Page 18 of Otters and Obstacles
Puzzled, Georgie followed him to his desk. He seated himself behind it and gestured her to take one of the two chairs set in front of it.
Clearing his throat, Lord Peter said, “It is, of course, only natural that you should look at such things. You are becoming a young man, and you are likely thinking of… of love.”
“I suppose so,” Georgie said cautiously.
“And so you must also be curious about… about marital relations.” Lord Peter folded his long, sensitive hands on thedesk, clearly prepared to give a lecture. As Georgie’s horror grew, Lord Peter began to warm to his subject. “It is only natural, my boy. Divine providence has made us so we wish to be fruitful and multiply. There should be no shame or fear between husband and wife, but mutual enjoyment.”
“Please, Lord Peter.” Georgie’s face was hot, and she knew she was blushing almost as much as he had been earlier. “Let us speak of something else.”
Seeing her discomfort, Lord Peter immediately said, “Of course. I did not mean to embarrass you.”
“Of course.”
“If you have any questions at all, you may come to me at any time.”
Georgie’s only thought was of escape. “Yes, of course. Thank you.”
Lord Peter nodded and rose from his chair, which freed Georgie from the conversation. She went off like a shot, scurrying up to her room, where she closed the door and locked it behind herself.
She leaned against the door, a little breathless from her headlong rush up the stairs.
Because, to her shame, as Lord Peter had spoken, she could not help picturing him as the man in the book. And herself as the woman.
7
Peter was conferring with Mrs. Barwick after her market trip when Morley poked his head through the kitchen door.
“Were you able to get oysters, Mrs. Barwick?” Morley asked.
She sniffed, but Morley seemed encouraged, because he walked the rest of the way into the kitchen. “I did, and very dear they were, too, young sir.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Barwick. I appreciate it more than you can know, and I’m sure the otters will as well.” Morley picked up the pail she indicated.
“What are you planning to do with them?” Peter asked.
“Come along if you want to see.”
He followed Morley out through the kitchen garden and up the small slope to the chicken coop. The boy had been a little standoffish after Peter’s attempt to discuss the book he had found, but a good night’s sleep seemed to have resolved the odd tension.
The small enclosed yard of the coop now held a large, dented tin washtub, likely abandoned in the attics by a previous resident. Morley opened the gate to the yard, holding it for Peter,and crossed to the washtub. Peter could hear the squeaks and frantic scrabbles of the otters from inside the coop as they heard activity outside that they were not a part of.
Peter peered into the tub, which was about three-quarters full of water poured over various sizes of rocks that Morley had clearly picked from the meadow and the nearby stream. Morley set the pail down, took off his coat, and rolled up his shirtsleeves. A thin bracelet made of faded red thread with a few silver beads glinted on his wrist.
Morley proceeded to pluck the oysters out of the pail one-by-one and place them in the water, tucking them under and among the rocks as the otters’ squeaks reached a crescendo. His hands were quick and sure, graceful and elegant as a woman’s. Morley stood back and observed his work before he noticed Peter watching him. He backed away, rolled down his sleeves, and re-donned his coat, hiding the bracelet from Peter’s view.
“You may let them out now.”
Peter flipped up the latch on the door of the coop and the otters swarmed out, leaping and slithering over each other in their eagerness. Two of them jumped to the edge of the tub and immediately dove into the water while the third stayed perched on the edge, watching for any threats.
One otter surfaced with an oyster triumphantly clutched in her paws. She proceeded to strike it against the edge of the tub, rattling it, until the shell finally broke open. The other otter did the same a few moments later, but this one used a rock to pin the oyster against the side of the tub before striking it repeatedly to break the shell.
Fascinated, Peter sank to the ground, completely forgetful of the risk to his trousers. “What about the third one?”
“Bonny? She’ll go in for a few minutes, but she doesn’t like to get wet like her sisters do.”
Even as Peter watched, the other two otters wrestled their way through the water, sliding around the rim of the tub to tackle each other. Bonny dove in, returning with an oyster she neatly cracked open with the side of the tub, and ate the soft inside with her nimble paws while her sisters played.
“They are matriarchal animals, you see,” Morley said. “Like the smooth-coated otters of the Malay states.”
