Darling Beast (Maiden Lane 7)

Daffodil ambled right up to his feet. She’d apparently lost her fear of him in the last week of spying—or perhaps she was simply bored of sitting still. In any case she sniffed the tree stump and the adze, and then abruptly sat to scratch one ear vigorously.

Apollo extended a hand for the little dog to sniff, but the silly thing jumped back at his movement. She was quite near the pond bank and her sudden leap caused her back legs to slip in the mud. She tumbled down the bank and into the water, disappearing beneath the surface.

“Daff!” The boy ran from his hiding place, his eyes huge with fear.

Apollo put out his hand, blocking him.

The boy tried to dart around his outstretched arm. “She’ll drown!”

Apollo seized him and swung the boy off his feet and then set him down firmly, placing his hands on his shoulders and bending to stare into his eyes. He narrowed his eyes and growled, never so frustrated by his loss of speech as now. He couldn’t argue with the child—tell him what he meant to do and instruct him to obey, and thus he was reduced to animal grunting. Better the boy should fear him, though, than drown trying to rescue his pet.

Indio gulped.

Apollo stepped back, keeping his eye on the boy, and pulled off his shoes, waistcoat, and shirt. He hesitated a moment, staring suspiciously at the boy.

Indio nodded. “Yes. Please. Please, help her.”

Without waiting further, Apollo turned and waded swiftly into the water. The little dog had reemerged at the surface, but she was thrashing in panic instead of trying to swim.

Apollo grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and lifted her clear from the pond. She hung pathetically, water streaming from her rat-thin tail and drooping ears. He turned and waded back to the shore.

The boy hadn’t moved from where Apollo had stopped him. Indio watched him intently.

Apollo picked up his shirt and wrapped the shivering greyhound in it before handing the little dog to the boy.

Indio clutched her to his chest, his eyes swimming in tears as the dog whimpered and began to lick his chin. He looked from the pet in his arms up at Apollo. “Thank you.”

Daffodil coughed, choked, opened wide her narrow mouth, and vomited up a thin trail of pond water all over the shirt.

Apollo winced.

He turned and found the worn cloth bag he’d brought his lunch in. Fortunately, he’d placed his notebook in it earlier, so that at least wasn’t wet. Apollo repressed a shuddering shiver as he crouched and rummaged in the sack. Earlier he’d eaten his luncheon—a pork pie—and wrapped a leftover piece in a cloth. Apollo rose with the bundle and the little dog immediately leaned from her master’s arms, sniffing eagerly at the cloth. Apollo unwrapped the morsel and broke off a piece, holding it out. Daffodil snatched it from his fingers and gulped it down.

Apollo almost laughed.

“She likes piecrust,” the boy said shyly.

Apollo merely nodded and fed Daffodil another bit.

“ ’Course she likes bread and sausage and chicken and green beans and apples and cheese as well,” Indio continued. Not so shy after all, then. “I gived her a raisin once. She didn’t like that. Is that your dinner?”

Apollo didn’t answer, simply offering the last of the pie to Daffodil. She gobbled it and then began nosing his hand, looking for crumbs. She seemed to have forgotten her unexpected swim already.

“It’s kind of you to give it her,” Indio said, stroking Daffodil’s head. “D’you… do you like dogs?”

Apollo glanced at him. The boy was staring up at him hopefully and for the first time Apollo noticed that his eyes were of different colors: the right blue, the left green. He turned away to stuff the bit of cloth back into his bag.

“Uncle Edwin gived me Daffodil. He won her in a game of cards. Mama says a puppy is a silly thing to wager for. Daff’s an Italian greyhound, but she didn’t come from Italy. Mama says Italians like skinny little dogs. I named her Daffodil because that’s my favorite flower and the prettiest. She doesn’t know to mind,” Indio said sadly as Apollo rose.

Daffodil wriggled and the boy set her cautiously on the ground. The greyhound struggled from the folds of the shirt, shook herself, and then squatted, watering the ground—and a corner of the shirt.

Apollo sighed. He really was going to have to wash that shirt.

Indio sighed as well. “Mama says I ought to train her to sit and beg and most ’portantly come when we call her, but”—he took a deep breath—“I don’t know how to.”

Apollo bit his lip to keep down a smile. It was too bad that he’d already fed all the scraps to the dog. He glanced at the boy.

Indio was staring at him frankly. “My name’s Indio. I live in the old theater.” He pointed in the direction of the theater with a straight arm. “My mama lives there and Maude, too. She’s a famous actress, my mama, that is. Maude’s our maidservant.” He chewed on one lip. “Can you speak?”