“Breathing is important, Miss Downing,” Mavis instructed. “Big breath in through your nose and out through your mouth.”
Eliza wrestled herself into a cross-legged position, her muscles protesting furiously. She placed her hands as they had.
“Focus on your breath, Miss Downing?—”
“Please call me Eliza,” she murmured. It seemed the right thing to say, considering the situation.
“Breath and movement, Eliza,” Mavis said. “Observe your thoughts without judgment, as if they are clouds floating by. Calm your mind. Breathe in… and out.”
She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, listening to the faint rustling of leaves and Mr. Greedy’s steady, calming voice. But slowly her shoulders loosened. The tightness in Eliza’s chest eased. The cold seemed less sharp now and her body warmer.
Of all the things she’d ever done, this had to be the oddest. And yet… this was Crabbett Close. Eccentricity appeared normal rather than isolated.
“We shall work on you finding that inner peace, Eliza,” Mavis declared at last, rising with surprising grace and no signs of discomfort or creaky bones.
“Thank you,” she said, also rising.
“Should you ever need someone to speak to, I am but a short walk away,” Mr. Greedy said, patting her cheek after herose too. He then bent to scoop up his blanket and followed Mavis down the stairs.
Eliza stayed where she was, standing in the middle of the rotunda. She couldn’t say she was completely at peace, but she did feel calmer.
“What the hell are you doing out here in this weather, lass?”
And just like that, her calm fled.
“Taking the air,” Eliza said, watching the large Scotsman climb the stairs to join her. “Go back to the house. I shall return shortly.”
“There’s no air inside the house that’s warmer than this?”
He was wrapped in a thick, long coat and had his scarf wound around his neck. Eliza had left hers again in her haste to depart.
“I did meditation with Mavis and Mr. Greedy.”
He snorted. “Not sure why you would, but then, I know this street and what its residents are capable of,” he muttered, leaning in close to study her.
“They are wonderful people.” Eliza felt the need to defend the entire population of Crabbett Close from the Scotsman’s mockery.
“I didnae say they weren’t good folk.” Now he sounded testy. “You’ve been crying.”
Eliza fought the need to retreat as she inhaled his scent—woodsmoke and whisky. The modicum of peace she’d achieved fled, and suddenly she lost her composure. Why it happened now, with this unemotional beast, Eliza had no idea, but she felt the flow of heat in her body and embraced it.
“Do you not think maybe I have a reason to weep? That hearing my little brother’s name, when no one but me has spoken it in the years he’s been gone, might have upset me?”She was determined not to let him see her fall apart, but she could give him a piece of her mind.
His eyes bored into hers but no words came out of his mouth.
“Go away. I want to be alone,” she muttered. “And if I did want company, it would not be with someone who has not a scrap of empathy in his body.”
Eliza felt his eyes on the top of her head now as she looked at the toes of his huge leather boots.
“I’m sorry,” he said after a long, angry silence.
“I accept. Now go away.”
He was close—so close, she could see nothing beyond his huge shoulders as he towered over her, making her feel small. Eliza wasn’t small. She was above average in height, or so she’d always told herself.
“Go back to your brother, Mr. Mungo.” She had no need of politeness toward him. The others, yes, but not him. This man was the rudest person she’d ever met even if he’d purchased that book for her.
“No, and my name is Mungo, not Mr. Mungo, and?—”
