Page 6 of Otters and Obstacles
“Good,” Peter said, and rose from his chair. “Shall we check on the otters?”
Morley sprang to his feet and jammed the hat back onto his head. “Yes. Please.”
Peter led Morley out through the kitchen door under Mrs. Barwick’s suspicious eye and through the garden to where the otters were.
As they approached the chicken coop, Morley frowned. “They should not be this exposed to the elements. They are tropical animals, after all.”
“It is still summer.” Peter eyed the remaining gaps between the boards of the coop. “They should be all right until autumn arrives.”
A squeal carried across the air, along with a whiff of the otter scent that so distressed Mrs. Barwick, and Morley’s steps quickened until Peter had difficulty keeping up despite the disparity in their heights. Three small forms appeared at the wire mesh that kept them enclosed, noses pressed against it as they began to chirp with more and more urgency.
Before Peter could reach the door of the coop, Morley unlatched it and was immediately swarmed by the otters, whichflung themselves into his waiting arms. The boy sank to his knees to embrace the animals while they twined themselves around his body, making a contented chirruping sound Peter had not heard from them before.
“It does appear the animals know you.”
Morley raised his head, his dark eyes full of unshed tears that glimmered like stars.
Where had that thought come from?
Peter shook the thought away. “Are these your otters, sir?”
Gulping, Morley finally said, “Yes. Yes, they are. Thank you. Thank you for taking care of them.”
Uncomfortable with the boy’s gratitude, Peter shifted from foot to foot. “Of course, of course. I couldn’t just put the creatures outside, could I?”
Morley dragged his face across the shoulder of his coat to dry his eyes since his arms were full of otters. “You would be surprised,” he said darkly. “Far too many people are unwilling to give even the smallest kindness to a mere animal.”
Peter looked down at the otters. They had formed a small pile in Morley’s lap and were making sounds remarkably close to a purr. It was one of the few times he had not seen them in full motion.
Morley cleared his throat and peered through the mesh into the coop’s yard. “You should have a pool of water for them to swim in as well.”
“We were quite puzzled about that. They didn’t seem desperate for it.”
“They like to go for a swim—though Bonny has to be persuaded—but this species doesn’t seem to live in water like other types do.” Morley grinned up at him. “We had to teach them to swim ourselves, and quite an undertaking it was.”
“Given how vocal they are, I’m surprised you still have your hearing.”
Morley’s grin dimmed a little. “It was a good distraction for Papa and I. My mother and younger brother died a few weeks before the otters arrived and we were… at loose ends.”
“Fever?” Peter guessed.
“Yes.”
Peter lay a comforting hand on Morley’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” Morley bent and buried his face in the otters again, who chirruped at him. One began grooming his hair, which Peter couldn’t help but notice was roughly chopped off.
“You will forgive me saying so, Mr. Morley, but your barber ought to be shot.”
Morley flinched, then gave a carefree grin. “I’m afraid I did it to myself, Lord Peter. It still hasn’t grown out quite right.”
“I’m sure Mrs. Barwick will be able to help trim it.”
“I would appreciate that.”
With a sigh, Morley gathered up the protesting otters and gently wrestled them back into the coop. Peter pretended not to notice as the boy dragged his sleeve across his still-watering eyes.
“I have some appointments in the parish this afternoon, but I will return in time for supper. Mrs. Barwick can help you get settled.”
