The Tale of Hawthorn House (37 page)

“Oh, yes,” Beatrix replied. She smiled. “It looks as if we have something to celebrate.”

“What? Oh, yes.” The captain looked glum. “My sister’s engagement.”

“And the baby,” Beatrix reminded him.

He looked away. “Yes, that. I must say, Miss Potter, I am relieved that the baby my sister is intent on adopting is not a gypsy baby. I am grateful to you for identifying the real mother.”

Beatrix only nodded, although within herself, privately, she thought that it was rather sad that Captain Woodcock could focus only on who the baby was not (at least so far as he knew) rather than who the baby was: a beautiful infant with a promising future in a family who would love and cherish her. And it was really too bad that he could not be pleased that his sister had the courage to follow her heart.

Perhaps she was not so sorry, after all, for declining his invitation.

36

Dinner at Tower Bank House

Miles had intended to speak to Will Heelis before the dinner party on Saturday evening, with the hope that he could persuade him to declare his feelings to Dimity promptly and decisively. But he was thwarted by Will and Kittredge coming in together, in a jovial mood. They had met one another on the road, and Kittredge had told Will that he and Dimity were to be married.

So the cat was out of the bag, and Miles knew that he would have to give up any idea of matching his sister and Heelis. Will was every inch a gentleman and would never think of poaching on another man’s territory. What was more, Will seemed genuinely pleased to learn of the engagement. But that was because he
was
a gentleman, Miles thought darkly, and too kind and beneficent to risk looking ahead to the unfortunate consequences that were bound to come of this marriage.

Will Heelis, for his part, was delighted to learn about the engagement. He had always liked Christopher Kittredge (who was a client as well as a friend) and he was a great admirer of Miles’ sister, a sweet lady, although perhaps a little too much under her brother’s thumb. But perhaps he ought to revise that estimation of her, for according to Kittredge, she had faced her brother’s outspoken disapproval with great courage. Will was also pleased to hear that the fate of the foundling baby had been settled to everyone’s satisfaction—and the baby’s great advantage. And if he had understood correctly, Miss Potter had played an important role in the business.

Ah, Miss Potter. Yes, indeed, Miss Potter. Strange, how she always seemed to have a hand in whatever village puzzle needed resolving. She was certainly looking very pretty tonight, he thought as he joined the group in the library and caught sight of her sitting on the red velvet sofa. She was dressed in a modest blue silk blouse and neat gray tweed skirt, her chestnut hair smoothed back, her china-blue eyes bright and observant.

Now, if this were a romance, we might note that Will’s heart leapt up and clicked its heels at the sight of Miss Potter. But it isn’t, and it didn’t, quite, although perhaps it beat just a little faster than it usually did (although Will did not seem to be aware of this). He admired Miss Potter, whose little books were a great favorite among his nephews and nieces, for he had some idea of the concentrated effort and attention to detail required to produce so many very fine books. What’s more, he had represented her in the purchase of one or two small pieces of property in the last year, and had found that attention to practical detail was as much a characteristic of the businesswoman as it was the artist. Added to that, he liked her quick, sharp wit and her straightforward manner. She was comradely and comfortable and always made him feel as if they were meeting person-to-person, rather than woman-to-man.

Will was not one for small talk and usually found parties difficult. But tonight, he really wanted to know how in the world Miss Potter had managed to find that baby’s mother. It must have required some sort of serious sleuthing. So he went straight to the sofa, sat down beside Miss Potter and asked how she had managed it. With interest, he listened to her intriguing tale, then stayed to talk about other matters until dinner was announced, at which time his host appeared to take possession of Miss Potter and Will (who felt a brief disappointment at this) was instructed to escort Sarah Barwick to the dining room.

Miss Barwick, in a gay mood, was looking unexpectedly feminine in a pink dress decorated with tiers of gauzy ruffles. Will found her so amusing and entertaining that he forgot his disappointment, especially since Miss Potter was seated directly opposite. Dinner passed more quickly and pleasantly than he might have expected. And at the end of it, when Miles officially announced the engagement of his sister (in a brusque and offhand way that Will thought ungracious), Will himself stood and proposed a toast.

“To the future bride and groom,” he said, holding up his glass. “We wish you health, happiness, and joy, now and forever.” He was rewarded with Dimity’s grateful smile and Miss Barwick’s fervent “I’ll say amen to that,” which made everyone chuckle—everyone but Captain Woodcock, that is.

On the other side of the table, seated at the captain’s elbow, Beatrix also felt sad for Dimity at her brother’s obvious lack of enthusiasm. He was so clearly unhappy about the way things had turned out that Beatrix almost felt sorry for him—but not quite sorry enough to try to brighten his glum mood. So she had passed the dinner hour mostly in silence, doing what she often did at such gatherings, observing others. It was heartening to see Dimity and the major with their heads together, so deeply engrossed in each other that they almost seemed unaware that anyone else shared their table and so much in love that it shone like a dazzling light in their faces.

And it was amusing to see Sarah Barwick with Mr. Heelis, for Sarah was livelier than usual, and Mr. Heelis flatteringly attentive. Beatrix could not help the small sigh that escaped her. Well, well. She had been wrong when she thought it was Dimity to whom Mr. Heelis was attracted. It was Sarah, gay, mischievous, energetic Sarah—who, for all her protesting that a man would limit her independence, was clearly attracted to Mr. Heelis. They were a handsome pair, Beatrix thought, for Sarah’s fun-loving lightheartedness offset his quiet, steady demeanor, and his physical height and strength complemented her lithe and boyish figure.

Beatrix looked down at her plate, aware that she should be happy for Sarah, for whom a match with Mr. Heelis would be a very good thing indeed. She would not have to work so hard to support herself. Like Bertram, Sarah would have someone to care for and someone who would care in return, someone to share the good times and bad. And as the days became months, and the months became years, the two of them would grow closer and dearer and more devoted. Fortunate Sarah, Beatrix thought. Fortunate, oh, fortunate Sarah.

And because Beatrix was who she was, she looked up at Sarah and smiled.

37

The Professor Concludes

On a fine late-August evening, a week after the dinner party at Tower Bank House, our friend Bosworth Badger came out of the front door of The Brockery. He stretched his forepaws high over his head, bent over and touched his toes (not an easy trick, because of his stoutness), straightened, and took three deep breaths, casting an appreciative glance across the valley to the hill beyond.

On warm summer evenings, after dinner, Bosworth likes to take a cup of tea and a plate of sweet somethings to the porch outside his main entrance, where he can enjoy a last glimpse of the sun, dipping like a huge round slice of orange into the lemon-and-lavender clouds behind the great purple fells. The badger sits in his wicker rocker and makes notes for the next day’s entry in the
History
, where he records all of the important events in the Land Between the Lakes. These are not just animal events, of course (although there are many of those), but human events, as well, for animals have a great interest and stake in what humans do in the land that they all have to share.

This evening, Bosworth had jotted two notes. One had to do with a happy event—happy to his way of thinking, at least, although he understood that there were those who were not so pleased.
First reading of Miss Woodcock’s and Major Kittredge’s banns,
he wrote.
Wedding scheduled for early October, to be celebrated at St. Peter’s.
The second seemed to him much less happy, although again, there were those who felt otherwise.
Baby Flora’s mother officially resigns her claim
, he wrote.

He put down his pencil with a sigh. It was unnatural, this business of being a mother one minute and not the next. Badgers did not do things that way. A mother badger had her babies and raised them until they were old enough to go out on their own. She would be aghast at the idea of handing one of her cubs to another mother badger to raise. He shook his head. He would never understand how such a thing could have happened, nor did he want to try, since he was only a simple badger and the motivations of Big Folk were entirely beyond his comprehension.

A sudden shadow blackened the sky overhead and descended directly onto the ground in front of him. “Hullooo,” it said, in a hollow voice.

“Hullo to you, Professor,” said Bosworth, pleased to see his old friend. For the shadow was none other than Professor Galileo Newton Owl, D.Phil, a very old, very large tawny owl who lived in a great hollow beech tree at the top of Cuckoo Brow Wood. The professor was well known and widely respected for his studies in astronomy (his specialty was celestial navigation) and applied natural history, especially where it concerned small furry creatures with distinctive tastes. His nocturnal field trips took him across all of the Land Between the Lakes. Nothing much happened that was beneath his notice, so to speak.

Bosworth hefted the teapot. “Two cups left,” he announced, pouring one for his friend and refilling his own. “Haven’t seen you here for some time.”

This was the case, for while the professor regularly extended invitations to his earth-bound friends to join him for dinner or dessert-and-coffee in his beech-tree apartments (and had even put up a ladder), Bosworth rarely accepted. Houses that swayed from side to side in the slightest breeze made him seasick. Might as well live on a houseboat in the middle of Lake Windermere. The Sixth Rule of Thumb kept him from openly criticizing his friend’s living and dining arrangements, so he simply declined. And although the professor occasionally called at The Brockery, he felt cramped and claustrophobic belowground, so the two friends usually met out of doors.

“I’ve been out of town,” the professor said, accepting the cup the badger handed him. “Visiting my cousin, Old Brown. The one whooo lives on the island, youoo know.”

Ah, yes. Old Brown was the owl whose annoying encounter with the saucy Squirrel Nutkin had been immortalized by Miss Potter. “I hope you found him well,” said Bosworth, pushing the plate of Parsley’s macaroons forward with his paw. He knew they were the professor’s favorite.

“Very well, yes, indeed,” the owl replied. He accepted a macaroon and added sugar and lemon to his tea. “But he tooold me something I found exceedingly difficult tooo credit. It concerns the fox whooo lived at Foxglove Clooose and a certain duck from Hill Top Farm. Have yooou heard this tale?”

The badger chuckled. “Yes, we’ve all found it hard to understand. But it is true—or at least, it has been reported as true by a number of individuals, all of whom claim to have a certain knowledge of it.”

Bosworth had learned a long time ago that truth was often a matter of point of view, and that it was better not to believe a thing, particularly a thing that seemed at first hearing to be incredible, until the report had been corroborated by multiple sources. This one had. He had heard it first from Jackboy the Magpie. Since Jackboy’s reports were garbled and easily misinterpreted, he had sought confirmation, which had come first from a passing hedgehog and then from a trusted observer, Felix the Ferret. Felix had escaped from his master and gone to live under the bridge at Wilfin Beck, where he could keep a close eye on all the neighborhood comings and goings, especially those of the rabbits in the nearby warren.

The professor snapped at his macaroon. “What this wooorld is coming tooo, I don’t knooow,” he muttered.

“It is certainly strange,” admitted the badger. “We entertained that fox here some days ago. He expressed a great interest in the duck’s whereabouts, especially after he heard that she was sitting on a nest of eggs. I assumed that the fellow had the usual foxy sort of interest. I wouldn’t have been surprised to hear that he’d raided the barn and had her and her eggs for dinner.” He rolled his eyes. “Little did I know.”

“Sooo it’s truooe, then,” the professor said gloomily. “The fox has run off with the duck, and they have set up housekeeping in some unknown place.”

“Perhaps it is more accurate to say that the duck has run off with the fox,” said Bosworth, “or that they have run off together. If you happen to hear any news of them, I should like to know, for the record. I’ve noted the fact of her absence, but I’m reluctant to attribute it to a romantic involvement until there is some proof.”

“Romance.” The professor rolled his eyes. “Well, I suppooose there have been odder things. Cats whooo kept company with dogs, and mice who fancied cats. I even knew an owl whooo adopted a mouse tooo keep his address booook for him. One hopes the fox and the duck will be happy together, although one doubts it very much.” He helped himself to another macaroon. “Old Brown never quite gets his stooories straight. There was something about the duck’s eggs hatching into dragons.”

“Dragons,” chuckled Bosworth. “Actually, they hatched into tortoises.”

“Tortoises!” The owl opened both eyes very wide.

“Indeed. The duck apparently took them from the nest where the mother tortoise deposited them. The hatchlings have been returned to their proper parent.”

“Pity,” murmured the owl. “I’ve had tortoise eggs ooonly once, when a friend obtained some that had been imported from the Orient. Quite tasty. I would love to have sampled these.”