Chapter Eighteen

Cuthbert sighed contentedly as he snuggled down even more on his bed. He was looking forward to a long, warm slumber on this chilly winter night, with a hot brick wrapped in flannel to keep his toes warm and the fiery plum pudding he had eaten for supper still warming his belly.

When someone started tapping on the window of his bedroom, he was almost asleep. He must have seen the snow turn to sleet, he drowsily reasoned as he rolled over and pulled the blankets up to his chin. The tapping persisted and had an odd beat as well as being persistent.

He abruptly sat up in bed, his nightcap's tassel falling over one eye. Perhaps a limb had just broken under the weight of the snow and started banging against his windowpane. He hesitantly tore open the drapes on the bed and slid his feet onto the chilly hardwood floor knowing there was only one way to find out.

He crept toward the window as his heart began to beat in an unpleasant rhythm. Even the familiar shapes of the wardrobe and washstan