Page 69 of Infamous

‘Is she?’ said Rose, putting down the rag she was holding and climbing down from the table. ‘Poor thing. We should form a search party. I shall go and fetch the others. It’ll be easier if we sweep the island in sections, so we don’t miss anything.’

Eddie somewhat doubted that she would be able to muster the entire household to go out in a storm in search of a dog, and was surprised when, twenty minutes later, she found everybody gathered in the entrance hall preparing to do just that. Even Kitty was there, looking confused, as if she wasn’t entirely sure how she had been tricked into taking part. It was part of Rose’s particular charm, Eddie supposed; she was so proactively practical and inclined to be helpful that she accidentally shamed everybody else into trying to match her.

‘Has everybody got some ham or some cheese?’ Rose said, patting her pockets.

Valentine coughed. ‘Miss Li, what if, for example, one became hungry waiting for this expedition to begin and accidentally consumed both ham and cheese? What then?’

‘You shall have to cajole her back to you with nothing but your winning personality,’ Rose said. ‘Come on, we shall split up into pairs so that nobody else goes astray in this weather.’

Rose assigned them their partners, and inexplicably nobody complained or questioned her authority; Eddie found herself setting off towards the south-west shore with Dayo, with as much purpose as if they had been given military orders.

‘I suppose somebody might have taken her ashore,’ Dayo said, as they walked down the gentle slope and into the trees.

‘Stolen her, you mean?’

‘Not stolen, no. Or, at least – that is not what any of those people would call it. I imagine they would think it was all part of the grand practical joke of existence.’

‘Hmph.’

Eddie crouched down to look for a stick, and discovered a very satisfyingly sturdy one that split into a Y shape at just the right place, giving it a natural handle. She started poking bushes with it at random, checking that they were dogless.

‘How has your writing been going?’

Eddie just laughed.

‘Ah. Yes. Unfortunately, I understand completely.’

‘I was actually getting quite a lot done,’ Eddie said, whacking another bush, ‘even with .?.?. you know. How it is here. All the distractions. But then Nash read my pages and gave me his honest review, and I sort of .?.?. lost momentum.’

‘Well, that is not uncommon,’ said Dayo. ‘I suppose you will find your way back to it eventually.’

‘What about you?’

Dayo hummed thoughtfully. ‘Do you mind if I’m honest?’

‘Please.’

He sighed. ‘It is all a bit of a contradiction, for me. My being here. Writing here. I knew it would be, of course, but .?.?. it is different, somehow, actually living it.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Hm. Well. Writing articles protesting for one’s humanity from the parlour of a country estate purchased with the profits of the slave trade, hosted by the ghosts of a family who built their fortune in plantations, with stolenartefactsandheirloomson the walls, and mountains of sugar for our tea, is somewhat .?.?. jarring. To put it lightly.’

‘Ah,’ said Eddie.

‘Ah indeed.’

‘Is it any better in London?’

‘In some ways. But it is also worse, in others. I will send this essay to the editor of a journal who has given me nothing but encouragement and praise – but who has previously published those who believe that the trade is the natural order of things. I may soon be invited to speak at Westminster, which is considered an honour .?.?. and will address an audience made up ofmanywhose family names decorate the deeds of plantations on the other side of the world. I am being given a seat at the table, I suppose. Made an exception – an example. But I do not want to sit at their table. I wish – we shouldallwish – to overturn it, instead.’

‘The sword never runs out of edges.’

‘Correct. And I cannot pretend that being with Nash and his ilk does not open certain .?.?. doors. Doors which would otherwise remain firmly closed to me. But everything always comes at a price.’ He paused. ‘Ah .?.?. Not to be crass, but does this or does this not look like dog excrement to you?’

‘It does,’ Eddie said, resisting the urge to poke it with her stick. ‘And I hope you don’t mind me saying that it looks rather .?.?. freshly laid.’

‘This hound will make detectives of us yet.’