The Cottage in the Woods by Katherine Coville Page B

day.

    At last, Friday evening arrived, and I looked forward to accepting the vicar’s supper invitation as a kind of reward for my suffering. I took some care with my appearance, more as a way of reviving my spirits than with any hope of impressing anyone with my great beauty. I had never seen myself as anything other than a plain, unremarkable she-bear. My snout was too short, and it was said that my eyes were too intense to be really pleasing, but I trusted the principle that no one who was healthy and well groomed could look too bad. And so I combed my fur, and dabbed my throat with rose water, and put on my good bonnet. The one shadow on my horizon was that I must travel again through the great woods along the front drive. I told myself how unlikely it was that whoever or whatever had followed me the week before would still be lying in wait, but I could not altogether erase my uneasiness.
    I opened the front door and hesitated. As I looked down the drive, trying to magically divine any untoward presence, a deep voice from behind startled me. “Going out, Miss Brown?” I jumped, turning, only to find myself looking directly into Mr. Bentley’s snout.
    “Oh!” I said, nonplussed.
    “Are you going out, Miss Brown?” he repeated. He was wearing his coat and top hat as if prepared for town himself.
    “Yes,” I said. “Alone.”
    “Wouldn’t you prefer some accompaniment, Miss Brown? How far are you going?”
    I wondered how I could answer him without speaking to him, but could think of no way to do so. “I’m going to the vicarage. Alone,” I repeated.
    “Imagine. I am going just that way. In fact, I was going to stop and say hello to the vicar myself. What a happy coincidence.”
    I made no response, but walked out the door and started down the drive. Mr. Bentley fell into step beside me. I walked faster, but Mr. Bentley easily kept up with me. I could go no faster without breaking into a run, and I was unwilling to make myself absurd, so I slowed down and took another tack. “Really, Mr. Bentley, meaning no disrespect to you, of course, but I prefer to be alone.”
    “Of course,” he repeated, and tipped his hat to me. He halted as I walked ahead, and then fell into line a little way behind me and began whistling off-tune through his teeth. This state of affairs seemed no less absurd than trying to outrun him, but at least it spared me from further conversation with him. Despite this, I felt his presence keenly, and as he whistled the silly tune, it seemed as if he were practically breathing down my neck. At last, facing him, I said, “Really, Mr. Bentley, you are almost treading on my heels. Do you mind?”
    Again he stopped and tipped his hat, and I went on. I had gone a little distance when I heard him call out to me. “Miss Brown? Excuse me, Miss Brown?”
    Exasperated, I turned to him. He was a good thirty paces behind.
    “Is this far enough, do you suppose? Or shall I make it a bit farther?”
    He was too distant for me to see it well, but I was certain that there was a smirk on his face. I resumed walking, perfectly aware that he was laughing at me, and not knowing whether to be offended or to laugh at myself. A smile started at the corners of my mouth unbidden, but I took great care that he should not see it. This bear was too clever by half, and I refused to let him get the better of me.
    I put my head down, concealing my face in the shadow of my bonnet, and continued without further comment.
    And so things went, without another word, until I arrived at the vicarage, next door to the little church. It occurred to me then that at least I had not been troubled by the thought of anyone stalking me in the woods. Nevertheless, when I tapped the door knocker, I fervently hoped I would be admitted before Mr. Bentley caught up with me. I hoped in vain. Mr. Bentley reached the door just as it was opened by a harried young girl in a servant’s uniform. She showed us into a cozy parlor full of