Ciaran explained. “Eight years ago a report was filed with the Dover inspector by old widow Thompson, who lives just outside the village. According to her, one morning after a terrible storm, she found a horse in her backyard, fully saddled but missing its rider. The horse appeared to have been through a terrible trauma and needed sedation merely to remove the saddle. As I recall there was a deep gash on its hindquarters that appeared to have been made by a large set of claws, and it was a nasty wound at that, according to my veterinarian, who tended the steed. He told me that if he didn’t know it was impossible, he would have concluded that the horse had been attacked by a lion. To add to the mystery, no one ever claimed the horse, and its rider was never found.”
The earl looked gravely at Ciaran. “That was a long time ago, my friend, and any number of things could have caused that gash and traumatized the horse. It’s not likely that the beast was responsible after all this time.”
A memory tore its way into Ian’s mind and took him back to the night Theo had arrived with a strange man on horseback. Like Ciaran mentioned, there had been a terrific storm that evening, and Ian distinctly remembered the howl that both he and Madam Scargill had heard out in the hills beyond the keep.
Ian’s heart began to race with the idea that maybe this man’s horse was the one discovered by old widow Thompson and perhaps its rider had fallen victim to the beast when he’d left the safety of the keep. An intense fear gripped his heart as he also considered that Theo might be right after all. Maybe the beast had been after her, not only the night before, but eight years earlier too. “I remember that evening,” he said quietly.
“Eh?” said Ciaran, cupping his ear. “What did you say, lad?”
“Eight years ago, the night Theo arrived at the orphanage, sir. I was up because of the storm, you see, and I remember hearing an awful howl in the hills. The man who brought Theo to the keep, he left on horseback and we never saw him again.”
Ciaran looked at the earl as if to say “Aha!” but the earl clearly wanted to move away from long-ago memories and get to the business of the present—hunting down the beast.
“Enough chatter,” he said, waving his hand impatiently. “We’ll need every bit of daylight left if we’re going to locate the hellhound and her pups. I suggest we spread out in twos and threes to search the caves along this side of the cliffs. Hopefully she hasn’t moved too far away and we can find her new lair without much trouble. Perry, Ian, you’re with me on this central cliffside. Ciaran, Alfred, you take the southwestern slope. Thatcher and Henry, take the southeastern slope, and if anyone sees the other men up top, please advise them of all that we’ve found, and have them explore the northwestern side of the cliffs.”
The men set off with renewed vigor, determined to end the threat to their homeland. As the morning hours passed, however, Ian’s hopes were beginning to wane, and as morning turned to afternoon with no additional sign of the beast or her litter, he truly felt disheartened.
It was starting to look like the she-beast might have escaped them. As even more time passed, Ian began to shiver with cold from climbing up the face of the cliffs and searching the many caves while the frigid wind from the strait beat against him, leaving his face chapped and raw. Compared to the rest of the hunting party, he was miserably underdressed, with only his thin blazer to protect him from the chilly wind.
Eventually, Ian was shivering so intensely that his schoolmaster took pity on him. “My lord,” Perry said to the earl, “I think I should take the boy to our cottage and give him some tea. He’s not dressed as warmly as the rest of us, after all, and perhaps there’s a coat in one of our trunks he can wear.”
The earl, who had been acutely focused on the ground and finding any trace of the beast, seemed to notice Ian’s misery for the first time. “Yes, of course, Perry. Take the boy. I’ll join Ciaran’s group.”
The schoolmaster stepped over to Ian and took the silver box from his shivering fingers. Ian was so cold that he gave up the box gladly. He could barely feel his hands and he’d been worried about his little treasure slipping from his grasp and down the side of the cliffs.
“Come, lad,” Perry said, putting the box into his coat pocket. “Our cottage is not far from here. I’ll return this once you’ve warmed yourself up.”
Ian walked dumbly behind Perry as they traveled up one of the paths leading from the caves to higher ground. He was so miserably cold that he felt foggy and out of sorts. They reached the main road that led to the village at the bottom of a set of hills that looked up to Castle Dover. It was a bit less chilly here away from the wind of the channel, but Ian still shivered. He truly felt like he might never warm up again.
Finally, they reached a modest cottage with a white picket fence and a small vegetable garden, and Perry led the way to the front door. “Now, come inside and I’ll fix us some tea. I think Thatcher has an old coat that might fit you.”
Ian walked into the home and immediately sat down at the table. He was tired and numb with cold and his shoulder ached in its sling. He felt as if his legs might be ready to give out and his eyelids were droopy with fatigue. Perry went out a back door and returned quickly with an armful of firewood. He placed this inside a black iron stove and lit a match, which ignited the fire. Soon the small kitchen was filling with heat, and Ian scooted his chair closer to the stove, hungry for the warmth it was giving off.
“There,” said Perry as he set a kettle on the top of the stove. “We should have some tea in just a few minutes. Watch the kettle, Ian, while I go search out Thatcher’s trunks.”
“Yes, sir,” said Ian, his teeth still chattering as he willed his tired eyes to focus on the kettle. Hovering by the stove, he pushed his hands close to the fire and felt the warmth slowly come back to his bones. The kettle began to whistle a short time later, so he picked it up and filled the teapot with hot, steamy liquid. He found two cups in the cupboard and put those beside the pot as he waited for the tea to steep. While he waited, he wandered around the kitchen, noting that the furnishings looked decidedly frilly. He doubted that the brothers had decorated this cottage by themselves. They’d likely rented it from someone in town who’d furnished it.
Perry still hadn’t returned, and Ian thought it might be rude to drink the tea without him, so to distract himself he headed out of the kitchen and into the sitting room. Again, he noted that the furnishings seemed to reflect a woman’s taste rather than that of two bachelors—though he had to admit, the result was warm and inviting. A small framed photograph on the wall caught his attention. He walked over to it curiously, but as he got close his breath caught and his heart began to beat rapidly.
Just then Perry came down the stairs and round the corner. “I had to search through several trunks, but I’ve finally found it,” he said as he held up a tweed coat. “It’s a little out of style and will likely be too big for you, but it should keep you warm out there, at least.”
“Sir,” said Ian, pointing to the picture on the wall, “is this your photo?”
Perry gave him a quizzical look but came over to where he stood and gazed at the photo. “No,” he said. “That was there when we got here. The landlady said that she’d inherited this cottage from her brother, who disappeared some time ago and was finally declared dead. They suspect he got drunk and fell off the cliffs one night. But as I understand it, this house has been empty for many years.”
“I know who these two are,” said Ian, putting his finger up to trace the image of the beautiful lady with white-blond hair, who looked like a grown-up version of Theo, holding a small toddler in her arms. The toddler he’d first seen on a stormy night eight years before.
“Who?” asked Perry.
“It’s Theo and her mother.”
“The little girl who was with you when the beast attacked?”
“Yes,” said Ian gravely. “Might I have this photograph?”
Perry seemed to hesitate for only a moment before agreeing to the request. “Yes, of course. If
you’re certain it’s Theo and her mother, then she should have the memento.”
“I’m certain,” said Ian, feeling deeply that he wasn’t mistaken. He carefully lifted the photo off the wall. “She’ll be very grateful to you for letting her have it,” he added.
Perry smiled. “Shall we have some tea, then?”
The pair shared the tea and some biscuits to abate their hunger. They kept to small talk, mostly about the weather and life at the keep, but Ian’s mind kept drifting back to the photograph of Theo’s mother and what might have driven the woman to abandon her baby on a violent stormy night.
Shortly after they’d sipped the last of their tea, Perry encouraged the boy to try on Thatcher’s old coat. The schoolmaster helped him put on the woolen garment, and although it was rather large on Ian, he relished the warmth and protection from the cold. The pockets were also large enough to hold his box and the photograph.
Once they were bundled up again and had set their dishes in the sink, he and Perry left the cottage to rejoin the members of the hunting party. Ian felt much better now that he’d had a few biscuits and hot tea, and he kept pace with Perry as they walked briskly back to the cliffs.
They found the earl and Ciaran’s group with little effort. Ian couldn’t help noticing that the men in the hunting party were far less jubilant than when they’d started that morning. Finally, as dusk settled along the cliffs and the wind began to die down, the earl called all the groups together and announced, “I’m afraid we’ll not find the beast today. Best to head back to the castle, have a proper supper, and begin our search again in the morning.”
Ian gave one last long look to the terrain atop the cliffs, searching the shadows. He hated to think that the beast would be loose somewhere nearby for yet another evening, though he reasoned that at least they had the safety and shelter of Castle Dover, which was a far more secure environment than the keep. Still, he made a mental note to keep his eye on Theo until the hellhound was hunted down.
Ian heard his name called, and he turned and trotted after the ten men in the hunting party as they trudged up the path in the direction of Castle Dover. He walked behind the earl and Ciaran and listened while they talked about their fruitless search. “I don’t think the beast is hiding in the caves,” said Ciaran.
“What I can’t understand is why there’s no sign of her,” said the earl. “We’ve looked all day for a drop of blood or a paw print or a scratch in the ground. … It’s like she’s vanished into thin air.”
“Awfully hard to hunt a beast that leaves no trace of itself,” replied Ciaran. “And we’ve searched almost every bit of the surrounding terrain. I suspect that after being wounded last night, she returned to gather her pups and got them to safer territory, someplace far away from here. By now she could be across the county” Ian’s heart skipped a beat. After encountering the hellhound firsthand, he knew she would not give up that easily. He felt strongly she was still in the area.
“I think it best that we not give up just yet,” said the earl, much to Ian’s relief. He’d been worried that the earl would agree that the beast had left Dover, and not bother to continue the hunt. “In the morning I’ll have Binsford call round to a few of the local villagers and see if some of the townsfolk won’t join us in the hunt. At the very least perhaps one of them has seen the beast and can give us some direction.”
Ian wondered if he’d be asked to go along again. It made sense that now that he’d served his purpose of showing the hunting party where her lair had been, he wouldn’t be needed anymore. However, there were still several unanswered questions, not the least of which was why his name was scrawled across the cavern wall in Greek lettering.
He wondered if Searle had been up to his tricks again, though Ian knew that the boy was fairly daft, and the likelihood of the orphanage bully being able to write anything so sophisticated in a foreign language like Greek was surely next to nil.
The earl and Ciaran fell silent as the last threads of sunlight drifted beyond the horizon, and Ian was relieved to see the lights of Castle Dover just ahead. He was looking forward to a good meal and a warm bed after two exhausting days.
When the group finally reached the castle, they wasted no time getting out of the cold. Upon entering the front hall, the hunting party was immediately greeted by several servants who hurried forward to take their coats. Ian gave his up only after he’d emptied the pockets of his treasure box and the photograph. “Thank you,” he said politely as a servant woman with a kind face helped him off with Thatcher’s coat.
Binsford came into the room as the last servant was collecting Alfred’s and Perry’s coats, and he stepped up to the earl. “We’ve kept dinner for you, my lord.”
“Good man, Binsford,” said the earl. “How are the children adjusting?”
“They have all been fed and shown their rooms, my lord,” said Binsford.
“And how is Miss Carlyle faring under the strain of so many little ones?” the earl asked with a grin.
“As well as can be expected, my lord,” Binsford said with an exaggerated sigh and a slight smile.
“Very well, then,” said the earl with a chuckle as he turned to address the hunting party. “Everyone, into the dining hall for a warm meal.”
Ian hung back as the men eagerly filed out of the entry-way. He wasn’t sure if he should join the group or wait for instructions to rejoin the other children, so he fidgeted nervously as he watched them all leave for the meal. The earl took notice of him standing sheepishly in the front hall and asked, “Something the matter, Master Wigby?”
“No, my lord,” Ian said quickly. “It’s just …”
“Just what, lad?”
“I’m not sure where I should go,” he admitted, feeling a blush hit his cheeks.
“To the table with the rest of us, of course,” said the earl kindly. “It’s been at least a day since you’ve eaten a solid meal, am I correct?”
Ian smiled broadly, feeling a rush of relief as he walked forward. “Yes, my lord, and thank you,” he said.
As he was about to pass, the earl caught him gently by his good shoulder. “Ian,” he said, turning the boy to face him, “after we hunt this beast down, we’ll need to talk about the writing on that cavern wall.”
“Yes, my lord,” Ian said, vigorously nodding. “I’d like to find out why my name was there too.” What he really meant was that he wanted to put an end to the prank that had so obviously been played on him.
The earl smiled down at the lad. “Very well, let’s not waste any more time getting to the table, then.”
The pair entered the dining hall together. Ian had been to the castle many times before but had never dined formally with the earl, so he was suitably awed by what he saw before him. An impressive room, long and narrow with mahogany paneling, intricately carved molding, and seating for twenty at the enormous rectangular dining table, presented itself. As he surveyed the spread of food, his mouth watered at the sight of so many delicious-looking dishes. He searched the group already seated, wondering where he should sit, when the earl gently nudged him in the direction of an empty chair next to Ciaran’s son Alfred.
Once the earl was settled, the hunting party dug robustly into roast duck, potatoes thick with gravy, steamed turnips, and warm fresh bread. Ian devoured his meal and to his delight was offered a second helping of everything. He polished that off too, along with a dessert of raspberry cobbler.
“Did you get enough to eat?” asked Alfred with a grin.
“Yes, sir,” said Ian, leaning back in his chair and giving a pat to his wonderfully full stomach. “That was the most delicious meal I’ve ever eaten.”
Then Alfred noticed the silver frame Ian had laid face-down on the table. “What’s that you have there, Master Wigby?”
“Oh,” Ian said quickly, reaching protectively for the photograph lest Alfred want to take it from him, “that’s a family photograph of one of my friends, Theo. She’s also an orphan at the keep. The photo is
of her mother and her as a toddler.”
“May I see it?” Alfred asked curiously, and Ian had no choice but to hand the photo over, as to do otherwise would have been impolite. Alfred took the frame and inspected it with great interest. Ian noticed with regret that the gentle-man’s face seemed to fall and his lips thinned out in a scowl of distaste. “I know this woman,” he said softly.
“You do?” Ian asked with surprise.
“Yes. As I recall, her name is Jacinda Barthorpe. She at-tended St. Barnsworth School for Young Ladies and she went with my roommate for a time. She dropped out of St. Barnsworth and the social circles of London eleven years ago, about the time her parents were killed in a terrible motorcar accident. I haven’t heard mention of her, in fact, in these past eleven years.”
“Really?” said Ian, genuinely excited about being able to tell Theo a name and a bit of history about her mother, especially since he had no such tantalizing tidbits of personal information about his own parents.
“Yes,” said Alfred as he laid the picture down and wiped his fingers as if they were dirty “I’m afraid to say that Jacinda had a rather sordid reputation,” he added, his mouth turning down even further.
“Sir?” said Ian, unsure of the gentleman’s meaning.
“Never mind,” said Alfred. “It’s best that if your friend from the orphanage doesn’t already know about her mother’s reputation, you keep her blissfully in the dark.”
“I see,” said Ian. “Just one question, however, if I may?”
“What’s that?” asked Alfred, turning back to his dessert.
“Do you by any chance know what happened to the lady’s husband?”
Alfred gave Ian a mirthless grin. “Jacinda was never married, Ian,” he said. “I’m afraid your friend’s paternal lineage is somewhat in question.”
“Oh,” said Ian, finally understanding what Alfred was alluding to. “I see.”
The orphanage was full of children born to unwed mothers too ashamed of the scandal it would cause to raise them, and although no one had ever told him for certain, he often wondered if this was the reason he had ended up at the keep too.