Page 83 of To Hunt the Hunter

He gave an incredulous bark of laughter that was not the least bit funny and made her heart hurt. She hugged him, throwing her arms about his neck.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I miss her, too. Dreadfully.”

He nodded and held her tight, the scent of brandy and a damp night out of doors clinging to him. When he spoke, his voice was unsteady. “I want her back, Bee.”

“I know.”

He put his head in his hands, and Phoebe bit her lip. It seemed so simple to her, but she knew the rules that grown-ups lived by were not so easy to cast aside. Pippin had explained it all to her, but it still made no sense.

“He’ll be my son,” he said, the words slurred and not entirely clear.

“Who?” she asked, confused.

He looked up then and reached out to touch her cheek. “You mean the world to me, Bee. You know that, don’t you?”

Phoebe felt her eyes prickle with tears, and she nodded. “Yes.”

“I’ll love him like I love you.”

“Who?” she said again, not understanding.

“My son,” he said, his voice fierce. “My heir.”

“Oh.”

His expression grew fierce and tears glittered in his eyes. “Why must he make this choice, and his son too? Why must I?”

“Uncle?” Phoebe stared at him, not quite understanding what he was asking, only that he was hurt and angry because he loved Matilda and the world would not let them be together.

He stared out into the light of a new day, the sunrise glinting in his eyes, turning the silver to gold.

“No,” he said suddenly, the word so certain and forceful that Phoebe jumped a little. He reached out and took her hand, holding it tight. “Will you help me, Phoebe?”

“Of course,” she said at once, as if that had even been a question he needed to ask. “But help with what?”

He scrubbed his hand over his face, his beard rasping beneath his palm. She had never seen him quite this dishevelled before, unshaven, dressed in his shirtsleeves, his clothes rumpled and dirty. He looked up then, his eyes focused, the sense of certainty that she had always relied upon renewed.

“Are you afraid of ghosts?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “I am.”

He nodded, gripping her hand. “So am I, Bee, but maybe… maybe together, we can face them.”

She nodded, determined to be brave, no matter what. She’d do anything if it meant bringing Matilda back into their lives.

“We can. I know we can.”

Phoebe helped to haul him to his feet and then pretended to be interested in picking flowers for Pippin as he disappeared into the undergrowth to be sick. He looked dreadful when he reappeared, but the light that had dimmed in his eyes since they’d left Matlock Bath was shining again, and Phoebe’s heart gave a skip in her chest. She ran to him and took his hand, and he smiled down at her.

“Ready?” he asked softly. “We have little time, and I will need your help.”

“I’m ready for anything,” she said, beaming at him.

“Thank God for you, Bee,” he said fiercely, picking her up and hugging her to him. “Thank God for you.”

***

17th May 1815. South Audley Street, London.