The Haunted Season by G. M. Malliet Page A

the paintings and statues and cabinets filled with exquisite curios of porcelain and jade. But he was impatient, wondering what had gone wrong, why he had been summoned in the first place, just to be stood up.
    Finally he gave up, leaving by the back entrance, through which he had entered, collecting Thea, and making his way back home.
    *   *   *
    Nether Monkslip nestled at the base of Hawk Crest, which overlooked the same river that ran past the base of Totleigh Hall. From the top floor of his vicarage, Max could see the river sparkling in the sunlight on good days, carrying its cargo of diamonds to the sea. The tang of seawater from the south often floated on the air, mixing with the scents of cultivated soil and pastureland and the flowers of carefully tended gardens. Max thought it was as close to heaven as one could hope to find here on earth.
    It was past the hinge of the day and the sky had lost much of the light; only dying rays of the sun had shimmered through a curtain of falling leaves as he and Thea ambled away from Totleigh Hall. It was getting cold, and he wore his heavy woolen coat for the first time that season. Its collar smelled of a scent Awena often wore, a smoky herbal fragrance.
    The forest’s evening rush hour had been stilled. There was only the occasional scuffling in the undergrowth to signify his presence had been noted. Thea, hearing something that only dog radar could detect, tore off down one of the forest paths winding its way back toward Totleigh Hall and the lake. It had been some time since she had been on an extended walk, so Max decided to let her enjoy herself awhile longer.
    Eventually she came back, bringing with her a small branch of just the right size and shape for games. Obligingly, he began to throw it for her, watching with pleasure as she bolted away, her silky ears flying. He had always thought Gordon setters were one of the loveliest of the breeds, with their shiny black-and-tan coats, their intelligence, and their loyalty. He thought Thea to be outstanding on all these counts. Of course, he acknowledged, he would think that; a rescue dog, she had been his companion for so long, he could not imagine life without her. He had wondered if the baby would make her feel displaced from the center of the universe, but she had welcomed Owen as a sort of added bonus to her life, an additional, if shockingly small, human being to love and defend. She had fallen immediately into her new role of protectress, glancing from Max to Owen and back to Max again, as if to say, Yours, right? Okay, stand back. I got this. And she never willingly left the baby’s side from that day forward, sleeping at the foot of his crib at night and beside his bassinet in Awena’s shop during the day. She would come to fetch either Awena or himself a moment before the baby started to fuss for food or comfort.
    The moon made a fleeting appearance from behind the skeletal trees, and Max idly watched its sliver of light come and go through the partings in the overhead canopy. Earlier in the year, they’d had an enormous supermoon, but now it was only a small silver crescent in the sky, like a coin that had been clipped too often. Gray threads of cloud were woven through inky blue as the day deepened past twilight, but even though the smell of rain was in the air, Max thought it might be some hours before a storm reached Nether Monkslip. Rainstorms had been frequent in recent weeks, and the scent of wet earth and composting leaves surrounded him.
    The trees’ branches rustled softly in a quickening wind, throwing off their leaves, but still they managed to shield the manor from what the Dowager Baaden-Boomethistle no doubt thought of as the vulgar gaze. Thea returned to Max, who again threw the stick for her, this time deeper into the forest; he continued on the rough footpath as she went off the track to find it. A thin fog lay low to the ground; even though they were some miles