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After the encounter with Hortensia and his farewells to the smugglers, Ignatius was a
tired pug indeed. The journey was not a long one, but the rain had been busy and
the coach splashed through puddles and rocked its way toward the house. No one
spoke—even Mac was thoughtful. Ignatius was heavy lidded as he looked around at
the others and saw their heads nodding. Only Little Walter seemed to take in
every scene as though it had been freshly painted. When he saw his uncle
drooping, Little Walter smiled his shy smile.
‘May I be your pillow, Uncle?’ he asked quietly. ‘I have much to learn about the art of cuddling.’
‘Indeed,’ agreed Ignatius comfortably, ‘I could do with a snooze.’ And he settled himself gently upon his nephew. ‘Too heavy?’ he murmured as sleep descended.
He heard Little Walter reply maturely, ‘Not in the least, Uncle. Sleep well.’
They all slept well but Little Walter, who watched alone for the house to appear. First he heard the sea. It was a lovely sound—the crashing and booming seemed playful rather than dangerous. And when he finally saw the house through the trees, it seemed to smile at him, relief tingeing its welcome. He smiled his greeting at the house then softly woke his family.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said courteously, ‘we have arrived.’
The group came to with a will. Michael and Andrew dusted themselves and the pugs shook themselves and everyone followed Andrew as he adjusted his face in a smile.
All the servants were assembled on the steps.
‘So many?’ murmured Little Walter, ‘I had no idea.’
‘Some of them only come when they’re needed,’ Mac said. ‘I have the feeling they all want to be sure we’ve arrived.’ He sighed lugubriously, ‘I’ll be surprised if someone doesn’t hide the coach to ensure our stay.’
Mrs. Scrumptious, sister of Mrs. Yum, the cook of Andrew’s household, came to greet him as he descended. When he had given her Yum’s greetings and a little basket of goodies, she gave him a warm kiss (Andrew and Michael had been stealing biscuits from her since they were boys) and the promise that the dinner would excel Yum’s best efforts. Andrew smiled diplomatically while Michael whirled her around and announced that they were all famished. Then the brothers shook hands with all the staff, the pugs were patted and kissed and everyone got ready for dinner.
Jeremy, who had been Uncle Thomas’s personal servant since the flood, showed them to their rooms. In the pug room, the fire was burning with gusto, and Mac went about showing Little Walter special pillows that had been made for each one of the family. He stopped at a brand new fluffy, warm effort and announced that Little Walter’s name had been embroidered upon it.
‘And,’ noted Mac complacently, ‘it’s not silk, but a fine cotton—just as Ignatius and I have.’ Little Walter heaved a proud sigh and tried it out.
‘Don’t get comfy,’ warned Mac, ‘when Michael says he’s hungry, he’s in earnest.’
As if to back him up, the sound of the gong shivered through the house. Within five minutes the pugs were at their bowls at the fireside and Michael and Andrew were tucking into a steaming steak and kidney pudding.
‘The house,’ said Andrew between mouthfuls, ‘seems happy to receive us.’
‘Seems so,’ munched Michael, ‘but I’ll reserve judgment until after the second brandy.’
He was quite right. The second brandy—old and mellow—produced a genial smile on Michael’s face and put Mac into a jovial, but reflective, mood. He leaned against his lord and contemplated the fire while Ignatius cuddled against his brother and, occasionally, looked at Little Walter, who seemed unusually contented. When Little Walter caught his uncle’s gaze, he said, ‘This house is like an old book that, if you pick it up, will fall open to certain pages that have been read over and over.’
‘Apt,’ said Ignatius surprised, ‘but what do you know of old books?’
‘I’ve watched Auntie Dowager. It does happen.’
‘Hmmmm,’ contributed Mac, who had left marks with his puppy teeth on many of Michael’s books in the library at Mousehole.
The fire dimmed down a bit and the room grew cold, so Michael heaved himself up, put on more logs and stirred things about. When he had a good blaze going, he settled back into the chair. Everyone knew that they should go to bed, but the room was beautiful in the firelight and everyone was comfortable. It occurred to Ignatius, even as he was about to doze off, that the family thought it better to wait together this first night. He was in complete agreement; so he settled himself even more comfortably against Mac and said his prayers, ‘May our holy ancestor the Blessed Benedictus of St. Michael’s Mount guard us and may my dear Lucy, my heroine and my love, look down on us and protect us in this endeavour.’
‘Amen,’ breathed Mac and began to snore with gusto.
Soon everyone was asleep but Little Walter, who was only half awake. He listened to the gentle snoring of his uncles and said his prayers.
‘Bless Mama and Papa. Keep him safe on his journey. Bless my dear uncles who have placed their confidence in me. Let me not disappoint them. Give me the courage to help solve this mystery to the honour of the family.’ He sighed and his eyes drooped, but he managed to get out, ‘And thank you very much for my new pillow.’ Then he fell into a doze.
Suddenly Little Walter was awake. The fire cast its dancing shadows, but he could see nothing in them; so he listened. At first there was only crackling from the burning logs. He listened to it to see if the logs were telling him something but they only said, 'Sleep. Sleep. Go to sleep.’ So he tried to hear another sound. He sensed it was there and he had only to wait.
He was rewarded. Mournful and soft, the sound of weeping came to him. Quietly he rose and followed. It was a long journey. He went up some stairs, round a turn then came to a stop in a long hallway, which was the beginning of the old wing. He waited in the velvet darkness for directions. When they came in the form of more weeping, he passed down the long corridor, and, at the end of it, he found three more stairs, which led into a circular room. This whole part of the house was strange to him, but he forgot about that when he stood in the doorway of the little room and saw a young girl seated at a writing table.
The door was slightly ajar and he entered with puppy softness.
A young girl in a long nightdress covered by a heavy dressing gown was sitting by the table going through a box by the light of a candle. She would work feverishly through the papers in the box, find one, then remain almost immobile as she read it. Finally, she rested both elbows on the table and propped her head on her hands. She murmured words of endearment, which, Little Walter guessed, were to the papers inside the box. Not wanting to startle her, her moved into the flickering light so that she could see him. He was preparing a speech of explanation when the girl dropped her hand to her side and leaned back against the chair, exhausted.
Waiting patiently for her to notice him, Little Walter looked around and recognized the box as the one Uncle Thomas had brought for Bessie. This must mean that Bess was reading the same letters. The thought somehow comforted Little Walter and he softly approached the chair and kissed the girl’s hand.
Without lifting her head, she rolled it toward him. Suddenly her listlessness disappeared and real joy filled her face. Her eyes particularly glowed with pleasure when she saw him. Her movements were swift and sure as she lifted him onto her lap and said with mock annoyance,
‘Oh, Merlin, it’s you. Where have you been when I so needed you?’
Ignoring the mistake in his identity, Little Walter got a good grip on her dressing gown and pulled her toward her bed. She began to laugh and followed him agreeably. Once she got in, she heaved Little Walter beside her with an ease born of much practice. He went round the big old bed tucking her in and, by the time he had finished, she was asleep.
He lay beside her on the pillow for a few minutes and rehearsed the events that he would have to report to his uncles. Then, making sure she was comfy, he jumped down and started for his family.
When he came back into the room, Ignatius was making no pretense of being asleep and the fire was darting about grumbling, ‘Walking the halls in the dead of night. He’s too young. He’ll grow ill. Told him to sleep. Told you all.’ Ignatius told the fire to hush and looked shrewdly at his nephew.
‘Are you well?’
‘Oh, yes. There was a young girl upstairs and I heard her crying. So I went along to do my best.’
Iggy asked only one question, ‘What did she call you?’
‘Merlin. Isn’t it odd?’
‘Not really. Young Merlin was a forerunner of the Proud Pugs many years ago.’ There was a pause, then Iggy said. ‘Story goes that he disappeared very suddenly.’
‘Well, she was looking for him and found me instead.’
‘How was she when you left her?’
‘Asleep.’
‘That’s what we should be.’
He pulled Little Walter over to him and patted him on the head. The puppy’s long, eventful day caught up with him and, as the fire once more admonished him to sleep, he snoozed with gusto.
CHAPTER 3 THE YOUNG MAN BY THE SEA
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