Page 49 of Bane Bloom

Thomas drained the rest of his tea in one draught. I took up the pot and filled it again, saying, “I met with a woman in the bluebell glade.” He looked up sharply as I continued, “A fairy creature of some kind, I would have guessed, even before what you’ve told me. She said she was the Queen of Elfame.”

“Be wary, Catherine.” His voice came out a low rumble. “They’re not like us. They’re not to be trusted.”

Again I frowned. “Are you saying they’re bad?”

“Not bad. Not good. Dangerous.”

There had certainly been something vaguely threatening in the queen’s manner. And her intensity at the end had frightened me. “Dangerous how?”

“They’re not always truthful. And their reasons for doing things are sometimes . . .” His thumb rubbed the side of his mug. “Strange. They might invite you to walk along a crag with them just to see what will happen if you fall.”

Recalling the fall I had taken, I murmured, “Ah.” Without looking at him, I said, “The queen mentioned something called the Elfbloom. Do you know what that is?”

Thomas was quiet so long I glanced up. He raised his hand and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I might.”

I took a breath, firming my resolve. “And does it have something to do with the water lily in the glasshouse that sometimes looks like a different flower altogether? The one you’ve been pretending doesn’t exist?”

Hand still raised, he murmured, “Catherine . . .”

“Did Mr. Carroll know about that flower? Does it have something to do with why he’s missing?”

“You don’t—”

Thunder cracked suddenly, lightning momentarily brightening the room. Both of us looked out the window.

A face stared back at us.

Heart’s Desire

I shoved my chair back from the table as Thomas launched to his feet.

The eyes that met mine were utterly wild. And so wide that the whites showed all around, impossibly bright against irises the color of rich soil. The flesh of the face was ridged and rough like tree bark, while head and chin were covered with fine, shaggy hair that resembled . . . masses of plant roots.

“Stay here,” shouted Thomas. “Bolt the door behind me.”

“You’re not going out there!” I choked out in disbelief.

He charged through the open door.

I bent over the table, pressing my face closer to the window. The thing had already gone; I could see it thumping down the tile beach toward the pines, Thomas in its wake. The figure was manlike, despite the strange hair that I now saw covered its entire body. It wore not a stitch of clothing, though a few leaves clung to its hair (fur?) in places. Tossing back its head, the creature let out a coarse cry I’d heard once before—on my first night in Pine Cottage.

I remained there, staring, long after they were no longer visible from the window. Heart pounding, numb with shock.

Over the course of this day, it had become quite clear why Thomas didn’t want me wandering alone. Perhaps even why he had seemed to always be watching me. He wasn’t protecting family secrets. Or maybe he was, but not for the reasons I’d suspected. There were dangers here. And if he’d been candid with me about them from the beginning, I would never have believed him. I might have spoken of it to the Society, who might have deemed him no longer fit for employment here.

But why on earth does he stay?

The next obvious question was what was I still doing here? I’d come to Pine Cottage with clear enough purpose, but would not any sensible and sober person be making arrangements to return to London by now? This posting had seemed like my best chance at some form of security for Papa and me, but it now appeared the risk might outweigh the potential benefits.

It’s what Thomas has wanted me to see all along.

Yet I’d come here with such hope! Was I truly ready to let that go? To begin again with my plans and schemes?

I didn’t have a ready answer. I only knew it wasn’t a decision I could allow anyone else to make for me.

I’d been finding my own footing from an early age. Since I first learned about my mother’s abandonment. Since I discovered Papa’s careless way with money. Since it became clear that his days of providing for us were numbered.

I let out a breath and turned at last from the window. Thomas and the frightful creature had vanished, and I saw no danger in leaving the hut. I felt some anxiety for Thomas, but he certainly had the advantage of size. I couldn’t think clearly here, with his voice still sounding in my head, and surrounded by all his things and his warm, earthy smell.