Published by JMS Books LLC
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Copyright 2017 Ruby Moone
ISBN 9781634865821
Cover Design: Written Ink Designs| written-ink.com
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
* * * *
The Christmas Curse
By Ruby Moone
December 1806
If asked, Jared Templeton would have said he was not a dog kind of man. His interactions with canines of any kind usually ended with him being at least growled at, and on occasion, bitten, so he was somewhat surprised when a large, shaggy beast with suspiciously large, shiny teeth appeared beside him one evening and trotted alongside him as he walked to his Mayfair home. As the collar of his great coat was turned up to his ears, his hat pulled low, and his hands safely encased in leather gloves, he felt safe in acknowledging the beast’s presence.
“Hello dog,” he said, casting it a sideways glance.
The dog looked up at him, tongue lolling, and Jared could have sworn it smiled. It huffed a short bark, its breath misting in the cold air, then looked ahead, and loped along beside him. Jared couldn’t help but smile. How odd. The dog stayed with him from Piccadilly, all the way to his Half Moon Street house, and sat beside him patiently as he opened the door.
“Well, goodnight,” he said to the dog who was looking up at him, tail swishing.
It barked.
“I see. Thank you for your company.” He bowed and went into the house. He headed for the study, which overlooked to road, and saw the dog sit for a while on his front step and then trot off down the street. So began a curious friendship.
* * * *
The following day the dog joined him on his walk home, again from Piccadilly, and Jared was surprisingly pleased by the company. It trotted alongside him until he arrived at his house and fished in his pocket for the key. The dog sat patiently by his side as he did so, and then leaned heavily on his leg and looked up at him.
“Are you venturing a hint?” he asked the dog as he pulled the key out of his pocket. The dog leaned even more.
“You may be acting friendly now, but I assure you if I pet you, you will be growling at me in no time at all.”
The dog dipped its head and rubbed against him.
“Oh, come now. Doing it a bit brown?” Jared risked a cautious pat to the head. The dog leaned into the caress, and then licked his gloved hand. Jared petted it again, and tried not to notice the beast was shivering in the frigid December air.
“You should go home now. Get warm.” He gave him one last caress, and then went into the house confident that the dog looked robust, well fed and cared for, meaning he did have an owner somewhere andwould most assuredly not be spending the night in the cold.
A week later, the dog was still meeting him on Piccadilly and escorting him home. The weather had warmed, unexpectedly for December, no doubt as a prelude to snow, so he took off his glove to deliver his now customary petting once at his door. He was amazed at how soft the dog’s fur was. Deep, thick, and endlessly inviting waves of dark brown and tan. The dog whined softly, and pressed against his hand. Jared smiled and scratched his ears and again, he was sure the dog smiled.
“You like that.”
The dog cautiously licked his bare hand. It was warm and wet and Jared was reluctant to say goodbye. Eventually, he closed the door and then went to watch him trot away.
* * * *
Another week passed, and Christmas was fast approaching. Every day, the dog greeted him and trotted alongside him, and Jared had taken to chatting to him as they walked. On days when it wasn’t raining, or freezing cold, they sat on a bench near Green Park for a little while. The dog jumped up beside him and leaned against him, keeping him warm, and Jared told him about his day. It was good to have someone to talk to who he knew could never betray his secrets. In his line of work, a man had to take care, very great care. He was always utterly scrupulous about checking that there was absolutely no-one in earshotbefore unburdening himself to his companion. Working for the Alien Office meant he was unable to discuss his work with anyone since it largely involved the monitoring of people, if one were to be polite, spying if truthful. Monitoring the activity of foreign agents on British soil was tricky work, but suited to someone like himself who preferred a solitary life and had the knack of blending in. It was good work for an unremarkable man.