It had just gone six o’clock as Lucy ambled down the hill before the castle. The winter sun had dipped below the mountain, and the village wore the properties of night prematurely. The cold stung at his ears and he pulled his hat down to cover them. As he walked past the shuttered stalls in the marketplace, a half-dozen children assembled behind him, stepping in a clutching cluster to observe him and wonder at his arrival. They were giddy to be stalking the newcomer, and while there was an element of danger to this adventure, they themselves knew, in the way children know such things, that Lucy was not a bad man. Still, when he spun about to greet them, they scattered in individual directions, each one shrieking ecstatically. Lucy blushed at the attention but also felt happy, even proud in a way, as though he had been formally announced.
Passing Mewe’s shanty, he noticed the window was ajar, and he paused to peer inside. Mewe sat at an uneven table, playing cards fanned out in his hands. His face bore the penitent look of one who has just been caught cheating, because he had just been. Across from Mewe was a young woman, and she was very pretty indeed, if the truth would be known. In point of fact she was more than pretty: she was exquisite.
She was his age, Lucy supposed, or slightly younger. She wore her abundant brown hair stacked atop her head, exposing a delicate jawline angling into a long, tapered neck. The silhouette of her face was backlit by candles, and he could see no flaws about her, not an angle out of place, as though she were a marble figurine crafted by the sure hand of a master wishing only to share an ideal of the purest beauty. Her comeliness was counteracted by the state of her coat, a shapeless, sack-like thing with cuffs gone thin to the point of fraying. But she herself was so very lovely to behold that Lucy wouldn’t have looked away for the world; he couldn’t have. Her black eyes flashed in the stuttering flamelight as she chided her playmate.
“Why do you do it, Mewe?”
“I don’t know why. It’s like an itch that must be scratched.”
“But it isn’t any fun for me when you cheat.”
“No?”
“How could it be?”
“I should think it might be exciting for you.”
“And why would you think that?”
“It follows some manner of logic.”
“Would you like me to do the same to you?”
“I suppose I wouldn’t, actually.”
She snatched up the cards from his hand, shuffling these into the deck. “Even if you win, you lose, don’t you understand?”
“I don’t know about that,” Mewe said.
She ceased shuffling. “Will you or won’t you stop it?”
Mewe put on a brave face. “I will try.”
A days-old puppy, black in color, clambered onto the table and arched against an earthen jar sitting between Mewe and his enchanting guest. When the jar toppled, Mewe righted it automatically and dragged the puppy from the table to his lap. The girl dealt the cards and they resumed play, and Lucy had the feeling he was watching a painting come to life; there was something enduring about the scenario, something timeless and vividly evocative, and this appealed to him in a sweetly sad way. The spell was broken when Mewe spied him at the window and said, “Oh, hello, there.” The girl turned to look, and when her and Lucy’s eyes met he was filled with a shameful panic, and he spun away, huddling at Memel’s door, his heart knocking against his throat.
“Who was that?” he heard the girl ask.
“Lucy’s his name. We met him on the train. He’s at the castle, now. Gone after Mr. Broom.”
She paused. “Is he nice?”
“He seems it. But who can say? Perhaps he’s a scoundrel in hiding.”
The girl softly laughed, then was silent. Lucy heard the scrape of her chair, and now she appeared at the window. She stood mere feet from Lucy but owing to the darkness had no idea of his proximity. She was pondering some distant thought, a lonely one, according to her expression; when she shut the window and drew the curtain, Lucy stood awhile in the snow, feeling foolish and trembly.
He turned and knocked on Memel’s door. Memel answered with a puppy in his hand, this likewise black, but with white boots.
“Did you take my pipe?” Lucy asked.
“Yes,” said Memel.
“Can I have it back, please?”
Memel left and returned with the pipe.
“Thank you,” said Lucy.
“You’re welcome.” Memel nodded to the castle. “How are you settling in?”
“Fine.”
“What have you had for your supper?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you hungry?”
“I don’t know if I am.”
“Shall we find out?”
Memel ushered him into the shanty.