Chapter 2
Tabitha Travels to Aunt Hilsida’s and Gets a Dog
On the day Tabitha was to depart, all the servants were running this way and that and hither and yon while her mother fluttered over every detail. Which took some doing, as all the details had been seen to by Lord Bushfield, and Tabitha only had two medium sized trunks and a small satchel. The main reason all the servants were running around looking busy is that they didn’t wish to catch Lady Bushfield’s eye and be treated to a tear-filled entreaty that they go look after Tabitha’s bags to make sure they were placed on the carriage correctly, or to make sure the Cook had packed a good meal in the carriage, or to see that Tabitha was where Lady Bushfield had last seen her (in the second best parlor, out of the way of the frantic furor). Lord Bushfield was in his study (the door securely locked) and other than arranging matters, had evinced no interest in what was about to happen to Tabitha.
But by some happy chance—or even happier plan—Tabitha was not to go alone on her journey. A footman was being sent to help the coachman with the horses (you couldn’t really count the coachman or the footman as company—you might as well call the horses company), but Arthur the Tutor had volunteered his services to see Tabitha safely to Aunt Hilsida’s house. He had noticed that Tabitha hadn’t been herself since she heard the news that she was to leave, and he had taken to falling asleep during lessons even more regularly than he normally did so that he would not have to take her to task for not paying attention. Tabitha hadn’t noticed, but then, he hadn’t wanted her to. Sometimes there is nothing worse than overt sympathy when the person who is sympathetic either will not or cannot do anything about the circumstances. It makes the person to whom awful things are happening want to cry aloud, ‘Go away! What use is your sympathy to me if it will not change what is happening?’ But if that person has even a nodding acquaintance with politeness they will be unable to say such things, even though they might desperately want to, and that makes it all the worse.
So when Tabitha entered the carriage after enduring the blubbering goodbye from her mother (and the individual goodbyes from all the servants who took time to enter the second best parlor and give Tabitha some good luck charm or sweet pasty—she had five cinnamon rolls and two honey cakes sharing sticky residence in her satchel) she was extremely surprised to see Arthur the Tutor perched on one of the seats, his kindly eyes twinkling green at her.
“Good morning. I am to share your journey, little one.” he said to her in German as was his custom before lunch time (afternoons were for French). The normality of this daily routine steadied her. She had not been told he was coming with her, and even through her solemn face he could see that she was happy to see him. He helped her up onto the seat opposite him and the door was shut behind her as the carriage rolled forward and away from the only home she had ever known. Arthur the Tutor thought that this was a splendid time for a nap as he spied a tear trying to form in Tabitha’s eye, so he settled back and started snoring softly to give her some privacy.
Now, it should not be assumed that Tabitha had not even considered running away. She had considered it, quite thoroughly as she did most things in life (except chasing butterflies, as she didn’t really want to catch them she just like their colors in motion—and eating turnips, possibly the only vegetable she disliked). She had considered running away, and since Tabitha was not an average girl of her age and station, she knew quite a lot more about what life on the streets would be like than even some adults much older than her. She listened to the servants talk about how much they got paid and how much things cost, and it was a pretty tight fit—and that was if you were a servant in a decent household. Due to all the gothic novels she had read, Tabitha also knew about things decent girls her age were not supposed to know about—even if it had been terribly hard to find out definitions to some of those words that made sense, the stable-boy coming in very handy as a resource—and after weighing the risks of wandering around the streets with little to no money and no job to get any more, unless she became a thief (and she would have to become a good one, for the punishments for thieves were harsh—but that was only if you were caught), but all the calculations she could do told her that she would be dead within a month. Give or take a few days. And as unpalatable as the thought of staying with Aunt Hilsida was, it was almost certain that she would be alive much longer than a month.
Tabitha had no wish to die, and in the face of certain death, she was willing to choose the lesser of two evils.
As she reminded herself of this sad decision, she sniffed her tears back up into her eyes and resolved that she would make Aunt Hilsida let her return to her home. Had she not gotten rid of three dancing masters, one particularly stubborn painting master, and one sewing mistress? She could certainly get rid of Aunt Hilsida.
And as much as we must admire Tabitha for such heartiness in the face of doom, if she knew what Aunt Hilsida had done to get rid of people she found unpleasant, Tabitha would have immediately hopped out of the carriage and lost herself in the crowds of the city. But since her outlook on life was bursting with so much determined optimism that it caused three weary daffodils on a nearby window sill to perk up and bloom again (not to mention the five pairs of socks that became brilliantly white again, although one pair was on a very confused person’s feet at the time) she stayed in the carriage and started imagining ways to discomfit her Great-Aunt Hilsida. (one of those ways was to always call her Great-Aunt Hilsida instead of just Aunt Hilsida. In Tabitha’s experience, very few people liked being reminded just how old they were, although she thought it nonsensical that her exact age be a topic of great discussion by her Mother, but her Mother’s age was a closely guarded mystery).
The first part of the journey was not particularly remarked upon by either of the two passengers in the carriage; Arthur the Tutor, because he spent most of his time sleeping (and he had seen it all before, really, as country-sides tended to look much the same) and Tabitha because her mind was much more intensely engaged in thoughts of the future.
As the sky began to grow dark the carriage pulled into a traveler’s inn where they would stay for the night. Arthur the Tutor arranged for rooms with a connecting door so that he may be able to keep an eye on Tabitha and make sure no harm would come to her (inns being the sort of places where unsavory things did occasionally happen although if you asked the innkeeper he would solemnly swear that nothing of the sort ever happened here, while behind his back the customers were stealing his cutlery). They enjoyed a pleasant meal in the common room, Tabitha being reluctant to eat in her room as she had realized that even though her destination was frankly nightmarish, the journey itself had some unexpected perks. The chance to listen to and see the normal people of the world going about their normal lives was fascinating to her, and since Arthur the Tutor recognized her desire to see and understand, and had felt the same sort of thing when he had been young (yes, he had been young once) he allowed her to stay. At least, until the hour had turned late enough that more ale was being consumed than food and he decided that exposing Tabitha to an inn taproom in its full glory was perhaps an experience that it would be best for when she was a little older than nearly thirteen. Tabitha might have objected (a very interesting song had started up with a chorus of ‘bring me a mallet’ accompanied by drinking at the end of every verse, and there appeared to be many verses, all of them seemingly the dialogue between two men arguing about whether one of them would surrender his daughter to the other) but she was unexpectedly tired by the high emotions of the day and the uncomfortable nature of the carriage ride. For no carriage, despite all the padding and even the modern spring system to absorb the shocks and bumps of even the best of roads, was a pleasant place to spend more than a few hours, and today they had traveled at least eight on what were certainly not the best roads.
They rose from their table, Arthur the Tutor laying a steadying hand on Tabitha’s back as they navigated the increasingly loud and hectic taproom and up the stairs to their rooms. And since Tabitha had never made much use of her maid at home except for cleaning up messes, she did not miss having any help getting out of her clothes and into a nightgown whereupon she blew out the lamp and fell fast asleep to the faint echo of all twenty-five verses of ‘bring me a mallet.’
The next day dawned dim and grey, one of those high grey days where you know it won’t rain (at least you mostly expect it won’t) but you know at the same time that the sun would not be making an appearance at any point. Tabitha was awake well before Arthur the Tutor’s knock on their connecting doors, and she opened it to find him with his fist raised, ready to knock again. He smiled at her and lowered his hand.
“Good morning, Tabitha. Did you sleep well?”
“I believe so, yes, but I regret that I did not stay awake long enough to hear the end of that song last night. It was ever so interesting.”
“Why—yes, yes, a very interesting song.” Arthur the Tutor coughed into his fist. “I am afraid that this morning will be much less lively downstairs, should you choose not to breakfast in your room—but the choice is yours, Tabitha.”
Tabitha tilted her head, considering for a moment the options. “I believe I would like to eat downstairs again, even if there is no singing.”
“Shall I send one of the maids to pack your things?”
“No, they are already packed.” (although packing was a new concept for Tabitha, she had done it rather well, making sure everything that had been taken out was put back in so it wouldn’t be forgotten, but as she had never learned to fold clothes or put her things away neatly, the trunk was a bit of a jumble inside)
“Very good, I’ll send for one the inn’s servants to carry them down to the carriage.” He smiled at her and they went down to breakfast.
Breakfast was as pleasant as dinner had been, although much quieter: there being fewer patrons in the inn’s common room and the ones who were there were much less rowdy and much more interested in their morning tea. Slightly disappointed—although she had been warned—Tabitha sopped up the last of her eggs with a small piece of toast.
“Will we reach my Great-Aunt Hilsida’s house today?”
“I believe so, barring any disastrous delays.”
Tabitha nodded and pretended interest in her now empty plate. One smear of egg almost resembled the moustache of the innkeeper, and if you tilted your head just the other way, you almost saw an upside down image of the King’s beard. (the King’s beard was very distinctive and completely unique, as he forbade any one to imitate it or else he would have them sent to the Raster islands. At first, the Raster islands had only been populated by scrubby trees and very large possums, but eventually it was full of all sorts of fashionable dissenters—and one poor ignorant man from Russia who didn’t know about the rule—who were always impeccably dressed. Except the man from Russia. It was so embarrassing.).
Arthur the Tutor was looking at Tabitha with concern on his features. “Tabitha—“
“Time to be going then?” She interrupted.
“Yes—yes. Time to be going. I’ll tell the innkeeper to bring up our carriage.” He left, fortunately not saying something undoubtedly sympathetic that Tabitha had no desire to hear. Even from her favorite teacher.
Tabitha waited restlessly for Arthur the Tutor to come back and tell her the carriage was ready, but after ten minutes that felt like ten hours she stood up and walked outside to discover what was going on.
The outside of the inn was much busier than the inside and Tabitha could see Arthur the Tutor arguing with a lady holding a chicken by its feet. Or rather—the lady was shouting at Arthur the Tutor: Arthur the Tutor appeared to be trying to placate her and failing miserably. He also failed to see Tabitha emerge from the inn, or else he would have surely told her to go back inside to wait for him. But he did not, so Tabitha started wandering around the outside of the inn, taking care not to get too far as she didn’t wish to cause any serious worry if she should be missed.
Despite the fact that this was only a small village, there seemed an almost inordinate amount of bustle and to-and-fro-ing: two rough carters pushed past Tabitha, “Out o’th’way,” while a dispatch rider rocketed out of the stableyard shouting for everyone to “Clear a path for official business!” Two young girls stared at Tabitha and then giggled, leaning their heads closer to whisper as they walked away. The only people that seemed to be standing still in all this mess were the unfortunate Arthur the Tutor and his angry companion.
Meandering closer to the stables Tabitha kept an eye out for feisty horses and careless riders, but she was unimpeded in her path and soon reached the stables to find the horses not yet hitched to the carriage. There seemed to be no one around.
“Hello? I require assistance.” Tabitha’s determined voice received no answer. “Hello?” There—wait a moment, what was that? She cocked her head. There it was again, a small shrill yelp coming from the back of the stable. Head held high, Tabitha marched forward, surely a most intimidating sight to all lazy stable hands. Not bothering with subtlety, Tabitha walked directly to the source of the noise and when she rounded the end of the second to last stall, an appalling sight met her eyes.
A man, large and strong from the execution of his profession and the hearty meals of the inn, held a puppy dangling in one hand that lowered inexorably toward a bucket of water in which floated several other shapes that Tabitha dared not look too closely on.
“Stop what you are doing this very instant!”
The man whose expression had been wholly absorbed in his sickening task now looked up with a squint in his eye as he surveyed Tabitha and clearly thought very little of her. (An unwise assessment, to be sure, but he had never been a clever man before and he had certainly never met Tabitha before: after this day, he couldn’t say the latter, and even the former improved in a small way.)
“What yer want?”
The puppy, clutched in his large fist, struggled vainly to try and bite him.
“Release that dog immediately and cease this vile business, or I shall have you dismissed from this inn.”
A coarse caw of a laugh left his mouth. “That be so? Well, my ‘pologies, majesty—but y’can soak your head in m’bucket along with the rest of the strays—“ his hand started to lower again, the tail of the puppy just brushing the water.
(It would be good, perhaps, to pause here to relate to readers unfamiliar with the practices of the time, of the treatment of stray animals. Puppies and kittens were routinely drowned and other cruelties to animals were exceedingly routine. Animals were made to serve man; if man wanted one dead, how could there be any objections? Fortunately this barbaric practice is no longer common, but we would do well not to condemn the past for its darkness, while our own present is far from bright.)
“Stop, I said!” And Tabitha, a full two feet shorter than the man, advanced within his reach and, taking careful aim, kicked with all her strength at a point on his body well-bred girls shouldn’t be aware of. (Tabitha had once seen a man on the street kneed in that portion of his anatomy, and it had taken him a full five minutes to recover: she had timed it, fully interested in the spectacle of a grown man lying curled up on the ground apparently crying. She had filed that moment away in the portion of her mind marked ‘for future use in times of need.’) The man in the stable did not fall over immediately and Tabitha wondered if she had performed the act correctly, but a glance at his blank features and immobile limbs informed her of her success. Disliking having to stare up at him, Tabitha gave his midsection a firm push and he toppled over, landing on an uncomfortable assortment of tools. Tabitha was unsympathetic.
“You are a brute, and if brute force is the only language you understand, then that is what I must use to get my point across. You miserable maggot born of human excrement. You wallow in destruction and death and pain because your mind just barely comprehends how very small it is, and how very wide the world is, and you lavish cruelty on it out of spite. But hear this: I am the daughter of Lord and Lady Bushfield. At my word I can have you dismissed from this inn. With another I can have you arrested for any such thing as I desire. If I so choose I can make your remaining years on this earth so hellish that you would beg for someone to drown you as you drowned those dogs.” The man stirred. For good measure Tabitha kicked him again with the same precision she displayed before. He yelped and attempted to curl himself into a ball but the puppy—which he had dropped in his extremity—rushed to his face and tried to bite his nose with teeth barely able to dimple the skin, growling fiercely. This made Tabitha smile, then she turned serious eyes on the man himself.
“If you ever even think of drowning a dog again I will have you hanged. Never doubt it.” She left the stall, the puppy following close behind her.
Arthur the Tutor found her as she exited the stable, a frantic look on his face.
“Tabitha! Thank God you’re safe—why on earth didn’t you wait for me inside? I was looking everywhere—“ He finally noticed the small grey puppy staring intently up at him from Tabitha’s ankle. “What’s that?” (Arthur the Tutor must be forgiven for this rather unnecessary question as he had been very worried about Tabitha and when people are worried or recovering from a serious worry, they tend to need obvious things explained to them as a way of rejoining the rest of the world)
Tabitha liked Arthur the Tutor very much, so she did not greet the question with as much sarcasm as she would likely have mustered had he been someone else. She merely contented herself with:
“He’s my dog.” And then, “You should tell the innkeeper that his stablehand hasn’t hitched the horses to the carriage yet. Lazing around somewhere, I shouldn’t wonder.” And Arthur the Tutor, seized by this fresh misfortune, rushed off as quickly as his aged body would permit, forgetting even to command Tabitha to follow him. Such a command would have remained unheeded, as she had decided to give the dog a proper bath in the horse trough outside the stable. The water wasn’t very deep, certainly not high enough to give the puppy any trouble, and Tabitha rinsed his fur with more care and gentleness than she had ever displayed towards any other living creature.
When she was done, she placed the puppy on an upturned bucket to examine it. She cocked her head in concentration. The puppy, tired from its ordeal and much happier now that it was rescued, sat down and cocked his head at the girl. She giggled. The puppy’s tail wagged and he stood up to plant his paws on her chest and try to lick her face. Due to his small stature he miscalculated and fell over, but never fear, Tabitha caught him and while in her arms he succeeded in his goal of licking her face. She giggled again and put him back down on the bucket. He was so small—he couldn’t have been much older than four weeks old, but Tabitha surmised that from the size of his paws he would grow very rapidly.
Now that this important task was accomplished, it seemed best to head back inside the inn: the kitchens were there, and she had a notion that her newly acquired pet might be hungry.
He was—and he managed to gulp down a large portion of meat scraps in the short time before Tabitha was told the carriage was ready. Picking the dog up gently, Tabitha allowed herself to be rushed into the carriage and on her way, no one remarking on the oddity of her arriving without a dog, and yet leaving with one, although Arthur the Tutor had a very bemused look on his face. It hadn’t occurred to him that Tabitha had never had a pet before. (Lady Bushfield was allergic to dogs, couldn’t stand the sound of birds chirping inside, and although she liked cats, for some reason they would never stay in the house more than a few hours before escaping) Although it was likely her Great-Aunt Hilsida might object to a pet dog, it was obvious to Arthur the Tutor that Tabitha was going to seize the opportunity that had dropped into her lap, so to speak, to have a pet. Tabitha looked at him, her gaze direct and clearly stating that if he didn’t understand what she meant to do (keep the dog), he was much less intelligent than she had thought all these years. Uncannily, the dog turned toward him and gave him the same expression. Arthur the Tutor gave in to the inevitable and consoled himself with the thought that the dog would be company for Tabitha while she was so far away from home.
The thought of what to name the dog occupied her mind for many of the hours it took to reach Great-Aunt Hilsida’s house. Tabitha wasn’t the sort of girl to name her dog ‘Spot,’ or ‘Darling,’ or—heaven’s forbid—‘Fluffles.’ (her mother had had a long haired white cat once that she named Fluffles. In the two hours the cat was in the house, it scratched two of the maids, all of the footmen, and bit the Butler. Tabitha thought that this was the perfect example of names forming the disposition of the individual, for not even the most well-tempered of animals could survive the bestowing of the name ‘Fluffles.’ Tabitha was actually right in assuming this. Before being named Fluffles, the cat had been pleasant, if a bit disposed towards hissing, and after it left the house it was adopted by a bookkeeper and his wife and was renamed Tansy, whereupon it proceeded to have the most unremarkable and well-loved life). So since Tabitha was not the sort to give a name lightly, especially if it had the chance to change the dog’s natural personality, she thought long and hard about what the dog’s name might already be, the name he might be carrying around in his own head. It was only when Arthur the Tutor remarked in a bemused voice that the puppy looked like a wolf-hound breed that Tabitha heard the sound of the word she was looking for. And with a various bit of pummeling at it she arrived at what she thought the dog’s name might be: Wulafric. The first time she whispered it aloud the puppy looked at her and wagged his tail, and she took that as a good sign (although the puppy had been doing little else for the whole carriage ride).
After the important event of the bestowing of Wulafric’s name, the day passed much as the first had, except that Tabitha occasionally asked questions about the land they passed through: why did it look like that, why did so many people seem to raise sheep, and why had people always said that the north was so grim and horrible looking? Tabitha quite like the stark nature of the moors and the huge boulders that lay here and there like a giant’s scattered jacks set. The roads continued to worsen the further north they went, the jostling of the carriage sometimes becoming quite extreme. Tabitha and Wulafric looked upon them as a sort of game, to see who could bounce higher. Arthur the Tutor satisfied himself with gritting his teeth and wishing he was a younger man again with bones that didn’t ache.
It was after one of the worst of these jouncing bounds that the carriage passed the gates of Great-Aunt Hilsida’s estate. The puppy whined and curled up in a tight little ball in Tabitha’s lap. She shivered. It was as if all the fun that the day had contained drained out of the carriage. The carriage felt colder, the light dimmer than it had been all day, though it lacked three hours to sunset. Arthur the Tutor sat up straighter and looked out the window. He also shivered. The moors were not his favorite scenery. He was a man from the south, used to well-tended fertile rolling green fields, not the open harsh unfarmed lands of the north.
He looked over at Tabitha. She was oblivious to what lay outside, all her attention on softly stroking her puppy. Arthur the Tutor smiled. Although the puppy had unsettled him at first, he was glad it would be staying with her, for he himself was to return with the carriage, possibly that very night. (Arthur the Tutor had overheard the coachman talking with the footman, and apparently he had seen Aunt Hilsida before and had no desire to stay one night at her house. There was a village they could reach before dark, and whether or not the ‘gent’ would come with them, they were going there right after they dropped the girl off, such a pity she was staying there, but that was no reason to stay themselves). Even though Arthur the Tutor was reluctant to believe in rumors, he had the smallest of hunches that the coachman might have the right of it. And a large part of him withered in shame that he was leaving this girl here to suffer the fate he was not even willing to share for one night, but necessity is a funny thing. When one must, one does. When one mustn’t, one often doesn’t.
Aunt Hilsida’s house was dark and grey, with strange turrets and overhangs and pointed arches that gathered shadows like a child does pretty stones. It was the sort of house that ought to be continually lit by lightning flashes, but although the day was cloudy, no rain was forthcoming, and certainly no lightning. Which was a pity because it might have warned Tabitha just that bit more about what life was to be like inside. How unfair that life refuses to warn us with obvious signs and markers such as: ‘turn back now or you’ll regret it,’ or, ‘watch out for that ditch,’ or, ‘you should have left last Tuesday,’ or, ‘don’t eat the pudding.’ (the last one would have been strangely popular if it were possible)
The carriage stopped, the cessation of movement causing Tabitha to look up. One quick glance out the window showed her that they had arrived. Gathering up her new puppy, Tabitha exited the carriage with the grace of a grand Duchess on stilts (that is to say, with great care). Arthur the Tutor also exited, but with admittedly less style (two days was a long time to spend in a carriage when you were his age). There were no stable boys waiting to even attempt to take the horses, no footmen to take the luggage, no Butler to direct them, and most noticeable of all, no Great Aunt Hilsida. Arthur the Tutor was bemused. He had been expecting more of a welcome for Tabitha, after all, her Aunt knew she was coming. Where was everyone? He went to the front door and knocked as loudly as he could (on the scale of hard knocks it only rated a four, one being ‘how pitiful you even considered that to be a hard knock,’ and ten being ‘oh, sorry about the door, it really looks much better with that crack in it, really.’) As if from a long ways off Arthur the Tutor heard slow footsteps gradually growing louder. (and it really was a long way off, through the entrance hall, past the best parlor, past the second best parlor, past the library that hadn’t been seen in five years since no one had opened the door, past the study that also hadn’t been seen in five years, around the corner and down a small flight of stairs to a room just off the kitchen. That’s where the footsteps started)
The footsteps reached the front door and the door itself swung wide enough that Arthur the Tutor had to jump back or be swatted by the door like it was a fly-swatter and he the fly. The door opened to reveal one of the most disagreeable men Arthur the Tutor had ever seen. The man’s body was stooped at the shoulders for no particular reason except that he hated standing straight. His head was permanently cocked at a quizzical angle because he believed it would save time. The hair on his head was unkempt and greasy and calling the hair on his chin a beard would have been a most generous appellation and most likely insulting to the species. Arthur the Tutor suspected the man hadn’t washed in weeks, if not months, and based on the way the man’s nose was screwed up and his mouth twisted, he didn’t much care for anyone’s opinion on anything. Although Arthur the Tutor hated to assume such a thing, it was his best guess that this man was the Butler to the house. He was right. (although the pleasure he took in being right was even less than when he had told his best friend the lady he wanted to marry shaved her beard every morning—his friend had refused to believe him and married her anyway, only to discover that Arthur was right—and even less than when he predicted a business would fail—it did, but his family’s whole fortune was wrapped up in it, and that was the reason Arthur became a tutor, because he had to support himself somehow after that debacle. Arthur had been right about many things in his life, but he had started to wonder if being wrong might be more fun)
In any case, the Butler looked around at the small party of people on the doorstep, grunted to himself, and sway-stepped forward. (some people will say that it is impossible to ‘sway-step,’ that there is no such thing, but they would be wrong. A sway-step is undertaken thusly: every step is accompanied by a rocking forward and back, whereupon the first step rocks the walker forward and the sway backward gathers up the next step and propels it on the sway forward. It is a most interesting form of locomotion and has been known to make viewers feel slightly sea-sick, along with the walker himself, although Great-Aunt Hilsida’s Butler thought the swaying motion felt quite comfortable) He picked up one of the trunks the Bushfield’s footman had unloaded and he carried it into the gloom of the house without saying a word. Arthur the Tutor quickly motioned for the footman to follow with the other trunk—with great reluctance, the footman did.
Arthur the Tutor turned back to Tabitha who was calmly surveying the outside of the house as if it didn’t appear to be the sort of house where mad Barons brought kidnapped daughters of the aristocracy.
“My dear child,” Arthur the Tutor said in English, surprising Tabitha, “I don’t know where your Aunt is or why this house appears to be deserted except for that surly Butler, and I heartily wish your parents had not sent you here, but I have no choice in the matter, and I feel that this may be the last time we speak, so I wish to give you a little advice. You have a wonderful mind, Tabitha, even if you are disinclined to be forgiving of other’s mistakes or beliefs. I only hope that it won’t get you into more trouble than it can get you out of. And if you should ever need me, or even just want to talk, do write to me.” (Tabitha knew Arthur the Tutor’s address, as she had known all the addresses of her infrequent teachers, for you never knew when an address might come in handy) “And finally, take care, Tabitha. I am not superstitious, but this house seems to be the worst sort of place. Take care, and be happy, if you can.” Tabitha nodded up at Arthur the Tutor, and the puppy yipped at his post by her ankle. Arthur the Tutor smiled at them both and the return of the footman from the depths of the house put an end to their goodbyes. Arthur reentered the carriage, passing out to Tabitha her satchel, then the coachman cracked the whip over the horses and the carriage was gone down the drive.
Chapter 3
Chapter 3
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