Read Online Always Emily by Michaela MacColl - Free Book Online

and settled herself at the table. “Neither man nor woman, I’ll wager. Not even human! Grace, the housekeeper at Ponden, told me a huge dog roams the estate at night.”
    â€œSo?” Emily asked, recalling the mastiff’s rough tongue on her palm.
    â€œMiss Emily, it’s a ghost dog, with red glowing eyes and fangs dripping blood!”
    The reverend struggled to keep a straight face. “Don’t be absurd, Tabby!”
    Tabby shook her head with eyes narrowed in warning of some disastrous presentiment. “Laugh if you like, but I’ll wager you my next apple pie the stranger and the dog are one and the same. It’s a
gytrash
! That’s why Mr. Heaton cannot find the man. He transforms into the dog whenever Mr. Heaton comes near.”
    At the mention of the mythological monster, the reverend nearly choked on his toast. “Tabby—I forbid you to talk any more of monsters. There is enough superstition and blasphemy out there without inviting them into the parsonage.”
    Emily was silent as she reviewed the events of the night before. The man and the dog were definitely two separate creatures.
    â€œEmily, whatever is out there is real. If you must walk alone, I think we should get another dog. One of my parishioners has some terrier puppies. I will ask if we can buy one.”
    â€œFather, one doesn’t just purchase a life’s companion like a sack of sugar.” Emily shook her head with decision. “I’ll find a new dog.”
    Rev. Brontë and Tabby exchanged worried glances. Emily’s stray animals tended to be unpredictable. Her last dog had been rescued from a wild dogfight in front of the church. Emily had given Tabby the fright of her life when she waded into the fray of sharp teeth and flying fur and emerged dragging Grasper by the scruff of his neck. From that day forward,he had been Emily’s devoted companion and bared his teeth at everyone else.
    â€œUntil you do, perhaps you should carry this.” He reached into his wide coat pocket and laid a heavy pistol on the table with a thump. Emily and Tabby stared as it spun round and round. Tabby yelped when it stopped, pointing directly at her. “Tabby, the weapon is only a precaution against anyone with a grudge. It came in very handy last night.”
    â€œFather, I don’t know how to shoot,” Emily said, eyeing the pistol. “But I’m willing to learn.” If she were armed then she needn’t be afraid of anyone she met on the moors.
    He continued, “I will teach you. Someone else in the family should be able to handle a gun, just in case.” He touched the corner of his eye and Emily knew he was referring to his clouded vision.
    â€œWhat about Branwell?” she asked.
    â€œHe’s an indifferent shot at best,” Rev. Brontë said. Emily watched him sympathetically, knowing how desperately he wanted Branwell to be a son he could depend upon. “We’ll start this afternoon. You needn’t mention this to Charlotte,” he said without meeting Emily’s eyes.
    Emily and Tabby exchanged knowing glances. Prudent Charlotte would never approve of Emily firing a gun.
    â€œIt shall be between us,” she promised.
    He stood up and went to the hook where he kept his long white scarf. He wound it carefully around his neck until he resembled an Elizabethan lady with an enormous ruff. Thereverend was particular about his throat and swore by his scarf to keep illness at bay. “After my morning visits I’ll set up the target.”
    Emily’s eyes glittered with anticipation. “I’ll have the ammunition ready.”

Had he been a handsome, heroic-looking
young gentleman, I should not have dared to stand
thus questioning him against his will,
and offering my services unasked
.

    P erfect posture abandoned, Charlotte huddled in the corner of the coach. A month ago—could it only be a month?—she had traversed the