“I say, sir. I do say.” Simmons met Hugh’s gaze, his pale eyes wide. “Whatever shall we do with it?”
“I need to find him a home. In the meantime, we’ll have arather angry houseguest.” Hugh could only pray an asthmatic attack wouldn’t be the reward for his hospitality.
Simmons gazed around the entryway. “If you release him here, he’ll tear up the drapes and upholstery. Best to place him in a confined space until he calms down.”
“The loo.” Hugh marched down the hall to the lavatory with Simmons behind him.
In the tiled bathroom, Hugh stared at the sack. “How do we release him without being eviscerated?”
“I’ll get the shears.”
While Simmons ran his errand, the sack jolted, and the cat cussed at Hugh.
“Watch your language, young man.”
When Simmons returned, Hugh held the sack at a distance, close to the floor, and Simmons snipped at the sack below the knot.
Soon the sack dropped to the floor. It gyrated and screeched, and a streak of gray and white shot out, leapt, ricocheted off the wall by Hugh’s head.
The men cried out and ducked.
With a great skittering of claws, the cat disappeared beneath the bathtub.
Simmons stared, his jaw dangling. “Perhaps we should leave him alone, sir. I’ll fetch food and water, a blanket, and fill a bin with earth from the garden.”
“Earth? Oh yes. Quite right.” A cat couldn’t use the loo. “I’ll stay with him.”
After Simmons left, Hugh squatted to look under the tub from a safe distance. Or was any distance safe from a creature who could leap off walls?
Said creature crouched low with his gray fur puffed up along his spine. He had a white belly and white paws, and a triangle of white rose from his jaw up between his eyes. Two green eyes glared at Hugh.
“Good day, sir. My name is Hugh. And yours?”
The cat hissed.
“How do you spell that?”
The cat growled, long and deep in his throat.
Hugh settled onto his backside and draped his arms over his knees. “Gratitude is the proper response when someone saves your life, but I understand you’ve had a most trying day.”
Then Hugh frowned. His eyes and nose didn’t itch. His breath flowed freely. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to find the creature a new home after all.
The cat never broke his acidic green glare. His tail thumped in a demanding sort of way.
Sour, indignant, and demanding. Rather like the heroine ofThe Secret Garden, the novel that had altered the course of Hugh’s life. “I shall call you Mary Lennox.”
The cat hissed.
“I do apologize. You’re a tomcat and a handsome one. How about you and I come to a gentleman’s agreement? You agree not to make me wheeze, and I—I shall call you Lennox.”
For the first time, the cat blinked.
Agreed.
4
LONDON
