The World Within (40 page)

Emily’s relieved when Papa comes. Surely it will be all right now.

While Tabby hovers in the background, her father squats down and studies Grasper, who doesn’t seem aware of his presence, not even when he touches Grasper’s ears.

“Hmm. They’re cold,” Papa murmurs to himself, as if he half-expected it.

“Do you know what’s wrong, Papa?”

Papa’s face is grave as he gazes at her. “I fear it looks as if he’s been poisoned.”

“Poisoned? You mean, the rat …?”

Papa nods. “It seems very likely.”

“What can we do?”

Her father lays his hand on her head and the look he gives her makes her heart turn over. “Nothing, my love.”

“What do you mean? Surely there’s something we can do!”

But Papa shakes his head.

Emily swallows hard. “How long has he got?”

“Not long.”

She doesn’t utter a sound.

Turning back to Grasper, she caresses his rough coat, his dear, dear head, and then she just holds him. Her throat and chest are tight, but she remains dry-eyed as she sits there, watching, holding, as Grasper’s eyes glaze over and he slips into unconsciousness.

After a while, Papa touches her arm. “Emily? He’s gone.”

She gives the briefest of nods, but still she goes on holding him, and it’s a long time before she’ll allow Papa to lift him out of her arms and take him away.

“This’ll cheer you up, Em.”

“What is it?” says Emily wearily, putting down the book she’s been trying and failing to read. Several weeks have passed since Grasper died, but she’s still in a low state. Since she lost her dearest friend, she has no interest in anything. But there’s no ignoring Branwell when he’s in this mood — bouncing into the parlor and pushing his eager face into hers. It’s better to respond and hope he’ll go away soon.

“Mr. Taylor —”

“Don’t.” Emily covers her ears. “I don’t want to hear anything about that man.”

“No, listen.” Branwell pulls her hands away. “You’ll like this, honestly. He caught me after church this morning and said I was to tell you that his Jessie has had her pups and you’re welcome to have one, if you like.”

Emily screws up her face. “I don’t want a pup.”

“But it’s a good idea, isn’t it? To help you get over …”

“It’s too soon.” She turns her head away, caught by a fresh wave of loss. She would rather experience the physical pain of the dog bite again than suffer this — and it just goes on and on.

“Em?” Branwell is still here, looking at her hopefully.

Exasperated, she sucks air in through her teeth. He’s impossible. But then she relents — after all, he’s only trying to help.

“Look,” she says, “one day I might be able to think about having another dog, but I couldn’t have one of Mr. Taylor’s, not after what happened.”

“But it wasn’t his fault.”

Emily gives him a stony look. “He said it was all right for Grasper to run about the yard.”

“Maybe it had slipped his mind that the groom had put down the poison. He can’t possibly remember every detail about what goes on at the farm.”

“Why are you so keen to defend him?”

“Because it was an accident, Em. Robert says —”

“What has this to do with
him
?” She can’t keep the irritation out of her voice.

He hesitates. “Oh, it doesn’t matter. The point is, Mr. Taylor feels sorry for what happened and he wants to make it up to you. Can’t you do the poor fellow a favor and accept his offer?” Branwell’s face is shining with earnestness.

Emily clenches her teeth. “Why should I do Mr. Taylor a favor?”

Branwell tugs at his hair in exasperation. “Hang it, Em! I’m only saying all this because I think a puppy would make
you
feel better.”

Emily doesn’t deign to respond.

Sighing, Branwell gets up and goes to the door, where he delivers a parting shot. “At least think about it.”

Despite herself, Emily does. She can’t help it. The house is so dismal without Grasper.

She tries to console herself with Tiger, encouraging him to sit on her lap and spoiling him with scraps, but it’s no good. The cat, like all cats, is independent and once he’s eaten his treat, he’s ready to go off on his own business.

Grasper was quite different — he really seemed to seek out her company. She misses the weight of his head on her foot when she’s playing the piano. She misses his warm body pressed against hers when she lies on the rug reading and the way he’d push his nose into her book when he was bored. And there’s such a gaping void at her side when she goes out walking.

Of course, she’ll never feel the same about another dog, but it might be worth a look. Still, she hesitates. It seems disloyal to be thinking about a puppy so soon.

But a few days later she says to Branwell, “Next time you see Mr. Taylor, tell him I’d like to have a look at the pups.”

The thought of the puppies has proved irresistible. She adds hastily, “Just a look, mind. I’ve not decided definitely to have one. And you realize, of course, that I’m not doing this to oblige Mr. Taylor.”

“No, of course not.” Branwell nods gravely. “I understand completely. I’ll pass the message on.”

He duly reports back that Emily is welcome to go to the farm the next afternoon to see the puppies.

“I won’t have to meet Mr. Taylor, will I?”

“Oh no, I made sure of that.” There’s a gleam in Branwell’s eye that suddenly makes Emily suspicious. Is he up to something?

She almost changes her mind about going. But if Mr. Taylor appears, she’ll just march straight out of there without saying a word.

The farm servant who opens the door says, “You’re expected, miss. Come in.”

Emily enters the house warily — she’d imagined she’d be directed to the barn. “Is your master at home?”

“No, miss. He’s taken missis to Halifax to buy some stuff for new dresses.”

Emily relaxes. “I’ve come to see the puppies.”

“Yes, miss, I know. They’re in here.” The woman shows her into what is obviously the family’s sitting room. Emily doesn’t waste any time looking around — she’s spotted the mother sheepdog and her litter in a large box next to the fireplace.

Throwing off her bonnet, she crouches down in front of them, entranced.

The puppies are wide awake and full of life, tumbling over one another and fighting. In a corner two of them are tussling over an old glove, playing at tug-of-war, and she can’t help smiling at their antics.

She notices that the mother is watching her suspiciously, so she puts her hand out and lets the dog sniff her fingers. When the slow thump of the dog’s tail signals that she’s been accepted, she lets her hand dangle in the box. Within seconds one of the pups starts chewing at it, its little teeth as sharp as needles.

“Ow, you little rascal.” Emily scoops up the squirming bundle. “Let me have a good look at you.”

Like its mother and siblings, the puppy is black with white markings, but its eye patches aren’t symmetrical, which gives it a comical look.

“Aren’t you a funny one!” she exclaims, but then she almost drops the pup as a voice at her shoulder says, “He’s jolly, isn’t he?”

She spins round. Robert Taylor is standing there, smiling down at her. She thrusts the puppy back in the box and scrambles to her feet.

“Forgive me if I startled you. You were so absorbed I didn’t want to intrude.” The young man puts out his hand as if to shake hers, but Emily doesn’t take it.

How long has he been watching her? And how dare he? She feels exposed, vulnerable. And she can’t think of a single thing to say.

“Miss Emily, I’m so sorry about what happened to your dog. Branwell tells me you were very fond of it.”

They’ve been talking about her. Branwell really is the limit.

Her eyes flick toward the door, but the young man is rattling on. “I lost my dog last year. It was to be expected — old age, you know — but even so I miss her. I can imagine how upset you must be feeling about yours. I’m glad you’re going to have one of these little ones. It’s the least we can do.”

Emily finds her voice at last. “But I’m not … that is … I haven’t decided yet.”

Robert Taylor gestures toward the puppies. “Please. Carry on, and take your time.”

Oh Lord, he’s misunderstood. Why doesn’t he go away and leave her alone?

But he doesn’t. Instead, he squats by the box and gestures for her to join him.

Emily finds herself sinking onto her knees beside him. What
is
she doing? She should just get up and leave, now.

But he’s off again. “Now, I know you fancied that odd-looking fellow, but have you seen this little girl here? She’s very pretty, and has a more placid temperament, I’d say.” He holds out one of the pups for her inspection. “Wouldn’t she suit you better? She’d make a lovely pet.”

Mutely, Emily shakes her head. A pet! That’s the last thing she would want.

“All right, the boy it is. He’s yours.” He puts the puppy in her arms. But instead of drawing back, he stays where he is, stroking the puppy’s head.

This is terrible. He’s so close to her she can smell the soapy scent of his skin. But she’s trapped and can’t get up without making a spectacle of herself or squashing the puppy.

Mesmerized, she watches his hand move back and forth across the puppy’s head, noticing how clean his nails are as his fingers come perilously close to hers.

And then his hand stops moving, he lifts his head, and, looking right into her eyes, he says quietly, “Miss Emily, you can’t imagine how happy you’ve made me by coming to see me today.”

Emily widens her eyes. “But —” That’s all she manages to say, because suddenly he kisses her on the lips. Frozen with shock, she lets it happen, inwardly recoiling from the warm moistness of his mouth pressed against hers.

She’s brought back to her senses by the puppy suddenly whimpering and wriggling. She jerks her head back and, by shuffling away from him, she manages to scramble up.

“How dare you?”

He blinks at her, stupefied, and then he looks embarrassed and rises awkwardly to his feet.

“I — I’m sorry. You’re so absolutely lovely, I forgot myself.”

Emily screws up her face. What nonsense is this?

“Please.” He takes a step toward her and she moves back out of his reach. “Please don’t think badly of me. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

She manages to find her voice. “You can be sure of that, because I’ll never come near you again.” Unceremoniously, she dumps the puppy into his arms and retreats to the door.

Her hand is on the latch when he cries out, “Oh, don’t say that. Don’t let one moment of rash impulse affect your feelings for me.”

Emily turns back. “My feelings? But I don’t have any feelings for you.”

Robert’s face falls and he looks confused. “But Branwell said —”

“Branwell!”

Suddenly she sees it all.

Branwell and his friend have devised this ridiculous charade in order to amuse themselves at her expense. She can just imagine how heartily they’ll laugh when Robert gives his account of the scene.

Lifting her chin, she says as coldly as she can, “I won’t endure another moment of your mockery. And I wouldn’t take one of your pups if you paid me to. Good day!”

She turns on her heels and makes her exit. She hears him bleating after her down the lane, but she splashes on without looking back or slowing her pace.