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Very early the next morning, Michael went riding alone on the beach. Thus far, it seemed to him that the pugs were having all the adventures and there was nothing for the humans to do. Andrew was somehow removed from it all. Not disinterested, just content to let things take their course. So far, they had walked through the old rooms but not taken in any particulars. Perhaps on closer inspection he would find something. The sun was out, which would mean the dark rooms would be as visible as they were ever likely to be. Suddenly he was hungry; he turned the horse back and rode home with adventure on his mind.
While Michael was working his way through an excellent breakfast, Mac came grumbling into the room. Michael offered him a bit of ham–usually a favourite–and when it was refused, he looked down with some concern.
‘What’s the trouble, lad?’
Mac asked why he was left behind when obviously this was perfect weather for a good ride.
‘I needed to think.’
‘’Bout what?’ grumbled Mac.
‘About the doings here. It seems to me that Andrew and I have lazed about while the pugs have done all the work.’
‘Different souls at different times. As we’re needed, I suppose,’ said Mac reasonably.
‘Well,’ Michael confessed, ‘I can’t wait any longer. Are you up for a walk through the old wing?’
Mac rolled his eye toward the ham and Michael obliged. As he slurped
contentedly he offered, ‘I can show you the rooms the spirits seem to like.’
‘Do that, please,’ said Michael, busy cutting him another piece.
So they went together to the old wing.
Mac showed him the room in which the ball had been given and secretly marveled at the difference between its gorgeousness on that night of the spirits and the hollow dreary emptiness of the day. ‘And you say that you saw the queen herself?’ asked Michael stopping on the stairs.
‘We were announced here on this spot,’ said Mac, then showed his friend how they had processed down to the dance floor. He ran across to the spot he was most proud of and yipped, ‘Here it was that she danced with us and said I was her favourite partner.’
Michael smiled a little wistfully, ‘I truly wish I could have seen it.’ Then he nudged Mac and admitted, ‘I wish I could have done it too.’
Mac nudged him back, ‘I’m certain, sir, that your time will come. Let us look about.’
They wandered in and out of the rooms. Sometimes they walked about listening to the echoes of Michael’s boots and the click of Mac’s nails on the old floors. At other times they barely looked inside a door. Suddenly it occurred to Michael that they were doing this in concert and he mentioned it to Mac. ‘Let us continue. There may be something that moves you that I cannot see.’ Mac agreed.
They came into the room Jeremy had shown them and Michael noticed a lovely piece of furniture that Uncle Tom seemed to have neglected to bring into the new portion of the house. Mac walked straight up to it and said, ‘Look inside.’
The drawers had not been opened in a long time, but Michael tugged patiently. There was some old fabric in one and, feeling under it, his hand closed on a wooden frame. Drawing it out, he found a small picture and, taking off the velvet wrap, let his breath out in a long whistle. It was the portrait of the lady that Jeremy had shown them. But there was a substantial alteration: the fragile miniature had been slashed across only once but with a terrible energy.
‘What is it?’ asked Mac who couldn’t see a picture properly.
‘The portrait of a lady, who has apparently done something terrible. If you tried hard, could you see it?’
‘Alas, no,’ said Mac, who couldn’t see the image; ‘but,’ he added with inspiration, ‘if you show it to Bessie and Andrew perhaps they would know.’
‘Excellent,’ agreed Michael. ‘Let us find them.’
But he lingered in the room trying to picture it as it once had been, comfortable and beautiful. Michael walked toward the window to see the view. He looked out onto a calm sea and was watching the water twinkle when he felt Mac’s weight against him.
‘Come away,’ hissed Mac. ‘It’s dangerous here.’
Michael bent down and lifted him to see the dancing water. But Mac was unsatisfied. He twisted in Michael’s arms and wouldn’t be still. His fear and anger were so clear that, with several strides, Michael crossed the room and almost jumped into the hall banging the door shut behind them. He knew from of old that Mac was no coward, so he carried him back through the old wing as quickly as possible and didn't set him down until they were in the newer part of the house.
Being practical souls, master and pug headed for the drawing room and the rum. And if Michael overfilled Mac’s bowl there was no complaint from the floor. Andrew and Iggy came in and stared at the two drinking at such an early hour.
‘Have a sip,’ said Mac as Iggy trotted up and watched him with concern.
Andrew waved the drink away and sat down watching his brother and the
slurping Mac. ‘Well?’ he said quietly.
‘That room in the old wing that isn’t good for pugs,’ said Michael dryly. ‘Some nice furniture though,’ he added as an afterthought. ‘The picture is different. I’ve brought it out and put it somewhere.’
Andrew looked about and saw the cloth-wrapped picture but he was more interested in his brother, ‘Are you certain you’re all right?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Michael a little sharply. ‘There’s something odd though. Mac and I both felt it.’
‘How odd?’
‘It’s as though the room was a haven, a place of safety and comfort, then something terrible happened there and it’s still reeling from it.’
There was a gasp from a corner of the room and the brothers looked up. Bessie was standing with the picture in her hand. She had closed the tear enough to see clearly and as the pugs ran toward her she sat down with a thump.
‘What is it, Bess?’ asked her father and Michael moved toward his niece.
‘It’s her,’ said Bessie, our blessed cousin again.’
‘Are you certain?’ asked Michael.
‘More than certain, uncle,’ said Bess and she pulled the little book from her pocket and turned to the drawing. Silently she handed both to her uncle.
‘Tell her to describe the woman to us,’ said Mac.
As Bess painted the picture for them with her words, Iggy and Mac looked at each other.
‘She’s still here,’ said Mac quietly to Michael.
‘Would you say she was a threat to the pugs?’ asked Michael wryly.
‘I would say she is very much a threat to our young spirit and, because of that, to little Walter.’
Just as Mac was giving his opinion a breathless little voice cried out, ‘Uncles!’ Everyone looked up to see Little Walter standing on very wobbly legs. Ignatius trotted up to him.
‘What is it, lad?’ he asked kindly for the puppy looked very shaken.
‘The bracelet’s gone. She can’t find it,’ moaned his nephew.
Mac, who had a remedy for all shocks, gently pushed the puppy toward the fire, while Michael poured out a tiny tot of brandy. Walter squinched up his face when he began to drink but Iggy urged him gently, saying, ‘We can only help, lad, if we know what happened.’
Everyone was standing around looking helpless when the newly maternal tones of Louisa rang out, ‘Brothers, what are you giving that child to drink?’ Before anyone could answer, she trotted purposefully into the room, tasted Little Walter’s drink, gave Michael a baleful look, then turned her attention to Ignatius, ‘That poor child from another century is weeping her heart out. I’ve sent Wuffie to console her, but she doesn’t seem to see him very well and keeps asking for someone named Merlin. Now, brothers, who is this Merlin and where can I find him?’
Ignatius and Mac waited several beats for Little Walter to say something. But, as he just sat with downcast eyes catching his breath, they promised Louisa all manner of things and told her they would look into it. As Ignatius escorted her back to her children, Louisa said, ‘Dear Ignatius, I know this is serious and you have much to do, but Hortensia would never forgive me if I didn’t see to Little Walter.’
‘He is a worthy pug, sister,’ said Ignatius who didn’t dare think what Hortensia would say to the doings.
‘Well,’ said Louisa with spirit, ‘remind Little Walter that Merlin was a magician who helped King Arthur when there were no pugs to be found in this land.’
Ignatius started then smiled, ‘I have already asked Lucy to protect him. Can I do more?’
‘Not that I can think of at the moment,’ said Louisa with resignation. ‘Now kiss the children before you go.’ Ignatius cuddled his new nephew and niece and blessed them then trotted back to the sitting room.
As he walked in Mac asked, ‘Where’s Little Walter?’
Ignatius signed, ‘Where indeed?’
CHAPTER 10 THE PUGS AND A PROPHECY
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