‘Not on the bite,’ said her father. ‘That’s much deeper.’
His wife glared. ‘So now you’re a doctor,’ she said sarcastically.
‘Leave it until she’s seen the doctor,’ Charles insisted.
Agatha glared. Pearl’s scratches on her face were dabbed with iodine while she yowled with pain and tried to push Martha away. ‘Ow! That stings!’
‘Sorry, my darling,’ Agatha said. ‘We have to do it in case you get an infection.’
Milly pushed up her glasses and thought of Old Sam.
A little while later, Dr Jennings arrived. He pronounced the scratches superficial and said they were nothing to worry about. Much to Agatha’s annoyance, he agreed with her husband about not putting iodine into deep wounds and suggested a little alcohol be put onto the bite instead.
‘She bled an awful lot,’ Agatha insisted.
‘And that’s a good thing,’ said the doctor, eyeing the whisky bottle on the table by the door. ‘Copious bleeding would have flushed everything out, you see.’
With a cotton-wool ball in her hand, Agatha reached for the brandy bottle. Once again, Pearl screeched the house down as her mother gently dabbed some onto the bite mark on her arm. Charles stood to pour the doctor a drink.
Pearl was inconsolable.
‘I think Pearl should be put to bed,’ Dr Jennings shouted over the sound of her wails. ‘The child has obviously had a shock and a nice little sleep will do her the world of good.’
The crisis over, Agatha pulled herself to her feet to take her daughter upstairs. They left the room together, but not before she’d once again rounded on Milly. ‘You can go back to the cottage and take those ridiculous clothes off,’ she snapped. ‘And for heaven’s sake don’t let me catch you walking around barefoot again.’
Before Milly could respond, Agatha turned her attention to Martha. ‘And you can go and tell the gardener to search for that cat,’ she barked. ‘I want the wretched thing drowned.’
Milly’s jaw dropped. ‘Oh no, Mummy, please. It wasn’t Cleo’s fault. She didn’t mean to . . .’
The door was closing, but not before Pearl glanced back at her with a look of triumph on her face. Milly turned to her father. ‘Oh Daddy . . .’ but he shook his head and motioned with his finger for Milly to be quiet.
Dr Jennings finished his whisky and said his farewell.
As soon as they were alone, Milly’s father took her arm and gently led her back out into the garden. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
Milly nodded miserably.
‘So tell me what really happened.’
A tear rolled down her cheek. ‘Oh Daddy, it wasn’t a bit like Pearl said.’
‘I didn’t think for one minute that it was,’ he said sagely.
As the two of them strolled towards the kitchen garden, his youngest daughter told him the real reason Cleo had turned on her sister. ‘Please, Daddy, please don’t let Bodkin drown her. It wasn’t Cleo’s fault, really it wasn’t.’
The gardens themselves were peppered with gravel walks. There was also an attractive fountain and, at the far end, a large greenhouse. The gardener, Bodkin, grew enough vegetables to feed the household all year round, and was locally famed for his flowers, which won prizes every year at the local flower show.
Bodkin was in the greenhouse doing some watering when Charles Shepherd called him. Snatching off his cap, he hurried over.
‘My wife wants you to find Cleo and dispose of her by drowning,’ Charles began.
‘Oh Daddy . . .’ Milly cried helplessly.
‘Miss Pearl has been badly scratched,’ Charles went on, ‘but it appears that the animal wasn’t wholly to blame. She was being teased and, that being the case, it seems a little unfair to end her life just for protecting herself.’
Bodkin nodded sagaciously.
‘However,’ Charles continued, ‘it’s also obvious that Cleo cannot be allowed to return to the house. I’m thinking that perhaps you could find someone, maybe someone in the village, to take care of her and make sure that she doesn’t come back here.’
Mr Bodkin put his cap back on and touched the edge. ‘Right you are, sir,’ he said and, glancing down at a tearful Milly, he added cheerfully, ‘Now don’t you worry, miss. I knows just the place for Cleo. My sister’ll ’ave her and she’ll be as happy as Larry.’
Charles slipped something folded into the man’s hand. Milly couldn’t be sure what it was, but it looked like a pound note.
Bodkin touched his cap again. ‘Thank you very much, sir,’ he said, clearly delighted. ‘I’ll see to it right away.’
‘Now let’s get you back to the cottage,’ said Charles, looking down at Milly. ‘You have to get out of those grubby things and find your shoes.’
Milly smiled happily. While it was true that her dressing-up clothes were getting quite grubby because she kept walking on the hem, what pleased her was the thought of walking all that way with Daddy. It was unusual for her father to come to the little cottage. He’d been there once or twice, but the truth of the matter was, he seldom came home. Mummy said he was too busy working in London.
Milly hitched the dress up again and, when they reached the ha-ha, she retrieved the click-clack shoes.
Back in the cottage, she went into the bedroom to change, while her father spent some time looking around. ‘Do you and Pearl play in here often?’ he asked as Milly reappeared in her normal clothes.
‘Only in the holidays,’ said Milly.
‘Of course,’ said Charles with a grin. It was a foolish question. The two girls were at boarding school during termtime. In fact, they were due to be back at school on Sunday in time for the new term at the beginning of the following week.
He picked up a doll. ‘Where does this go?’
