October skies

Or maybe he’d found a bitch willing to take the silly old bugger on.

‘Watson!’ he called out again.

There was a rustling to one side of him and the dull, muffled crack of an acorn underfoot — it sounded very much like someone shifting weight from one foot to another.

‘Okay, who the fuck’s in here?’ Sean called out, hoping his polished boardroom voice sounded more menacing than it did to him.

The rustling ceased immediately, but somehow that made it seem a million times worse. Sean sensed that this was the moment he ought to back quietly out of the trees, past the bush and onto the common and walk away without his dog.

‘Watson!’ he called out once more, ‘I’m going, you stupid hound!’ He had turned round to head out of the undergrowth towards the open green when he heard movement in front of him.

His eyes picked out a dark silhouette against the edge of the spinney and the darkening grey sky beyond. Any further detail was lost to the last of the early-evening light, but unmistakably it was a man wearing a hood.

‘Yes?’ he said, and then as an afterthought, ‘Can I help you?’

The silhouette remained perfectly still.

‘You after some money?’

‘No,’ a dry voice answered.

Stay calm, Sean cautioned himself. Control the situation.

‘My dog came in here. Did you see him?’

The man advanced a step forward. ‘You spoke with someone I’ve been watching.’

Sean shrugged. ‘I’ve spoken to a lot of people today.’

‘You spoke to him about a story in America.’

Playing dumb probably wasn’t going to help. ‘How do you know about that? Who are you?’

The silhouette was silent. ‘What the hell do you want?!’

‘I’m here to tidy things up,’ said the man.

CHAPTER 49

25 October, 1856

This morning, for the first time, I sense the others looking at us with distrust. I don’t know whether they have collectively discussed who or what killed Dorothy, Sam and Mr Hearst, and decided it is one of us, or whether they each privately harbour that suspicion, but I can see it in the quick, wary glances, the shortest possible exchange of pleasantries with us.

Keats spoke of Mr Larkin, their butcher, not wanting to work alongside Mr Bowen. And visiting Emily’s shelter this morning, I was silently watched by a group of five men gathered around their breakfast fire; watched intently. Moments after entering and talking with Mrs Zimmerman, Mr Vander stuck his head in and made it clear I was to check on her as quickly as possible, then leave.

I do wonder whether A buffeting wind shook and rattled the creaking wooden framework of their shelter, whilst the flap over their entrance, tied down against the gusting wind, rustled and whipped, complaining like a tethered dog. A blizzard was coming down almost horizontally, small, dry, sand-like beads of ice that stung against bare skin.

Above the rumpling thud of wind, he heard a muffled voice.

‘Mr Lambert?’

He recognised it as Preston.

‘Yes?’

‘A word, if you don’t mind.’

‘Uh, yes, of course.’ Ben closed his inkpot and put away his journal before readying himself to step outside.

‘I’ll come in,’ said Preston. Ben saw fingers work on the tie, and a moment later the wind whipped it open. Snow hurled in, chased by a vicious, biting blast of freezing air. Preston stooped down low, pushed his way through the flap and settled down on his haunches inside, securing the flap once more.

‘Are we alone?’ he asked quietly, squinting in the dark interior.

‘Mr Keats and Broken Wing are foraging for wood with some others.’

‘Good. I wished to speak to you in private.’

Ben felt his skin run cold, realising he was alone with someone who might just be capable of violent murder and barbaric mutilation.

He’d not do something to me here, now, surely?

Unlikely as that was, he found his hand subconsciously reaching for the handle of his hunting knife, tucked away under his poncho in his belt.

‘What do you wish to talk about?’

‘I… find the discomfort of my injury is continuing to be unbearable and I would like to take with me a complete bottle of your medication, that I need not keep bothering you to personally administer it.’

‘Well, it is no bother,’ Ben lied, his mind recalling the openly hostile glances he had drawn earlier this morning, approaching the Dreyton shelter.

‘That’s as may be. However, there are those amongst my people who would rather your party remain, from now on, on your side of the camp.’

‘Mr Preston, I think I should advise you that this medication is really best only prescribed a few times. There are unfortunate side-effects that can occur when used repeatedly.’

Preston’s face hardened. ‘Make no mistake, Lambert, I do need this medication. The discomfort is such that I am unable to lead prayers and services. My people need me to be strong more than ever now. Not for me to be laid up as invalid.’

Ben nodded. ‘Yes, well, I can continue to give it to you, but I think it’s best that I measure it out for you.’

‘I can manage well enough with the measuring.’

‘But it requires a steady reduction in measure, to ensure-’

‘Lambert!’