Moonlight Secrets (#2 Penderry's Bizarre)

Chapter Eight

Bunny swept up the last pile of dust in the house and threw it into the garden. Debris hit the snowy path, exploding in a brown cloud of dirt and dog hair. Good riddance, she thought and shut the front door.

Anju emerged from the kitchen and tossed the end of her scarf over her shoulder. With a look of satisfaction, she set her hands on her waist. "The kitchen is clean, and the food from the market is packed away."

"Good work. That's everything."

Thoughts of flopping into a chair and relaxing with a cup of tea formed in Bunny's mind. They'd worked hard for three days, transforming Appleby's home to a habitable standard. Cleaning around four dogs and a mongoose had proven to be an interesting challenge. But now the chores were over, she feared her thoughts would dwell once more on her father.

Anju heaved a pleased breath. "It smells so much better in here. I'll make some chai."

Bunny found Appleby in his usual place, the shabby armchair in the sitting-room. She mustered a smile and sat at his feet. "Hello, Uncle. We've cleaned the house from top to bottom. No more cobwebs or dust. Is there anything else we can do for you?"

Appleby stared out the window. "Why are you asking me? You do whatever you please regardless of what I say."

She looked at her hands in her lap. "I apologise. I should have waited for your permission before going to the Cartes for my luggage."

"Yes, you should have. The Cartes are a family to steer clear of."

He had that right.

She lifted her head. "You know them?"

"Oh, yes, I know them. Pompous snobs. They think they own the town. Stay away from them."

"I will, but-" She hesitated, unsure if she were encroaching on sensitive territory. "What did they do to earn your dislike?"

His unshaven jaw tightened. "They took everything from me, Bunny. Stole my hopes and my dreams. They stole my life. That rabid dog might have done London a good service, had young Mr Carte not escaped."

A long breath filled her lungs, and she mulled over his words. It appeared the Carte family were responsible for her uncle's depression. What had the poor man endured?

"Those rats. What happened?"

His gaze swung to her, sadness and frustration in his eyes. In the end, he turned back to the window. "It doesn't matter. You've worked hard. Go and rest."

She stood and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. His whiskery cheek smelled faintly of tobacco and alcohol. "Should you need anything, I'm here for you, Uncle Appleby."

He said nothing and watched the icy street beyond his sitting-room, his dogs lounging at his feet.

Before long, Bunny and Anju were upstairs drinking hot, spiced tea. While Anju rested, Bunny sat on the floor near her feet, feeding Pikoo strips of cooked chicken. He squeaked and chattered, demanding more. They used to do this back home, outside the bungalow in the sunshine. Then Pikoo would race around the compound, rolling in the dust and climbing up the potted trees. Oh, Lord, she missed home.

She wiped the chicken grease from her fingers and sifted through the photographs in her trunk. An image of Uncle Appleby in his younger years evoked memories. He posed outside a white town house, smiling. Another picture took her back to the dry plain outside the cantonment. A cricket match was in play, and nestled on the hill in the distance sat her bungalow. She shuffled through more photographs, then her hand stilled when she reached her father.