The man had headed in the direction of the post office, so Mercy said. It was a short walk away across the green. Despite the building’s front window being of thick, watery glass, Mrs Henderson, who stood behind it, saw everything. Even if the stranger hadn’t gone inside, she’d still be able to tell us who he was.
Mercy was less enthusiastic. ‘You look tired, Lizzie. Why don’t we come back tomorrow?’
I pulled down my bonnet brim to hide my face.
‘I’m fine,’ I assured her.
Yet outside the shop my new-found courage faltered. The scent of horses was very strong; it was a sure sign the place was busy. Recalling those bellringers, I had a rush of nerves. Peg let go of my sweaty hand.
‘I’ll see if he’s in there, shall I, Lizzie?’
I didn’t know what to do. Perhaps we should come back tomorrow, like Mercy said. I might feel stronger by then. But before I could say so, the shop door opened, the bell above it jangling violently.
‘Uh-oh,’ Mercy muttered.
‘Is it the man?’ I asked, readying myself to speak with him.
The answer was an ear-splitting squeal from Peg.
‘Oh, Mrs Pringle!’ she cried. ‘They’re so lovely!’
Mrs Pringle was old and played the church organ rather badly. I’d no idea why Peg was greeting her like a long-lost friend.
‘Yes, yes, now if you’d step aside and let me pass,’ Mrs Pringle said, as if she was in a hurry to get away.
‘But you’ve got kittens in your basket, Mrs Pringle! You must let me see.’
Which explained everything.
‘The ginger one is a dear,’ Peg chattered on. ‘Da wouldn’t mind if I had one, would he, Lizzie?’
‘Umm … well … maybe …’ I didn’t suppose Da would mind. But it was painful to hear the excitement in Peg’s voice, when I couldn’t see the kittens for myself and share her joy. It was like listening to a conversation behind a closed door.
I tried to take Peg’s hand. ‘Let’s go home and ask Da, shall we?’ But she tugged me closer to what I supposed was Mrs Pringle and her basket.
We didn’t reach the kittens. The shop bell jingled and another person came out.
I stiffened. ‘Is it him this time?’
Peg didn’t reply. I guessed she was still cooing over the kittens.
‘No,’ Mercy hissed back. ‘It’s …’
‘Mrs Heathly, good day!’ Mrs Pringle’s greeting answered my question.
‘You’ve heard the latest?’ Mrs Heathly said. ‘’Twas Dipcott Farm’s turn last night. All the ducks were took, every last one of them.’
I supposed a fox had taken the ducks, which was a shame. But it wasn’t that unusual round these parts.
‘They believe something attacked the horse on its hindquarters. It left a terrible wound. People are saying it’s a bite mark.’
‘A bite mark?’ cried Mrs Pringle. ‘Goodness!’
Suddenly, I was listening harder. Mercy was too; I sensed her go very still beside me. We all knew how Sweepfield folks loved to gossip about the weather, about Eden Court, about births, marriages and deaths. But bite marks? On a horse’s rump? Now this was interesting.
The shop bell rang again. There was a rustle of skirts, a creak of baskets. The tap tap of someone coming down the steps towards us.
Mercy jabbed me in the ribs. ‘This is him.’
I nodded, drawing breath to speak. Mrs Heathly got there first.
‘Mr Walton,’ she said, ‘’tis a delight to meet you at last. I trust you’ve settled in up at the big house?’
Mr Walton? So the stranger had a name, and not a local one, either. By ‘the big house’, she clearly meant Eden Court.
‘Sounds like he is the scientist,’ I said to Mercy.
I must’ve spoken louder than I meant to, for Mrs Heathly then noticed our presence. ‘Ah, it’s the Appleby girls out and about with Miss Matthews.’
I tugged nervously at my bonnet brim. ‘Good day, Mrs Heathly.’
There was an odd little pause. Then with a curt ‘Good day’, she shouldered past.
‘She didn’t even look at the kittens,’ said Peg in disbelief.
‘Never mind, dear,’ Mrs Pringle muttered. ‘Now really, you must let me past.’
Then she too was gone, and I was left with the distinct sense that we’d just been given the brush-off. Mr Walton cleared his throat, which made me jump for I thought he’d gone too.
‘So you’re the Appleby girls, eh?’ he said.
I nodded.
‘And you, sir,’ I said, remembering what I needed to ask, ‘were at our mam’s gravestone just now.’
Doof.
A small, hard something hit me on the knee. Doing my best to ignore it, I kept talking. ‘Did you know my mam, sir? Only if so …’
Doof.
I gritted my teeth.
Doof.
I prickled with irritation. Here I was trying my hardest to ask important questions, and someone was throwing stones at us. At me.
Mercy cursed under her breath. Without warning, she commenced yelling inches from my ear. ‘Isaac Blake! ’Tis no good hiding behind the oak tree! I know it’s you, you little toerag!’
‘Good gracious, my hearing is ruined!’ Mr Walton exclaimed.
It took me by surprise too – and not just the yelling part.
‘You’re still not friends with Isaac?’ I asked her. I assumed they’d have made up by now.
‘Nope. Not a chance.’ I pictured Mercy, stony-faced, her arms folded. ‘He tried to make trouble between us, Lizzie, and I’m not having that.’
‘Perhaps he didn’t really mean it …’
Doof.
‘Why is that boy throwing stones?’ Mr Walton asked.
I shrugged, though I’d a sense Isaac was poking fun at me and it made me hot with anger. ‘He’s the village pest, sir.’
‘He’s a good-for-nothing worm, that’s what he is,’ Mercy added.
I felt a sharp tug on my sleeve. ‘But Isaac’s waving at us, Lizzie,’ said Peg.
‘Huh!’ Mercy snorted.
I nudged Peg to be quiet, for I hoped Mr Walton might take pity on us and be good enough to grab Isaac Blake from his hiding place and box his ears. And then we could finally get to the bottom of this gravestone business without any more interruptions.
‘Can you tell him to stop?’ I said. ‘And please, sir, why were you in the churchyard?’
‘Well, good day to you all,’ Mr Walton replied, like he’d not even heard me. Gravel crunched underfoot as he walked away.
‘Sir! Wait! Could you …?’ I trailed off.
‘Fat lot of help he was,’ I muttered.
Doof.
A stone pinged off my forehead. That was it. My temper flared.
‘I know it’s you, Isaac Blake! What a weedy specimen you are, now you know I can’t get you back!’ I cried.
Mercy joined in. ‘How dare you, Isaac! Don’t you ever speak to me again after this!’
‘But look – he’s beckoning us, or waving like he’s trying to tell us something,’ Peg said.
I didn’t believe a word of it. Not for a minute.
‘It’s all right. He’s taken off,’ said Peg, eventually.
I let out a long breath.
‘And good riddance,’ Mercy muttered.
‘But Lizzie, that person …’ Peg stopped.
‘The man? Mr Walton?’
Silence.
‘I can’t see if you’re nodding, Peg.’
‘Yes. The man.’ She sounded very serious. ‘I think you’re definitely right about him being the scientist. That button you found was just like the ones on his cloak.’
‘I reckon so too,’ Mercy agreed. ‘Folks who’ve seen him say he’s awful tall.’
‘And he was mighty tall – tall as …’ Peg searched for the word, ‘… a giant!’
I gave a nervous smile. ‘A giant, eh? Did he have huge feet and big hands and a face full of warts?’
‘Stop it.’ Peg started to giggle and Mercy joined in. But I couldn’t quite manage it. All I could think of was Mr Walton stood at Mam’s graveside, writing things down. If he was the scientist from Eden Court, then what did he want with her?
With us?
I’d not the faintest idea.