over.

I looked at Mr. Bentley, and he at me, and a moment passed. Suddenly he gripped my shoulders, holding me at arm’s length. “Forgive me,” he said. “I’ve done it again, despite all my vows.”

“Done what again? What vows have you broken?”

“I’ve allowed my feelings to override propriety, and I’ve been totally unfair to you.”

“Please, explain. How have you been unfair to me? It was just an exciting interlude.”

“Much more than that to me, but I have no right to say so.”

The happy warmth that had suffused me shrank into a cold,
hard little ball as I felt us getting to the heart of the matter, but still I asked, “No right? Why not?”

“I’m not free, Miss Brown. I am betrothed to my cousin, Amy Wallingsford. I have been since childhood. I can only beg your forgiveness for my conduct. In the beginning I told myself I meant only to befriend you, but my feelings—I have no right to mention them.”

Suddenly everything fell into place with irrevocable force. The name he had called out in his illness: Amy. “No,” I said, flinching as if from a blow. “No. No, you don’t have any right to speak of your feelings, and I’ve no right to mention mine. But you’ve nothing to apologize for. You’ve behaved every inch the gentleman.”

“Please understand, it was my father’s and my uncle’s idea, before I was even old enough to object. Amy and I were practically raised together, and we’re so close, it would be unforgivable of me to break it off. She’s already planning the wedding.”

“Then say no more,” I urged, shrugging out of his grasp. “It will be an easy matter for me to stay out of your way. You needn’t fear that I’ll make things difficult for you. I’ll give up going to Reverend Snover’s on Saturday nights.”

“That won’t be necessary,” he said, the look of torment back in his eyes. “You see, I leave on the morrow. I’ve been called home—I don’t know for how long. My brother, the viscount, is very ill, and I’m required to manage the estate’s affairs until he is well.”

I was temporarily struck dumb while I took this in. He was going away. Tomorrow he would be gone.

Finally, I recovered my voice. “I am so sorry to hear of it. I hope your brother recovers swiftly. I suppose I shan’t see you
again for some time, then. It will be easier that way. I’ll take my leave now, Mr. Bentley, and wish you all the best,” I said, forcing the polite words out of my mouth even though I could feel my heart splintering.

I opened the door and entered the kitchen, only to find it in almost complete darkness, with just the dimmest glow from the fire banked down in the hearth. A rush of cold dread sent shivers down my spine.

“Mr. Bentley, could I ask you for one last act of chivalry?”

“Name it.”

“Could you walk me to my quarters? You see,” I confessed, “I’m afraid of the dark.” Never had I confided this to another soul, and I waited, stiff-shouldered, for the scoffing rejoinder. It never came.

“Of course,” he replied, as naturally as if I had said, “May I borrow your umbrella? It’s raining.” He felt around on the mantel until he found a candle, and managed to uncover some embers with which to light it. “Lead the way,” he said, handing me the candle, and we wended silently through the halls and stairways to my room. His solid presence calmed my fears, even as I struggled with the realization that this was the last time he would walk by my side. All too soon, we arrived at my door. A quick glance within reassured me that Betsy had left a fire burning for my return.