Free Strange Star by Emma Carroll

share her joy. It was like listening to a conversation behind a closed door.
    I tried to take Peg’s hand. ‘Let’s go home and ask Da, shall we?’ But she tugged me closer to what I supposed was Mrs Pringle and her basket.
    We didn’t reach the kittens. The shop bell jingled and another person came out.
    I stiffened. ‘Is it him this time?’
    Peg didn’t reply. I guessed she was still cooing over the kittens.
    ‘No,’ Mercy hissed back. ‘It’s …’
    ‘Mrs Heathly, good day!’ Mrs Pringle’s greeting answered my question.
    ‘You’ve heard the latest?’ Mrs Heathly said. ‘’Twas Dipcott Farm’s turn last night. All the ducks were took, every last one of them.’
    I supposed a fox had taken the ducks, which was a shame. But it wasn’t that unusual round these parts.
    ‘They believe something attacked the horse on its hindquarters. It left a terrible wound. People are saying it’s a bite mark.’
    ‘A bite mark?’ cried Mrs Pringle. ‘Goodness!’
    Suddenly, I was listening harder. Mercy was too; I sensed her go very still beside me. We all knew how Sweepfield folks loved to gossip about the weather, about Eden Court, about births, marriages and deaths. But bite marks ? On a horse’s rump? Now this was interesting.
    The shop bell rang again. There was a rustle of skirts, a creak of baskets. The tap tap of someone coming down the steps towards us.
    Mercy jabbed me in the ribs. ‘ This is him.’
    I nodded, drawing breath to speak. Mrs Heathly got there first.
    ‘Mr Walton,’ she said, ‘’tis a delight to meet you at last. I trust you’ve settled in up at the big house?’
    Mr Walton? So the stranger had a name, and not a local one, either. By ‘the big house’, she clearly meant Eden Court.
    ‘Sounds like he is the scientist,’ I said to Mercy.
    I must’ve spoken louder than I meant to, for Mrs Heathly then noticed our presence. ‘Ah, it’s the Appleby girls out and about with Miss Matthews.’
    I tugged nervously at my bonnet brim. ‘Good day, Mrs Heathly.’
    There was an odd little pause. Then with a curt ‘Good day’, she shouldered past.
    ‘She didn’t even look at the kittens,’ said Peg in disbelief.
    ‘Never mind, dear,’ Mrs Pringle muttered. ‘Now really, you must let me past.’
    Then she too was gone, and I was left with the distinct sense that we’d just been given the brush-off. Mr Walton cleared his throat, which made me jump for I thought he’d gone too.
    ‘So you’re the Appleby girls, eh?’ he said.
    I nodded.
    ‘And you, sir,’ I said, remembering what I needed to ask, ‘were at our mam’s gravestone just now.’
    Doof.
    A small, hard something hit me on the knee. Doing my best to ignore it, I kept talking. ‘Did you know my mam, sir? Only if so …’
    Doof.
    I gritted my teeth.
    Doof.
    I prickled with irritation. Here I was trying my hardest to ask important questions, and someone was throwing stones at us. At me .
    Mercy cursed under her breath. Without warning, she commenced yelling inches from my ear. ‘Isaac Blake! ’Tis no good hiding behind the oak tree! I know it’s you, you little toerag!’
    ‘Good gracious, my hearing is ruined!’ Mr Walton exclaimed.
    It took me by surprise too – and not just the yelling part.
    ‘You’re still not friends with Isaac?’ I asked her. I assumed they’d have made up by now.
    ‘Nope. Not a chance.’ I pictured Mercy, stony-faced, her arms folded. ‘He tried to make troublebetween us, Lizzie, and I’m not having that.’
    ‘Perhaps he didn’t really mean it …’
    Doof.
    ‘Why is that boy throwing stones?’ Mr Walton asked.
    I shrugged, though I’d a sense Isaac was poking fun at me and it made me hot with anger. ‘He’s the village pest, sir.’
    ‘He’s a good-for-nothing worm, that’s what he is,’ Mercy added.
    I felt a sharp tug on my sleeve. ‘But Isaac’s waving at us, Lizzie,’ said Peg.
    ‘Huh!’ Mercy snorted.
    I nudged Peg to be quiet, for I hoped Mr Walton might