Chapter Nine
“There is something in the meadow.”
Lucy shaded her eyes against the bright sun and tried to distinguish the shape and form of whatever was lying in the grass. “I can't make it out, though,” she said, lowering her hand.
Philip joined her on the step. “A sheep, perhaps?” he suggested, looking in the direction she pointed.
“It could be injured,” she said.
“That is the farmer's affair,” he said casually. “If it is a sheep. It might easily be a piece of cloth or paper.”
“Shouldn't we investigate?” she asked anxiously. “lt may be in pain.” “The cloth or the paper?” he asked, with unexpected lightness.
She laughed more in surprise at his flippancy than at his words. “In case it is an injured animal.”
“Will your curiosity allow you not to investigate?” he asked, with the suspicion of a smile.
“I don't think so.” She laughed. “I shall go and change into my boots, the field is bound to be soggy after the rain yesterday.”
He waited for her to rejoin him, then together they set out across the meadow. She walked by his side with a feeling almost of shyness. He had been in good humor that morning. All through breakfast, and after, he had been civil and friendly. At times there had been an awkwardness between them, as if both recognized that he was unaccustomed to simple pleasantries. But he had tried to be witty and she had been grateful, realizing that it was for her benefit. And this new relationship made such a difference in the atmosphere of the house, even seeming to brighten the gloomy corners and dispel the brooding silence. As they neared the white object half hidden in the grasses, his pace quickened.
“What is it?” she asked worriedly, having almost to run to keep pace with him.
“It isn't a sheep,” he said. And she knew from the tone of his voice that the grimness was back on his face, the wariness back in his eyes. “Wait here,” he said curtly, striding ahead.
But she did not wait. She peered over his shoulder as he knelt down examining whatever it was. She peered, then turned away feeling sick. Philip rose and looked about the meadow, his gaze sharp and questing. Everything was still and normal; the animals grazing at the far end of the meadow paid them no attention.
“Who was it?” she asked hollowly, afraid to look again.
“Who is it, you mean. He's not dead.” He stared down at the naked, unconsious man and there was no emotion in his eyes. “It is your amorous friend,” he said briefly.
“Frank Walters”" Despite her feelings against the man, she was shocked to think of him in such a state.
“None other than. He doesn't have much success at anything, does he?” he remarked casually, turning away.
“Philip! It's not something to joke about. It's horrible! What could have happened to him?”
“Do you really want to know?” he asked quietly. “It isn't necessary.” “It is to me,” she said fiercely. “Stop treating me like a child.”
“Very well.” He turned to stare at the injured man. “He is a warning; a double warning, actually. First, he was punished for failing at his allotted task, namely you. Secondly, he was left here as a warning, or promise, of the treatment we can expect.”
She had stared at him wide eyed as he spoke, now she closed her eyes and shook her head, as if to shake his words from her mind. “That can't be true: No one could be that cruel. You can't be sure that you're right.” she whispered.
“I can be sure. Haven't you accepted that fact yet?” he asked harshly. “I have to be sure.” He took her arm roughly and began to lead her away from Walters.
“You're not leaving him there?” she asked, pulling herself free of his fingers.
“Why not? His own kind left him.” Philip said callously.
“And you don't intend to be any better than they are, is that it?” she asked bitterly.
“Certainly no worse,” he countered. “And what do you suggest I do with him? Take him back to the house with us?”
“At the last resort, yes.”
He stared at her in disbelief. “And will you nurse him back to health and give him strength to chase you lecherously around the garden again?” he asked sarcastically.
“He can't harm anyone at the moment,” she said quietly. To her, it seemed ludicrous to stand arguing while a human being needed help. To him, it seemed equally as ludicrous to give assistance to someone who would harm them at the first opportunity that presented itself.
“He lives with his parents. The farm isn't far from here,” she informed him hopefully.
“Then they haven't far to walk to collect their son,” he reasoned. “They might be unaware of the situation.”
“Oh, they will know,” he said grimly. “Whether they care or not is another matter entirely.”
“Of course they can't know!” Her face was pale but determined. “How can you be so stupid? What parents would knowingly leave their son lying injured and unattended?”
And he realized just how little she knew, or would ever know. The gulf between them was as wide and deep as space; like two different worlds spinning in different orbits, they existed separately and on different levels. For her there would always be something better waiting in the future, something new to discover, a kindness to be gained from even the most miserable nature. Optimism and faith burned like flames inside her; the flames may flicker