Miss Farrow's Feathers (18 page)

"What is it? Have you recalled some clue of some sort?"

"Better," Nigel informed him. "I've concluded who these highwaymen are. One of them has been living in this very house!"

Papa
huffed at the notion. "Nonsense! He claims the man I've hired to train our fool parrot is a blood-thirsty highwayman."

Mr. Barrelson seemed to be wi
lling to consider this, though. He looked toward Papa and asked, "Is he?"

"Of course not," Papa replied, then turned to Meg. "Is he?"

"No! I'd certainly have recognized him. Most definitely not Mr. Shirley."

"Then produce him!" Nigel demanded. "Call him into this room so we can see that he's here and not somewhere else. He is here, isn't he?"

Now Meg was worried. Of course Mr. Shirley wasn't here. He was returning the carriage and changing his clothes. This was dreadful! The magistrate would have no choice but to consider Nigel's accusations. It was his duty and, after all, Nigel was the earl. Poor Mr. Shirley would be hunted down and not able to produce any proof that he wasn't a highwayman!

"Of course he's here," Papa said, moving out of the room toward the stairway. "He's been up in his room working with Bartholomew all afternoon."

"But he told me he might be going out for a walk, Papa," Meg called after him quickly.

It was a stupid, desperate attempt that only caused Nigel to sneer at her all the more.

"So you know he is not here, Miss Farrow? And how could that be, since you were out driving with me until those highwaymen interrupted our day?"

"I... I know Mr. Shirley's habits. He often takes walks."

"I thought your father said you didn't care for the fellow."

"That doesn't mean I'm not aware of when he does or does not take walks," she snapped back at him. "I simply meant to offer a reasonable explanation for why he isn't here. If, in fact, he isn't here."

"You meant to give him an alibi," Nigel said.

"Mr. Shirley doesn't need an alibi. He isn't your highwayman."

Nigel arched his eyebrows. "Ah, but is he
your
highwayman, Miss Farrow?"

"He's nobody's highwayman," she replied. "He isn't a highwayman at all. He's nothing more than a parrot trainer!"

Even as she spoke the words she knew they were not true. Max Shirley was so much more than a parrot trainer. She didn't know what he was, exactly, and to be fair, she had only his word that he was not a highwayman, but in her heart she was convinced he was something more than she knew. If only she could hope it was something that would not land him in jail.

"That's what you say about him
," Nigel grumbled. "I'd rather hear him speak for himself."

Papa marched to the foot of the stairs. "That should be simple enough." He cleared his throat and called in a loud voice. "Mr. Shirley! Are you up there, man?"

Meg felt her heart drop down to her toes. He was about to be found out. If he was smart, he would already be heading far away from Richington. If he were not... he'd be arrested at the inn and end up in jail. Either way she had to accept he'd be gone from her life. The worse of it all, he'd be taking her heart away with him.

"You should come back to the inn with me," Hugh said.

"No. She'll need me at the parsonage," Max replied, already scanning the quiet lane to make sure no one would see him leave the carriage.

"But your clothes
—"

"Will be fine," he assured his friend.

They had clothes in the carriage and once Miss Farrow was gone he and Hugh changed their black shirts for a white ones. He'd changed quickly so he was all at odds, his shirt tucked haphazardly and his attempt at an elegant knot utterly failing, but at least no one would take him for a highwayman.

"Get yourself back to the inn," he ordered, knowing Hugh could be trusted to comply perfectly. "
My man in London has promised the information we need should be in official hands by tonight. Wait there for confirmation of that."

"
Very well. You're certain you don't need me with you?"

"
Not until later. I don't know what accusations my cousin will be making or how many men he'll send out to hunt for us. We must give him no reason to find us."

"I'll make short work of any man who does," Hugh assured him.

"I'd prefer that you not make any widows," Max admonished. "My hope is to eventually be on good terms with the residents of Richington."

Hugh chuckled, then
cocked his head in the direction Miss Farrow had just gone.

"One little resident in particular, I gather."

"I don't dare consider hoping in that quarter until all this is over," he replied, but of course they both knew it was a bluff. He did hope already. He hoped a good deal.

Straightening his coat, he hopped out of the carriage and
reassured himself no one was around. He gave a last string of advice to Hugh, then vaulted the cemetery wall and darted between stones, keeping to shadows and corners as he made his way behind the church and toward the gardens at the rear of the parsonage. Perhaps today would be a perfect time to make use of the trellis Mrs. Cooper kept secure at the back corner, going up to the roof just below Max's bedroom window.

Since his arrival here he'd often thought that might provide a handy means of clandestine escape, but now it seemed he might wish to try the route in reverse. He caught a glimpse of Nigel's gaudy Phaeton waiting in front of the house. It seemed a very good idea to avoid running into the man in the drawing room just now. True, there had been years and years since their last meeting, but he had no doubt Nigel would recognize him.
Just as Max had known the face of that murderous bastard the moment he'd seen him.

The little group at the foot of the stairs waited in silence. Papa called again.

"Mr. Shirley, are you there, sir?"

Meg was about to insist that the man's absence meant nothing at all. She even toyed with the wild notion of announcing that she had planned an assignation with him and he was off preparing for that. Oh, but she had to do something to save him!

Nigel was already half gloating as seconds ticked by with no sound from above. She wanted to slap the smug grun right off his face. How dare he attack her as he had on their picnic and now come into her house, accusing her of all manner of wickedness. If she thought anyone would believe her, she'd tell them just what sort of man their new earl had proven himself to be.

Her inward struggle was interrupted, though, by a voice from upstairs.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Farrow. Were you calling for me?"

By heavens, it was Mr. Shirley! She could scarcely believe it, but this was his voice. She had no idea how it could be, yet it was. He was here, in this house, calling to them from his very own room.

A quick glance at Nigel gave her the satisfaction of seeing that not only was he every bit as shocked as she was, he was also heartily disappointed.

"Are you available, Mr. Shirley? Some gentlemen would very much like a word with you down here," Papa called.

But now Mr. Shirley's reply wasn't so encouraging. He was decidedly hesitant.

"Er, I'm afraid I'm rather in the midst of something just now..."

Nigel fairly crowed in triumph. "Ha! What on earth could the man be in the midst of that he cannot come down to us? I tell you, he's hiding something!"

"Perhaps he's having some trouble with the bird just now," Papa suggested. "He is a very disagreeable bird at times, as we all know."

"I don't even hear the bird. How do we know he hasn't abducted
it, or done away with it?"

Even the magistrate's face showed that Nigel's words sounded a bit crazy. But he was a man bent on his duty, so he sighed and turned once again to Papa.

"Perhaps if you'd allow me, I could go up to the man's room and ascertain once and for all if his lordship's concerns are well grounded?"

Papa shrugged. "I've no objection, though I have no idea what you think you will find."

"Search for his mask, and his weapons!" Nigel ordered. "You'll find them, no doubt. And the bird—"

Nigel was still ranting as the magistrate put his foot
on the bottom tread to begin his upward climb when a figure appeared at the top of the stairs. A loud squawk from Bartholomew drew their attention up to him. Yes, it was Mr. Shirley, alive and well! Bartholomew clung to his shoulder.

And what a fine shoulder it was
. Meg could see it quite plainly. The man was in his shirtsleeves only, and his crisp linen shirt was thoroughly wet. She could see the shape and the musculature of his shoulder almost as if he had no shirt at all, and she very much liked the looks of it. It looked perfect, as a matter of fact. Everything about him looked perfect as he stood there, tall and bold, looming over them from the height of the staircase.

The only thing odd was the fact that his head was covered. The man wore a towel wrapped round his head, obscuring most of his face. That did somewhat detract from the masterful image he portrayed. That, and the fact that Bartholomew began reciting the most vile line from the most vile rhyme in his
vocabulary.

"Forgive me," Mr. Shirley said when he had calmed the bird by presenting him with a finger to gnaw on. "I'm afraid Bartholomew bestowed an unexpected gift onto my head and I was compelled to wash my hair. My coat suffered, as well, and I was working on saving it."

"There, you see?" Papa said, beaming with pride. "My parrot trainer."

Meg could
fell that she was beaming, too.

"
This
? This vagabond is what you claim to be your parrot trainer?" Nigel said, not even attempting to hide his disgust. "You cannot possibly tell me he's done one bit of good for that bird."

"Oh yes, he's actually made great strides," Papa said in defense. "Bartholomew used to be completely unbearable. Now he's just barely insufferable."

"But... this man can't be..."

"He is," Papa said. "
An excellent parrot trainer.
Not
a highwayman."

Nigel sputtered and Mr. Barrelson took to patting him on the shoulder.

"So all is well, my lord," the magistrate said. "Your fears were in vain. Don't you find that a comfort?"

"
Hell no I'm not comforted," Nigel insisted. "Just look at him! That bird is not safe in this house."

"I think, sir, from the looks of things your concern would be better placed on the man. It appears that bird can take care of himself."

"Shameful," Nigel glared up at Mr. Shirley, fairly seething with rage. "It's no wonder the whole village whispers about my grandfather's bizarre love for the creature. I'll not have such a thing even associated with my name. Give me the bird now. I'll take him with me."

"But you mean to destroy him!"
Meg said.

"
Then there'll be no need for your trainer, will there?"

A new wave of panic washed over Meg. She turned to the magistrate and prayed he might be able to help.

"Please sir, isn't there something we can do? The old earl loved this bird. He knew we would care for him; that's why on his deathbed he gave him to Papa. I could never forgive myself if I felt we failed our dear friend."

She implored with big, doleful eyes. She might have even allowed her lower lip to quiver, just a bit. The tears blurring her vision weren't false, though. Despite Bartholomew's many, many shortcomings, she truly did not want the poor thing destroyed. He was only a bird, after all. He had no idea his words were offensive, or that he should not do his business atop Mr. Shirley's head.

Mr. Barrelson glanced from her to the earl and then back again. At last he sighed and gave a final decree.

"My lord, I think in light of today's traumatic events, you would not wish to cause Miss Farrow any further discomfort. She has
come to care for this bird—God alone can know why—and it would pain her to lose him this way. Perhaps it is better for all if you simply return home and continue this discussion again tomorrow, when nerves are less frayed and heads are all cooler."

"But she is in on it, I tell you! She
's in league with the highwaymen."

"You cannot mean such a thing," Papa said. "My Meg is a paragon of virtue."

"But she must have told them how to find me."

"I daresay that fancy rig of yours did more to alert them to your whereabouts, sir," Mr. Barrelson said, laying an arm over Nigel's shoulders. "Now come along. My assistant will see you home, safe and sound."

"I don't need a ruddy nurse maid," Nigel grumbled.

"But you've had a rough day
and you're not quite yourself," the magistrate said, inching him toward the front door. "It's understandable. None of us thinks less of you."

"
Of course you should not think less of me! I'm the Earl of Glenwick, by God."

"And
that's why you can trust Mr. Farrow not to breathe a word of this to anyone in the village," Mr. Barrelson went on. "Not about your unfounded accusations or about nearly letting his daughter be abducted by highwaymen."

"I tell you, she was a part of it!" Nigel's eyes had gone wild. He waved his arms and pointed up the stairs at Mr. Shirley who worked the towel over his head, drying his hair while Bartholomew screeched and pecked at his arm.

"You'll feel better in a bit, after a good meal and a rest," Papa assured him in his most clerical tone of voice.

Meg saw her opportunity. Mr. Shirley's plan would play out as intended, after all.
The man had told her he'd been looking for a way to get into Glenwick Downs when Nigel was gone, and here was her chance to allow him to do that.

"A meal is an excellent idea, Papa. We should invite his lordship back here for dinner, so he knows we are all still friends and there are no hard feelings."

"Capital idea, Meg!" Papa declared.

"There, you see now, sir?" the magistrate said. "All will be well. Let's get you home for a clean-up and maybe a stiff drink, then you can come back around for dinner and things will be normal again."

"Things are not normal!" Nigel went on protesting. "I tell you, that man is not who he claims and a scheme is afoot here. The parrot is the very key to it!"

It was in vain, though. He could have been ranting about unicorns and little folk
for all the sense he was making. Papa and Mr. Barrelson helped him out the door, the assistant went to ready the Phaeton, and Mrs. Cooper followed them out, tossing off instructions about what time to expect dinner tonight and to ask Nigel for a list of his favorite foods.

Meg barely caught his peevish reply and was quite certain the substance he mentioned would
not
be considered food.

She peered around the doorframe to watch the action outside. A creak from the stairway behind her drew her attention
inside and she turned. Mr. Shirley was descending the steps, moving toward her. She could see his blue eyes now and they sparkled. Her knees went predictably weak so she hung onto the doorframe.

Bartholomew flew off onto the stair rail and
proceeded to natter on about twisting one's pole and viewing things from behind again. Meg hardly heard him. Mr. Shirley had her full focus.

"I'm sorry I was very nearly late to this party," he said.

"I was afraid you were about to be found out," she confessed.

He moved closer still. "I would never wish to make you afraid."

The only thing she was afraid of right now was that she'd not be able to keep her hands off the man and that Papa would find her making a cake of herself in his arms. She held onto that doorframe and refused to budge from it. There was much to be sorted out yet before she could do anything foolish like profess her love for this man she knew nothing about.

But his gaze was every bit as powerful as an embrace. For a long, silent moment he held her there, his eyes locked onto hers and all manner of unspoken things passing between them. She was well out of breath by the time Papa came marching back up the front steps.

"I say, our poor Glenwick has been quite badly affected," he said as he breezed past Meg into the entrance way.

"That was the earl?" Mr. Shirley asked.

"Yes, and I'm sorry to say you did not see him at his best. I'm afraid he and Meg were accosted by highwaymen today and he is not taking it well."

Mr. Shirley's eyes went huge and his astonishment seemed real. "Highwaymen? Good God, Miss Farrow, are you quite well? I've heard dreadful things about those sorts of scoundrels."

Her cheeks heated instantly and she couldn't meet his eyes.

"I'm fine, Mr. Shirley. Thank you."

For a moment more she felt his gaze linger on her, then he cleared his throat.

"If there's nothing more you need from me, sir," he said to Papa. "Perhaps I should go back upstairs and dress myself properly."

"By all means, Mr. Shirley. I'm sorry to have bothered you and hope you were not too distressed by his lordship's behavior."

Mr. Shirley shrugged and put his arm out for Bartholomew. The bird hopped onto it readily and accepted the crumb of biscuit the man pulled out of his pocket. For the first time, Meg could see that Mr. Shirley had indeed made some positive headway in the bird's behavior. For this brief, pleasant moment Bartholomew was not cursing or squawking or attempting to dismember any of them.

"I suppose the nobility must be allowed some measure of eccentricity," Mr. Shirley acknowledged with an indulgent shrug. "I've heard they often do unpredictable things."

Papa agreed. "Indeed. Who can make sense of it? Perhaps we should be glad for our lower stations in life."

"Or perhaps we simply need different nobility."

"Well, it'll take more than a talent for parrot training to accomplish that," Papa said with a chuckle. "Have you had your fill of the earl, or will you be joining us for dinner tonight, Mr. Shirley?"

He looked surprised at having been invited, but masked that quickly. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm afraid I have plans. A friend is on the way into Richington from London. He's bringing something and I'm expecting to meet him tonight."

Papa seemed very interested in this. "A friend? Bringing a gift for you, perhaps?"

"No, sir, for you. He'll have those references you asked for."

Now Meg had to mask her own surprise. She'd all but given up hope for any references on Mr. Shirley. Could it be? There actually were such things? Perhaps the man was something respectable, after all. She could have danced for joy at that thought of it. How much easier life would be if she found herself in love with a decent, honorable man instead of a sham and a cheat.

Mr. Shirley started up the stairs, the view of his broad shoulders from behind was almost as awe inspiring as the view she had seen from the front. She shouldn't have been staring, but she was. Two steps up, he turned and gave her a smile.