“Couldn’t we reenact the Treaty of Paris instead?”

“You can’t do a treaty before you have the war,” Rye protested. “There would be nothing to talk about.”

Beatrix grinned at her sister. “Very logical.”

Rye jumped up to grab Beatrix’s hand, and he began to drag her outside. “Come, Auntie,” he coaxed. “I promise I won’t whack you with my sword like the last time.”

“Don’t go into the woods, Rye,” Cam called after them. “One of the tenants said a stray dog came out of the hazel copse this morning and nearly attacked him. He thought the creature might be mad.”

Beatrix stopped and looked back at Cam. “What kind of dog?”

“A mongrel with a rough coat like a terrier’s. The tenant claims the dog stole one of his hens.”

“Don’t worry, Papa,” Rye said confidently. “I’ll be safe with Beatrix. All animals love her, even the mad ones.”

Chapter Seven

After an hour of romping along the hedgerow and through the orchard, Beatrix took Rye back to the house for his afternoon lessons.

“I don’t like lessons,” Rye said, heaving a sigh as they approached the French doors at the side of the house. “I’d much rather play.”

“Yes, but you must learn your maths.”

“I don’t need to, really. I already know how to count to a hundred. And I’m sure I’ll never need more than a hundred of anything.”

Beatrix grinned. “Practice your letters, then. And you’ll be able to read lots of adventure stories.”

“But if I spend my time reading about adventures,” Rye said, “I won’t actually be having them.”

Beatrix shook her head and laughed. “I should know better than to debate with you, Rye. You’re as clever as a cart full of monkeys.”

The child scampered up the stairs and turned to look back at her. “Aren’t you coming in, Auntie?”

“Not yet,” she said absently, her gaze drawn to the forest beyond Ramsay House. “I think I’ll go for a walk.”

“Shall I come with you?”

“Thank you, Rye, but at the moment I need a solitary walk.”

“You’re going to look for the dog,” he said wisely.

Beatrix smiled. “I might.”

Rye regarded her speculatively. “Auntie?”

“Yes?”

“Are you ever going to marry?”

“I hope so, Rye. But I have to find the right gentleman first.”

“If no one else will marry you, I will when I’m grown up. But only if I’m taller, because I wouldn’t want to look up at you.”

“Thank you,” she said gravely, suppressing a smile as she turned and strode toward the forest.

It was a walk she had taken hundreds of times before. The scenery was familiar, shadows broken by sunlight that came in shards through the tree limbs. Bark was frosted with pale green moss, except for the dark erosions where wood had turned into dust. The woodland floor was soft with mud, overlaid by papery leaves, ferns, and hazel catkins. The sounds were familiar, birdsong and swishing leaves, and the rustlings of a million small creatures.

For all her acquaintance with these woods, however, Beatrix was aware of a new feeling. A sense that she should be cautious. The air was charged with the promise of . . . something. As she went farther, the feeling intensified. Her heart behaved strangely, a wild pulse awakening in her wrists and throat and even in her knees.

There was movement ahead, a shape sliding low through the trees and rippling the bracken. It was not a human shape.

Picking up a fallen branch, Beatrix deftly snapped it to the length of a walking stick.

The creature went still, and silence descended over the forest.

“Come here,” Beatrix called out.

A dog came bounding toward her, crashing through brush and leaves. He gave the distinctive bay of a terrier. Halting a few yards away from her, the dog snarled and bared long white teeth.

Beatrix held still and studied him calmly. He was lean, his wiry fur stripped short except for comical whisks of it on his face and ears and near his eyes. Such expressive bright eyes, round as shillings.

There was no mistaking that distinctive face. She had seen it before.

“Albert?” she said in wonder.

The dog’s ears twitched at the name. Crouching, he growled in his throat, a sound of angry confusion.

“He brought you back with him,” Beatrix said, dropping the stick. Her eyes prickled with the beginnings of tears, even as she let out a little laugh. “I’m so glad you made it through the war safely. Come, Albert, let’s be friends.” She stayed unmoving and let the dog approach her cautiously. He sniffed at her skirts, circling slowly. In a moment she felt his cold wet nose nudge the side of her hand. She didn’t move to pet him, only allowed him to become familiar with her scent. When she saw the change in his face, the jaw muscles relaxing and his mouth hanging open, she spoke firmly. “Sit, Albert.”

His bottom dropped to the ground. A whine whistled from his throat. Beatrix reached out to stroke his head and scratch behind his ears. Albert panted eagerly, his eyes half closed in enjoyment.

“So you’ve run off from him, have you?” Beatrix asked, smoothing the wiry ruff on his head. “Naughty boy. I suppose you’ve had a fine old time chasing rabbits and squirrels. And there’s a damaging rumor about a missing chicken. You had better stay out of poultry yards, or it won’t go well for you in Stony Cross. Shall I take you home, boy? He’s probably looking for you. He—”