Chapter 4

Three days later, however, the prankster went too far. For when Phoebe finished washing Helen's hair and went outside to brush it in the first sunshine they'd had after two days of drizzle, she discovered that the thieves had struck again. And this time they'd stolen the watchdog meant to protect the household. They'd taken Bruno.

Phoebe had to swallow a very unladylike oath. Helen started crying, but Phoebe shushed her as she examined the scene. Sure enough, a trail of small muddy footprints led across the muddy yard to the field, and probably the woods beyond.

"You've gone too far this time," she muttered. "Too Far." She didn't pause to fetch a shawl or even lock the door. "Come on, Helen. They can't be that far ahead of us. If we have to, we'll capture these nasty little thieves ourselves."

For once Helen conquered her timidity. She dashed her tears and followed Phoebe without complaint as they tracked the line of footprints in the damp ground and across the crushed grasses in the meadow. It was more difficult to follow the trail through the forest. But Phoebe had grown up traipsing through these woods and she remembered every dip and hollow that had attracted her as a girl. Slowly they crept beneath the arch of the oak trees, following a narrow deep path until she heard something and froze.

For a moment there was nothing but the sough of the breeze in the newly greened trees, and the everyday rustle of birds and beetles and burrowing spring creatures. A nervous Helen crowded up behind her.

"Shh," she cautioned the child.

Then it came again, the high-pitched yip of a puppy. As one, Phoebe and Helen hurried on, following the yapping until they heard also the voice of a child.

"Are you hungry, then? Don't worry Georgie. I'll swipe you a nice joint of mutton from the kitchen. You'll like that, won't you, my Georgie boy?"

The only answer was the puppy's enthusiastic barking. Was it just the one child? "Stay here." Phoebe mouthed the words to Helen. "Don't come out till I summon you." Then slow step by slow step she inched forward, past prickly holly and unfurling ferns.

"Fetch," she heard the child order the puppy. "Fetch."

But of course, the fat, stubby-legged little dog hadn't yet mastered that trick.

Around the trunk of a massive oak tree Phoebe finally saw the child. To her surprise it was a girl, a very dirty girl in what looked like a well-made coat but which had a torn pocket, and a dangling hem, with a pair of ruined stockings sticking out beneath. Even more surprising than her appearance, however, was that Phoebe didn't recognize the child. With her pale complexion and sandy-colored hair, she was definitely not a Gypsy. Nor was she from Swansford or any of the surrounding farms or cottages.

That was neither here nor there, however. The little thief's identity could be determined later. Right now Phoebe just wanted to nab the light-fingered hooligan before she could get away.

"If you won't fetch, what will you do?"

Phoebe watched as the girl sat down cross-legged in front of the panting puppy, then lifted it gently into her lap. "Are you tired, poor baby? Is it time for your nap?"

This was her chance, and Phoebe took it. She sprang from behind the tree and latched onto the girls arm with the same strength she used to hold the occasional recalcitrant goat.

The little girl was stronger than she looked, though, and even wilder. The puppy went flying as the child twisted away. But Phoebe lunged forward, tackling her in a patch of newly budded wild blueberries. It took all her weight to trap the struggling child and pin her to the ground. Nothing, however, could halt the stream of filthy curses that spewed from the little girl's mouth.

"Let me go, you bloody arse! You stinkin' cunt! You stupid bitch!"

Phoebe could scarcely believe her ears. "You'd better hush that sort of talk right now!" she hissed.

"I'll cut out your bloody heart!" the girl screeched, trying to buck Phoebe off. "Just see if I don't, you whore!"

"And I'll wash your mouth out with soap. Where are my bucket and my bench?"

"Go to bloody hell!"

Had she not heard the words, Phoebe would never believe a child could speak so horridly and a girl at that. She was sorely tempted to slap the nasty-mouthed creature, if only to silence her. But she'd been slapped often enough as a child to know such punishment only bred a fiercer sort of resentment. She'd never once hit Helen, and she wouldn't allow this poorly raised wretch to start her doing such things now.