Miss Farrow's Feathers (12 page)

Not nearly as much as I would enjoy strangling him.

“I’m sure we are much honored that he took time to visit at all," she said with far more benevolence than the scoundrel deserved. "There will be other opportunities to reacquaint ourselves, of course.”

“Of course. So… why do you seem upset, if I may be so bold as to notice your obvious agitation, Miss Farrow?”

She dropped her bunches of skirt, taking a deep breath and schooling her face. It did little to relieve the tension he could still see around her eyes, at her lips. Damn his fool cousin for leaving her in such a state!

“I… yes, I suppose I am a bit out of sorts. It’s just… well, he said…”

“He said what?” By God, Max would make sure that he’d never say it again.

“He said that… oh, I hate to even think it.”

“If he was in any way inappropriate, or unpleasant with you, Miss Farrow—“

“No, nothing like that. He was
… well, he told me his intentions."

"Intentions? Good lord, isn't it a bit soon for that?"

"His intentions for Bartholomew,” she clarified.

“Oh
. Of course. And what are they?”

Her wide eyes fairly glistened with tears and Max had to struggle to keep from putting his hands on her to comfort her. At least, that’s what he hoped he’d be doing with his hands. His conscience felt the tiniest niggle of concern that he might possible have just a bit more than
comfort on his mind right now.

She was practically weeping when she found her voice to speak.

“The new earl says Bartholomew is to be put down!”

“But he cannot do that,” Max protested. “I thought the old earl made it clear he wished for your father to keep him?”

“Yes, that was our understanding, but Nigel… er, the new earl
says the bird is a part of the estate and should have gone to him.”

“Then why by heaven’s name should he want to have him put down?”

“He feels that since the bird is… well, he worries Bartholomew’s behavior might reflect poorly on the family name.”

“
A silly parrot is going to tarnish his fine family name?”

“I
know. I tried to convince him he was worried for nothing, be he is quite sensitive about this. It is his place to be concerned about such things, after all. He is the last of his line. So much hangs on him to preserve family honor.”

Max nearly snorted aloud at her mention of that imaginary
item. As if Nigel had—or cared about—family honor! Indeed, this only added to his burden to find his incriminating proof quickly. More than ever he needed to unlock the secrets that Bartholomew had pent up in his feathery head.

“Does this heartless young earl expect you to wring the bird’s neck for him, or will he sent for the poor thing later?”

She cringed at his words. “
He suggests Bartholomew be readied for return to him as early as tomorrow. And…”

“And
led to the gallows? Or does he plan to borrow from the French and employ Madame Guillotine?”

“
Don’t joke about such things! Heavens, I hate to think of it. He said he will give Bartholomew a chance. If he does not show signs of being rehabilitated by the time we deliver him tomorrow, the earl will be forced to put him down.”

“
Forced
? I don’t see anyone forcing him to do this, do you?”

“
I’m trying to see this as he does. He truly believes it is the only way to protect his family name.”

“To drag
his family name through mud as pet murderers, you mean. Surely you’ve no intention of giving the bird to him.”

“
What else can I do? I can’t very well hold his bird hostage here, can I?”

“What would your father tell you to do?”

She frowned. “He would probably say we must turn the other cheek, to give unto Caesar what is Caesar’s and let fate do what it will.”

“And what do
you
want to do?”

“I want
you to stay! That is, I want you to continue the training, to complete Bartholomew's correction and
then
allow the earl to take him back if he wants him, when there would be no need to be embarrassed for the things that he says.”

“So you don’t think he’s a hopeless case and that the earl should put him out of his misery?”

“Of course not! Only a heartless fiend would be so unmerciful.”

Well, he certainly was pleased to hear her speak this way of his cousin. She had a good head on her shoulders. Perhaps she was not likely to be swayed by the coldblooded
snake after all. He wondered what his chances of swaying her were.

“You speak rather harshly of your friend the new earl,” he said, taking half a step closer.

“It has been a number of years since he and I were acquainted,” she replied, not retreating at his nearness.

So he took another step
. testing the waters. “Still, he did feel the need to stop here on his very first day in town.”

“Only to discuss the business of the bird.”

“Only that? I must admit, Miss Farrow, that is a rather thin reason. After a journey of any duration, that a man should feel compelled to stop for a visit before reaching his home speaks that he must have a very strong motive for it. Are you certain it was the bird that was foremost on his mind… and not a certain young woman?”

She blushed. “I…
you are mistaken in that, sir. He was here only on business.”

“For a man such as
that, business can always wait. It seems to me that perhaps
you
are his business, Miss Farrow. Have you always wanted an earl of your own?”

“Heavens, sir! You misunderstand
my opinion of him.”

“Do I? It certainly explains all your nerves and your color.”

“There is nothing remarkable of my color, sir. If you please, we’re discussing Bartholomew, not his earl.”

“
Your
earl, you mean.”

“He is not
my
earl! Who have you been talking to? I swear I have no interest in the man.”

“You’ve not fancied yourself mistress of Glenwick Downs?”

“No, of course not.”

“You’d do it justice, you know.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. What do you know of the place?”

“
Er, I know that you’d be a remarkable Lady Glenwick.”

Now her blushes were practically scarlet. He thought she might slap him, in fact, though he remained just where he was, well within
arm’s reach.

“Stop teasing me, sir. I’ve no
t set my cap for the man, nor has he any designs upon me. It’s Bartholomew we should both be concerned for just now.”

“I’d rather concern myself with you.”

And now he was very close to her. He could see the rise and fall of her chest, her breaths coming in quick little gasps, yet she did not back away. Her eyes were huge and round when she blinked at him. He wondered what would happen if he touched her. Would she welcome it? Shove him away? Be unaffected entirely? He decided to find out, giving a gentle brush of her velvet cheek with his thumb.

Another chest rise, another little gasp.

“You had a spot of dust,” he lied.

“
Dear Dot marks the spot
!” Bartholomew cackled.

Damn that bird! The moment was ruined. Miss Farrow came to her senses and stepped back, safely away from whatever Max might have been planning to do next.

“I can’t imagine why he continues to repeat that,” she said quickly. “What unusual rhymes he must have heard aboard ship.”

“It isn’t from a rhyme,” Max said, then wondered if he ought to have kept silent. He would never want to give Miss Farrow the impression he was particularly well-versed in such things. Then again, he
was sure it was true. He could not recall any lines he had ever heard or had read that contained that particular phrase.

She seemed doubtful of his
expertise. “Surely you are not very familiar with every song or bawdy lyric employed by common sailors, sir?”

“Er… no, happily, I am not.”
Not all of them, anyway.
“What I mean to say, I’ve noted that Bartholomew’s other common phrases seem to be found within that volume of, er, poetry that you discovered last night. This phrase does not appear to be among them.”

“And you feel this is significant?”

“It just… it’s merely something I observed.”

He couldn’t very well tell her the book came from his grandfather and he believed somehow it was related to a hidden treasure
that only Bartholomew supposedly knew about but that had gotten the old man murdered, could he? Of course not, even as much as he was convinced she could be trusted with knowledge of such things. It was for her own good he kept quiet, though. Miss Farrow should be protected from such unpleasantness, not dragged into it.

“How have you observed it?” she asked.

Again, he was helpless against her gaze. He had to give her some sort of explanation quickly or, by the devil, he was likely to fall under her spell and confess all.

“I… that is, it would seem…
I believe that if most of the phrases the bird utters can be found in this book, then perhaps there are other phrases—less offensive phrases—from it that he is equally familiar with.”

Yes, this was as good an explanation as any. He took a deep breath, tore his eyes from her earnest expression, and lied as if his life depended on it.

“I think you will agree that it appears Bible verses are entirely foreign to him. This likely explains why we’ve had no luck at all getting him to recite them rather than his usual fare. So, if it is rhymes from this book he has come to know, then it might stand to reason there are some—however few—less offensive phrases in it that he already knows. I was hoping to simply refresh his mind of them and perhaps he will be content reciting those, rather than the more colorful ones.”

By God, he was proud of himself. What a perfectly logical explanation!
Rubbish, of course, but quite clever. He might have even believed it himself, if he didn’t already know better. Now all he could do was hope Miss Farrow might be equally gullible.

“So that is why you’ve been studying these horrible rhymes?” she asked.

“Yes. Though I hate them, I have suffered in silence for the sake of the bird.”

“How noble of you.”

He wasn’t completely sure he didn’t detect a fine layer of sarcasm behind her words. But her eyes were still huge, and trusting, and warm, so he decided he must have imagined it. She believed him and he thrilled at the notion. She trusted him; he’d won her over. It was a feeling of triumph he rather enjoyed.

“So what is your plan?” she asked after a moment.

“My plan?”

“Have you found the phrases you think might refresh Bartholomew?”

“Well, of course it all takes time…”

“But he doesn’t have time! Here, let me see that book.”

She practically ripped it from his hands. It was all he could do to keep from pulling it back. What was she doing, corrupting herself with such material? Didn’t she worry what it might do to her immortal soul? Worse, didn’t she know what it might do to
him
, watching her read through what he knew she must be reading?

“Here’s something,” she said, pulling open a passage and studying it. “
This does not seem so bad. It's a song, I believe, though I don't know the tune.”

She started reading aloud.

“
A lonely old sailor forlorn and distressed, Forever alone on his island way West
.” She paused to glance over at Bartholomew, who simply stared back had her. So she continued. “
I never will go, to stay is the best. I'll guard with my life the old man's chest.
”

At that last line, the bird ruffed up his feathers. He cocked his head toward her, though, as if something in her words was familiar. She glanced at Max, gave a shrug, then continued. He wished she wouldn’t. Whether Bartholomew knew the rhyme or not, Max did.

“
No wenching or ale, he would not take his rest; Year after year, his cock all repressed
.” Now she winced, the word having escaped her lips before she realized what she was saying. “Forgive me. I was already reading ahead past the chorus
.
”

"I'm not certain this is a good idea..."

But she had already gone back to reading.

“
A buxom young maiden of soft, flaxen tress, Called the sailor one night for to come be her guest
.”

Again she cringed, the context of the story becoming clear. Max thought to step in here, to stop the reading, but she forged bravely ahead. This time, however, she was not alone. At the last line of the stanza, Bartholomew joined in with her.

“
I never will go, to stay is the best. I'll guard with my life the old man's chest
.”

She beamed up at Max now.

“Did you hear that? He does know this verse! And I’ve never heard him speak that line before!”

“
I’ll guard with my life the old man’s chest
,” Max said, repeating it.

Could it be there was meaning here beyond merely the obvious? He could not help but think so.
The old man’s chest
… what could that mean besides what it seemed to mean? Grandfather really
did
have a treasure and he really
did
put Bartholomew over to guard it. By God, the bird
did
know something.

Max had to admit he was rather intrigued by their efforts here—and not just for the most obvious, inappropriate reasons.
Miss Farrow seemed excited by their progress, as well. Unfortunately, her interest seemed to be mostly for the damned book.

“Here, let me continue:
But the maiden was greedy to see herself blessed, she appeared there before him in a state of undress
!”

“I don’t know that you ought to keep on with—“

She ignored him and kept on. “
I never will go, to stay is the best. I'll guard with my life the old man's chest
.”

As predicted, Bartholomew recited the
chorus again with her. And now he left his perch to fly toward them, landing on the nearby bedpost and gazing expectantly up at Miss Farrow. It seemed he expected reward for reciting that one particular line.