9

We all said goodnight, then Nel and I went back to our rooms.

There was no question, now, of Shafeen staying with me – it seemed disrespectful in so many ways. If we were going to take things to the next level, this was not the place. Henry’s ghost had this one final power over us.

I felt Henry’s presence keenly as I undressed. I kept bits of me covered as I changed, like you do in a communal changing room. I sat down on the bed in my PJs and updated Ty on the events of the night.

The earl is into some debate on foxes in the House of Lords. Gonna go watch tomorrow

Then:

Also there’s this fox head on the wall in my room (H’s old room), and another one in Shaf’s room. Here’s the pics.

I sent the two photos, then typed:

They’re both called Reynard. Junior and senior, LOL. D’you think these could be the foxes you heard about??

I waited for a moment or two, staring at the two black stag antlers on a white ground in mrs_de_warlencourt’s Instagram profile, willing her to answer, but there was no reply.

I settled myself into bed and looked Reynard Junior in the face. Once again, I contrasted the fox’s expression with that of the peaceful, cow-eyed Jeffrey, hanging placidly on my wall in Longcross. Jeffrey looked like he’d stuck his head casually through the wall, looking for snacks. Reynard was different. He looked like he’d run through the wall, escaping the hounds of hell. He wore the last – the very last – desperate expression of a dying fox being torn limb from limb. He must have made a peculiar and savage companion for a small boy. Henry had dropped some dark hints to me about a difficult childhood. Now I knew he was dead, I wasn’t ready to forgive but I was beginning to understand.

And, just as little Henry de Warlencourt must have done, I watched that snarling, foxy face until I went to sleep.