“
Then you found Mr. Rutledge unsettling, too?”
“No, but I understand why you do. He watches you like one of those ambushing sort of predators. The kind that lie in wait before they spring.”
“How dramatic,” Poppy said with a dismissive laugh. “He’s not a predator, Bea. He’s only a man.”
Beatrix made no reply, only made a project of smoothing Dodger’s fur. As she leaned over him, he strained upward and kissed her nose affectionately. “Poppy,” she murmured, “no matter how Miss Marks tries to civilize me—and I do try to listen to her—I still have my own way of looking at the world. To me, people are scarcely different from animals. We’re all God’s creatures, aren’t we? When I meet someone, I know immediately what animal they would be. When we first met Cam, for example, I knew he was a fox.”
“I suppose Cam is somewhat fox-like,” Poppy said, amused. “What is Merripen? A bear?”
“No, unquestionably a horse. And Amelia is a hen.”
“I would say an owl.”
“Yes, but don’t you remember when one of our hens in Hampshire chased after a cow that had strayed too close to the nest? That’s Amelia.”
Poppy grinned. “You’re right.”
“And Win is a swan.”
“Am I also a bird? A lark? A robin?”
“No, you’re a rabbit.”
“A rabbit?” Poppy made a face. “I don’t like that. Why am I a rabbit?”
“Oh, rabbits are beautiful soft animals who love to be cuddled. They’re very sociable, but they’re happiest in pairs.”
“But they’re timid,” Poppy protested.
“Not always. They’re brave enough to be companions to many other creatures. Even cats and dogs.”
“Well,” Poppy said in resignation, “it’s better than being a hedgehog, I suppose.”
“Miss Marks is a hedgehog,” Beatrix said in a matter-of-fact tone that made Poppy grin.
“And you’re a ferret, aren’t you, Bea?”
“Yes. But I was leading to a point.”
“Sorry, go on.”
“I was going to say that Mr. Rutledge is a cat. A solitary hunter. With an apparent taste for rabbit.”
Poppy blinked in bewilderment. “You think he is interested in . . . Oh, but Bea, I’m not at all . . . and I don’t think I’ll ever see him again . . .”
“I hope you’re right.”
Settling on her side, Poppy watched her sister in the flickering glow of the hearth, while a chill of uneasiness penetrated the very marrow of her bones.
Not because she feared Harry Rutledge.
Because she liked him.
”
”