“Surprising—I should think that unburying bones would go against generations of instinct to do just the opposite, wouldn’t it? Ouch! Watch your step in the dark, Miss Rook—you just kicked my shin. Where was I? Right—I was saying that coming from a family of dogs—ouch! You’ve done it again, rather hard that time. Really, the path isn’t even bumpy here.”
“Mr. Jackaby, please try to be a little more sensitive,” I said.
“What on earth are you talking about? I am quite sensitive enough, thank you—and getting downright tender in the vicinity of the legs, at the moment.”
“It’s all right, Miss Rook,” Charlie said. “The hound is not everything I am, Mr. Jackaby. I am not controlled by his instincts, but I am not ashamed of them, either. In fact, I have enjoyed the freedom and privacy of the country more than I expected. It has been a great relief to let myself run on all fours from time to time, away from the prying eyes of civilization.”
Jackaby spoke before I could voice the same caution. “That might not be wholly advisable. Your excursions into the wilderness may not have been as covert as you presume.”
“Your friend, the trapper?” said Charlie. “I think he might find me a bit more difficult prey to track than his typical fare.”
“I wouldn’t be so confident,” I said. “Hudson’s typical fare includes a bird that can cut brass like butter. He’s no stranger to impossible creatures, and he’s eager for more of them. Too eager.”
“So, I’m an impossible creature, now?” Charlie teased gently.
“She’s right,” Jackaby cut in. “He’s already looking for you, Charlie. I’m fond of the fellow, but it would be wise to stay on two legs for a while.”
We came through a copse of trees and reached our destination. Charlie’s house was small, built into a mossy little clearing not far from the road. In the bright moonlight I could see that it had a rustic charm.
Charlie coaxed a fire to life in a short potbellied stove, and soon the cabin was pleasantly warm. It had only two beds, his own and one for a guest, but he offered them to Jackaby and to me, insisting he was more than comfortable enough on the floor. He gave me fresh linens and bade me good night, leaving me in his chamber while he set Jackaby up in the room adjacent. I thanked him and shut the door, playing over the impossible events of my day as I changed into my nightgown. With the excitement of the surprises waiting to be uncovered in the morning, I was sure I would not sleep a wink.
The room did not feel like Charlie’s. He had not lived in the house for long and had not properly furnished it with any personal effects, but as I lay my head on his pillow, the scent of the policeman, like a gentle sandalwood, swept over me. The rest of the world melted away, and sleep came for me, after all.
In the morning, I awoke to the rays of sunlight cutting through the curtains and the sound of a teakettle whistling in the kitchen. I tucked my hair up into a loose bun and pulled on a shirtwaist and a sturdy skirt—another I had borrowed from Jenny. I slipped on my shoes and emerged to face the day.
Charlie greeted me with a smile and a cup of tea. I hated him just a little bit in that moment, pressed and shaved and lit from behind like some angel in a Renaissance painting. An errant lock of hair flopped into my eyes, and I blew it to the side with a puff. It didn’t matter, I reminded myself. This was my adventure. In short order I would be up to my waist in dirt and dinosaur bones, not drinking English tea with an insufferably perfect policeman.
“The tea is not very good, I’m afraid,” he said as I accepted the cup and saucer. “It’s the only tin I could find in the house. I have coffee if you prefer.”
“No, no, this is lovely. Thank you.” I took a sip. It was probably the worst tea ever brewed. I took another sip.
“Would you care for some breakfast?” Charlie asked. “Mr. Jackaby was content with just a bit of toast before he left, but I would be happy to make some eggs or—”
“Jackaby left without us?” I interrupted, shaking the last of the morning fog from my eyes and setting down my cup.