Page 42 of Winterset

He gestured toward the stones encircling the hut, then patted one of the slats of wood that stood where he had lain. Things that looked like letters in some foreign tongue—Arabic, perhaps, or something like it—decorated the marker, running in a row downward. Anna knew that the other wooden slat was decorated on the far side with similar figures. What they said, she had no idea. All she knew was that her uncle insisted on sleeping between the two markers, feeling that they kept him safe.

She and Kit, like nearly everyone else who lived in the area, had thought that her mother’s brother had sailed to Barbados ten years earlier. It had not been until three years ago that her father had finally taken her aside and told her the truth. Her uncle was mad.

Anna could remember clearly the day her father had told her. It had been the day all her dreams had died.

Arthur had reached them by now, and he swept off his cap, bobbing his head first toward Kit, then to Anna. “We’re that pleased to see you, aren’t we, my lord?”

“Yes, General. But I—” Charles cast a worried glance at the ground where he had been sleeping. “It is time for my rest.” He looked back at his niece and nephew, then over at a point a little to the right of them. “It is important. You know I have to stand guard at night. That is when they are most likely to come.”

Kit nodded. “We know, Uncle Charles. Don’t worry. Go ahead and sleep. We’ll just talk to Arthur for a while.”

Their uncle looked a little doubtful as he glanced at his servant, but Arthur nodded reassuringly, saying, “I’ll keep watch, my lord. Master Kit and Miss Anna will help me look.”

“Yes. All right. But I’m not sure they’ll know what to look for.”

“I’ll tell ’em. Don’t you worry yourself, sir. We’ll keep a good lookout, and it’s daytime, after all.”

“Yes. You’re right, of course. And I have my protection.” Charles de Winter showed them the backs of his hands, where more of the unreadable figures were drawn in charcoal. “I changed them, you see. Much better than the old ones. Gabriel told me.”

“Good. I’m glad.” Anna nodded and smiled. It was the easiest course to take with her uncle.

They walked with Arthur back up to the front of the hut, and Arthur dragged out two straight-backed chairs from inside for Anna and Kit to sit in.

“How is he doing?” Kit asked Arthur, nodding toward his uncle, who was now wrapping himself carefully in his blanket and lying down between the markers.

“He has his good days and his bad days,” Arthur said noncommittally. He had looked after Lord de Winter from the time Charles was a child, separated from him only when Charles had gone off to school. Many another young man would not have taken Arthur on as his valet when he returned from Oxford, for he was rougher in manner and speech than most valets, but Charles had wanted no other manservant. Arthur, for his part, was intensely loyal to Charles. Anna knew that only a deep affection could have made anyone willing to take on the sort of life he had in order to care for her uncle.

“How has he been the last two or three days?” Anna asked.

Arthur looked at her, faintly surprised. “Same as ever, miss.” He nodded toward where Charles lay. “He’s been fairly quiet, just drawing them designs on his hands. He’s happy, thinks they’ll keep him safer.”

“At night—does he stay here?” Kit asked.

Arthur drew back, studying them, a frown starting. “Why are you asking all these questions? What’s the matter?”

“We just want to make sure that Uncle Charles hasn’t gone anywhere the last few nights. That he has been here.”

“’Course he’s been here. Where else would he go? He spends most nights right here outside the hut or up in one of the trees, keeping watch to make sure the ‘Queen’s assassins’ don’t somehow make it past the rocks.”

“Doesn’t he patrol sometimes?” Anna pursued. “Roam the whole area?”

“Sometimes,” Arthur agreed somewhat reluctantly. “But I haven’t heard him say anything about it lately.”

“But you are asleep during the night. So you wouldn’t know for sure whether or not he left this area?” Anna asked.

Arthur slowly shook his head. “No, miss. I’m not absolutely sure. Why does it matter?”

“There’s been some trouble.”

“Someone’s found out about Lord de Winter?” Arthur asked, worried.

“No. Nothing like that. Some people have been killed.”

“Killed!” Arthur stared at her. “What are you saying, miss?”

“The manner in which they were killed was very odd. There were marks on them that looked as if an animal had clawed them,” Anna explained.

For a moment Arthur’s face was blank; then understanding dawned on him. “Oh! His nails. But, miss, he would never hurt anyone. He couldn’t. Why, no matter how upset he gets about things, he’s never made the least effort to hurt me. He’s gentle. You know that. He’s just…confused, like, and scared.”