Page 41 of Winterset

“Yes. I—I found him.”

He stared at her, stunned, as she described to him how she and the twins had stumbled upon the body just beyond the footbridge, leaving out the feeling of cold pain and terror that had swept her just before they saw the body. She had never told even Kit about her visions.

“My God,” he said weakly when she had finished, his hands dropping from her arms. “What is happening here?”

“He was marked as Estelle was,” Anna went on. “Dr. Felton said so, and I saw it. It was horrible—as if some large animal had torn at him. His throat—” She stopped and swallowed, unable to describe what she had seen.

Kit turned and looked at her, his eyes narrowing. “What are you saying?”

“I cannot help but wonder…”

“No!” Kit told her sternly. “I know what you are thinking, but it isn’t true. It’s impossible. How can you even wonder? He would never—”

“Are you so sure?” Anna asked, her eyes searching her brother’s face. “I am not.”

“It cannot be,” Kit reiterated, but his eyes fell from her face. He stood for a moment, staring down at the carpet as if it held some secret. “All right,” he said finally. “We will go up there tomorrow. Will that help you?”

“Yes,” Anna replied. “I think we have to.”

* * *

They set out the next morning not long after breakfast, walking through their garden and along the path that wound back into the woods. Anna avoided the path that led to the spot where she had experienced the chilling pain the other day as they walked deeper into the trees. The land began to rise as they approached Craydon Tor. On the far side of the tor, the land dropped in a sheer cliff face down to the ground below, offering a clear view of the countryside for miles. On that side it was a towering edifice, looming over everything else.

On this side, it was a gradual rise, thick with trees and bushes, climbing, then leveling out a little, then climbing again. Because of the thick woods, it was not a particularly popular place to walk, and even those who did climb the tor stuck to the marked path.

Kit and Anna, however, veered off the path, going deeper into the forest, winding around trees and stones. After a time, they reached a line of stones that seemed to curve in a large circle, disappearing at either end into the underbrush. Stepping over the stones, they continued, grasping at branches of trees and saplings to help them up the steeper parts. They went around an outcropping of rock and came upon a narrow path. It led them up toward the side of the tor, and though the ground there was still a slope that was easily enough traversed, ahead of them the hill became a sheer rock face.

There, against the rock, was nestled a small, dark hut, barely distinguishable from the trees and bushes around it. A man sat on a stool in front of the small house, whittling away at a piece of wood in his hand. There was a small fire built in front of him, and over the fire hung an iron pot. A semicircle of rocks, much like the ones they had already passed, ran in front of the hut and around to the cliff face on either side of the house.

Almost unnoticed at first, another man lay rolled up in a blanket beneath one of the trees, a wooden marker stuck into the ground at his feet, another at his head. A twig cracked under Kit’s feet as they approached, and the sleeping man sat straight up, staring at them wildly.

“It’s all right, sir.” The other man, too, had looked up and seen them, and he stood up and walked toward Anna and Kit. “Master Kit, Miss Anna. It’s good to see you.”

“Hello, Arthur,” Kit replied to the man walking toward them. He and Anna stepped over the line of stones and walked closer, their steps slow, their demeanor calm.

The man who had been sleeping rose to his feet, glancing back at Arthur Bradbury, then again at Kit and Anna. He was a man of medium height, dressed in a simple cotton shirt and serge jacket and trousers, and his feet were bare. His hair, a brown color mixed with gray, was bushy and long, hanging below his shoulders. The lower half of his face was covered with an equally long beard, much more streaked with white than the hair on his head. His face was smudged, a dark streak across his brow and one more on each of his cheeks above his beard. His eyes were light-colored, and they did not stay on Kit and Anna, but kept flickering from them to the ground beside him, then back to them.

He raised one hand toward them, palm out, as if to stop them, and they came to a halt. On his upraised hand, the fingernails were bizarrely long, curving down at the ends, so that they resembled claws. The fingernails on his other hand were the same, though one had been broken off shorter than the others. His feet, if one looked down, had nails that grew out from his toes at a much greater length than normal.

“I know you,” he said finally.

“Yes, you do,” Kit said.

He nodded slowly. “Hello.”

“Hello, Uncle Charles,” Anna and Kit replied.

CHAPTER TEN

Their uncle nodded again, a short, decisive nod, then did it twice more. “How are you? Are you well?” he asked, his polished voice at odds with his rough clothes and bizarre appearance.

“We are,” Kit replied. He and Anna carefully did not move any closer to their uncle. Uncle Charles disliked anyone standing too close to him. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Charles de Winter replied. “I am looking out for her. I am careful. You know that.”

“Yes, we do,” Anna agreed. “You are always very careful.”

His gaze skittered to her, then away again. Anna was accustomed to it. Her uncle did not like to look anyone in the eye, either. “One has to be,” he said firmly. “She has spies everywhere. They are always trying to find me.” He gave them a quick, crafty smile. “I have outfoxed her, though.”