It was then that Mallory made a move, a slight lift of his head then it fell again. Instantly Sibyl dropped to her knees, pulled the dog’s head in her lap and started murmuring comfortingly as she stroked his soft, black and beige head.
Colin crouched beside her and muttered gently, “Sibyl, go with the officer. I’ll look after Mallory.”
She lifted her sherry eyes to him and asked, “You promise not to leave his side?”
He stared directly in her eyes and said quietly, “I promise.”
She nodded and, with obvious reluctance, she left with the policeman. As promised, Colin stayed crouched by the dog who was waking just not very quickly.
While Sibyl was inside, another police car came up to the house, possibly unloading lab men, or, more likely, a new set of groupies called in to have a look at Sibyl. Then another car came up the drive but this was not a police car. Colin watched as it stopped with a dramatic shower of gravel and then Marian Byrne came flying out.
She ran toward Colin, her face a mask of worry. “Where’s Sibyl?” she demanded to know by way of greeting.
“Mrs. Byrne, what are you doing here?” Colin asked, straightening from his crouch.
Mrs. Byrne didn’t answer. Instead, when she took in the dog, she cried, “What’s happened to Mallory?”
“He was shot with a tranquilliser dart,” Colin replied.
Mrs. Byrne gasped, her hand flying to her throat in surprise. “What on earth?” she breathed then asked more forcefully, “For heaven’s sake why?”
“We don’t know.”
“Is he going to be all right? Is Sibyl all right?”
“A vet is coming to look at Mallory,” Colin responded. “Sibyl’s in the house, checking to see if anything was stolen.”
“So she’s fine?” Mrs. Byrne queried, her face still troubled.
“Yes, shaken but fine. What are you doing here?”
“I was…” she looked back at her car then turned to Colin again, “baking for a bake sale. I have a Victoria Sponge. Sibyl loves Victoria Sponge so I made her one especially.” Her tone was odd in the way that any discussion about Victoria Sponge in the presence of a bizarrely tranquillised dog and four police vehicles would be odd.
At that point, Colin noticed Sibyl’s cat daintily picking its way though the grass towards them as if grass was a ground cover far beneath his lofty pedigree and he would prefer to be treading on velvet. He made it to one of the flagstones surrounded by cushions of turf that created a winding path from the drive to the front door and stopped, sat and swung his tail in a wide sweep. He stared at Mallory with an expression that Colin could swear communicated his disdain that the dog had put himself in the way of a dart.
“It’s the dark soul,” Mrs. Byrne whispered.
“I’m sorry?” Colin asked, his attention going back to her.
She moved forward and put her hand on his arm. “Colin, dear, someone’s following Sibyl. I saw them.”
Colin’s eyes narrowed on her face, vaguely wondering when his status to her had elevated to being her “dear”. He was also thinking about what Robert Fitzwilliam said that morning.
“Who?” he enquired. “Did you see him?”
“No, I just caught a movement when I was, er –”
“Following us yourself?” Colin finished for her.
“Well,” her eyes widened at his comment and then she said guiltily, “yes. It is my job as Granny Esmeralda’s descendent to look after you, you know,” she defended herself and then hurried on before Colin could speak. “But it’s the dark soul, I know it, I felt it. Destiny is against you –”
“Mrs. Byrne!” Sibyl was at the door and she came toward them, stopping only to scoop up Bran, who gave a mew of righteous protest at the indignity. “What are you doing here?”
“I baked you a Victoria Sponge,” Mrs. Byrne told her after Sibyl gave her an awkward embrace considering the cat.
“Oh, Mrs. Byrne. That is so sweet.”
The intelligent officer had followed her and was taking in this bizarre exchange with a disbelieving expression on his face that mirrored exactly what Colin felt.