“It’s just wanting to play, Walter. There is no need to fear a dog that is no bigger than your hind leg, surely?”
Walter grumbled low in his throat.
“Romulus!”
Dimity watched a woman appear on the path ahead of her from the direction the dog had come. Elderly, wrapped in a black cloak, hood up, she walked with a cane. Behind her ran a footman and maid, both looking harried.
“You are fools. She is but a small, sweet-natured dog, and evaded both of you!” The woman pounded the sturdy cane into the ground as she walked at a surprisingly brisk pace.
The maid and the footman galloped past the woman and down the path to where Walter quivered and the little dog, who Dimity guessed was called Romulus, looked up at him adoringly.
They stopped when they saw her seated on the bench.
“There she is.” The maid stopped, puffing out a relieved breath. “Rotten little toad,” she muttered to the grim-faced footman.
“Careful, she’ll hear.” The footman shot a wild look at the old lady.
“Who are you?” the woman demanded, coming to a halt before them. The maid and footman slunk back a few steps, leaving Dimity facing her.
It was likely, Dimity thought, she was a woman of consequence. The jewels on her wrinkled fingers and clothing were a clue, but also the haughty expression on her face. She had faded brown eyes and a lined face. Her mouth formed a straight line.
“Miss Brown.” Dimity climbed to her feet and sank into a curtsey.
“And who is this?” The woman jabbed the end of her cane at Walter.
“He will likely grab that if you put it near his mouth.”
The eyes narrowed. The little dog yapped and leapt at Walter, who simply raised his chin higher, ignoring the creature.
“Cease that yapping, Romulus!”
“That seems a weighty title for such a little dog. Firstly, wasn’t he… well, a he? Secondly, didn’t he kill his twin brother?” Dimity asked, looking at the dog who should be called “Fluffy” or “Puffy.”
“You read?” The woman punctuated each word with a jab of her cane on the ground.
“I do.”
“Who taught you about Roman mythology?” the woman, who had still not given her name, asked Dimity.
“My father.” She needed to keep moving. There was still much to do today. Stopping here had clearly been a mistake, as now she had company and Gabriel Deville could arrive any second. But then maybe he hadn’t even bothered to follow her. That would be a good thing, Dimity told herself.
“It seems a weighty name for a small dog.” Dimity looked at the still yapping pup. Walter looked bored.
“Because an animal is small does not mean it is therefore not mighty.”
“Very likely,” Dimity muttered. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to leave.”
“Where are you going?” The woman leaned closer and appeared to study Dimity.
“I’m not sure that is your concern.” As the words left her mouth, the maid and footman gasped.
Dimity looked at them, and the maid did a gesture with her finger that mimicked having her throat cut.
“Do you know who I am?” the woman asked, sounding like the rattle of hail on a windowpane.
“As you have yet to tell me, I fail to see how I can.” The maid was making frantic gestures now, and the footman had lost all color in his face.Odd.
“I am the Duchess of Yardly.” The words were said in a carrying tone.
