Pompey placed his head on Louise’s thigh, awaiting crumbs from her breakfast.
Papa tutted at him. ‘You see the rascal is unabashed by his ordeal.’
‘I cannot think how he came to escape,’ she replied, feeling guilt prickle beneath her skin. ‘I shall make certain to lock him up in future. And I will get to work on a cold compress for poor Harry’s nose straight after breakfast.’ She reached down from the chair and scratched Pompey’s ear to hide her unease. It felt horrible to lie to her father, even over this trifle. But Harry had kept his side of the bargain. Papa never need know that she had been outside, brazenly wandering on her own at night.
As if he had read her thoughts, Papa went on, ‘We owe Harry our gratitude, certainly, but he should not have been walking about at that hour. I am afraid I was obliged to read him a pretty stern lecture.’
Louise’s shame climbed a notch. Another punishment he had endured for her sake – not that he was a man likely to be troubled by an upbraiding. She wondered what sort of life he had led before prison, and how he came to be so kind. There must be good in him. Pompey would not have been fond of him if he was truly a bad apple. Dogs could always tell.
‘Perhaps this increase in energy is a sign of improvement,’ she said awkwardly. ‘But what do you say to the rockfall? Is it not uncommon?’
‘Yes, miss.’ She jumped to hear Creeda’s voice beside her ear. The girl had entered the room noiselessly and now stood next to Louise’s chair with a plate of hot muffins. ‘Not just uncommon, that rockfall, but unnatural. I told you. They don’t like dogs.’
Papa was drinking tea at the time, but Louise saw his eyes widen over the rim of the bowl.
‘I do not gather your meaning, Creeda.’ She shot her maid a warning look. ‘You told me nothing. Of whom do you speak?’
‘Of the fairies, miss.’
Papa put down his tea bowl, fingers still wrapped around the blue flowers. ‘And it is your opinion, Creeda,’ he said slowly, ‘that fairies made – what? – an assassination attempt on our naughty little beast?’
Creeda swallowed. ‘It is, sir.’
Papa gave a rueful smile. ‘In this instance, you must admit the evidence is not in your favour. The cur is untouched – it is Harry who has a broken nose.’
Louise motioned with her hand. ‘That will be all, Creeda.’
Creeda curtseyed and retreated with a foreboding expression.
Louise poured herself more tea, but she could not shake her feeling of discomfort. To think of something malignant, trying to hurt dear Pompey! It was just another of the unfortunate maid’s many delusions, of course, and yet she kept remembering the way Pompey had stared up at the cliff and barked. How the land had cracked without rain, without warning.
If Harry had not been there . . .
‘I must beg your congratulations this morning, my dear,’ Papa said as he bit into his muffin. ‘Aside from our rogue Harry, the men slept soundly last night. I have observed an increase in vigour since the pipes were introduced.’
She was able to give the first genuine smile of the morning. ‘I am glad to hear it! They were an excellent notion, Papa.’ Absent-mindedly, she picked a crumb off her own muffin and offered it to Pompey. ‘But what of Tim and Michael? I fear they fare rather worse than the others.’
Papa held up a finger. ‘Yes, but that is because the disease is more advanced in them. It has had longer to grab a hold. Do not fret, I have a plan for them too, which we shall implement later today. It came to me last night, as I slept. Possibly at the same time that canine imp you are rewarding was attempting to kill my patients.’
How pleasant it was to hear him jest again. Were it not for the empty chairs at the breakfast table, she could almost convince herself they were back in old times.
‘Do you truly think we will manage to heal them, Papa?’
‘I do,’ he replied emphatically. ‘I can feel . . . Oh, you will laugh at me, no doubt.’ He shook his head, but a smile still played about his lips. ‘I know this is right, Louise. Our fate, our calling, our purpose. After all we have suffered, this is what we were meant for. God is with us . . . and your dear mother.’
His last words made her tea bowl rattle against its saucer. Looking into his face, she saw his eyes were ablaze with zeal.
‘I do not say this to upset you. But I feel her, Louise, guiding me.’
Absurdly, Louise felt a spurt of jealousy. It was she who needed Mama’s guidance. And she had felt nothing – save the great crater her mother had left behind.
‘We do it all in Mama’s name,’ she said, as steadily as she could manage. ‘She would be proud of you. Very proud. I know it.’
He looked down at the tablecloth. ‘I fear I have alarmed you. Do I sound extremely fanciful?’
They had prayed for help from heaven. If it had come, she should be grateful. And she must bear in mind that Papa had been nursing late at night. Weariness could be a kind of fever. She knew all too well that when all you saw for hours was sickness and death, your musings could take the strangest turns.
In the distance she could hear Creeda washing up pans, and the steady beat of the sea. Was it her imagination, or had the breakfast set grown? There seemed to be more blue and white patterns, more Nancarrow Bone China. As if Creeda’s past were slowly spreading across their table.
She reached out and took her father’s hand. ‘What will we do, Papa? What shall we do after we find the cure?’
‘Oh, Louise.’ He blew out his breath. His features grew rapt. ‘Once I have slayed this demon . . . What shall I not do?’