A Partridge in a Pear Tree

by MCCABE, AMANDA

  She shook her head. “I live in the country, Mr. Bradford. Delicacy has little place in my life. But do you mean to say that after your father—did away with himself, it was your sister who discovered him?”

  “I fear so.”

  “Oh, that poor, poor girl!” Allison cried. “No wonder she is so quiet.”

  “She scarcely speaks unless spoken to, and sometimes not even then. I was hoping it would help her to be here, away from our home.” Ir was such a profound relief to speak of it with someone, instead of keeping it pressed down inside. And Allison did not look appalled or shocked. She looked very, very concerned, and sensible. She took his arm and continued walking beside him.

  “Do you think it would help for the twins to socialize with her? They can be very cheering, but I would not like for her to be frightened by their exuberance.”

  “It would be worth a try,” William said. “Perhaps we could set them all to constructing our partridge in a pear tree?”

  Allison laughed. “That sounds like an excuse to get out of doing it yourself!”

  Kitty and Jane came running back to them, their freckled cheeks flushed with excitement. “We have found our turtle doves!” Kitty cried.

  “On the road, just ahead,” Jane added.

  “How do you know they are turtle doves, and not just plain, ordinary doves?” William asked them teasingly.

  The twins looked at each other, and giggled. “Oh, we just know!” said Kitty. “Come and see.”

  Kitty and Jane's “turtle doves” proved not to be doves, or indeed any kind of birds at all. They were people, a prosperous-looking young farmer in a sturdy tweed coat and his golden-haired sweetheart, sitting on a fallen long by the side of the road holding hands. They gazed up at each other in a distinctly rapturous manner, and didn't even seem to notice the four people staring at them in astonishment.

  “Don't they look like two turtle doves?” Jane whispered.

  “Indeed they do,” Allison answered. “But who are they?”

  Kitty gave a loud cough, making the two turtle doves jump and look up at them in confusion. Then they smiled when they saw the twins.

  “So you're back, Miss Kitty?” the man said.

  “Of course we are! This is Mr. Albert Potter, Allie, and his betrothed, Miss Susan Whitney,” said Kitty. “I have told them that if they help us win our scavenger hunt, we will help them organize their wedding. Miss Whitney has her heart set on a very large wedding, you see. She has a great many relatives.”

  Allison gave her sisters a stern look. “Oh, you did, did you?”

  “Oh, miss, it would be ever so wonderful,” Miss Whitney burst out. “Then me and my Bertie could get married ever so much sooner.”

  “Of course we would be happy to help you,” William said. “But what if we lose the hunt? We won't be able to help anyone then.”

  Bertie shrugged. “We would still have had a lark, wouldn't we? Getting to see the inside of Kirkwood Manor.”

  “I've always wanted to see inside that house,” sighed Miss Whitney.

  “Done, then!” William said, reaching out to shake Bertie's hand. “You may be our turtle doves.”

  The twins laughed, and joined hands to dance in a merry circle. “A wedding, a wedding! Hooray!”

  “Two done,” Allison said, pulling the list of the scavenger hunt from her reticule and checking “Partridge” and “Doves” off with a little pencil. “Five left...”

  **

  That night, a supper was planned at Kirkwood Manor, to be followed by the presentation of the first day's objects. It was to begin at eight o'clock sharp, but the setting sun found the Gordons and the Bradfords still hard at work.

  They turned the small sitting room next to Allison's chamber into a workshop, with a large table set up down the center and covered with an oilcloth. Allison and William used bits of wood and colored paper to fashion a small tree, while Bertie pasted the whole thing together and Susan tried to dry it by the fire. It had not helped at all that she set the first tree on fire, but the second one looked to be a great success.

  Gertrude had been assigned to turn the marzipan bluebird into a partridge, using her paint pots and brushes. At first she had been highly doubtful, shrinking back against her brother and looking at the bird as if it would come alive and bite her. But she quickly became engrossed in her task, her pretty little face scrunched up as she plied her brush over the delicate marzipan body. She didn't even notice the twins any longer, as they sat on either side of her, closely watching her work.

  She was very talented, Allison noted, watching as Gertrude's brush turned the blue candy to delicate, pale brown feathers.

  “What do you suppose Sir Reginald and his family have found?” William mused, cutting out another leaf.

  “Whatever it is, it cannot be as fine as this,” Allison said, adding the finishing touches to the bark. “I hope.”

  “Certainly it won't!” Kitty said stoutly. “They could never have such a lovely partridge. Gertrude has made it look quite real.”

  Gertrude gave a shy smile.

  “And no one could be better turtle doves than Bertie and Susan,” Jane said. “You must just remember to hold hands and coo.”

  Bertie grinned. “Oh, we can assuredly do that! Can't we, Sue?”

  Susan giggled, waving the newly pasted branch perilously close to the fire.

  Allison silently prayed that all would go well with this presentation. It was far too late to search out new partridges and doves now.

  **

  “All right, everyone!” Lady Kirkwood announced in the drawing room after supper, banging her cane on the floor to bring everyone closer to her chair. “It is time for you to show me what you have found on your hunt. Reginald, you will go first.”

  Sir Reginald and his family obviously had not had as successful a day as Allison and William. His dome of a forehead glistened as he nervously dabbed at it with his lace-edged handkerchief. Letitia, sumptuously attired in cranberry-colored velvet with a matching turban, sat on a settee with her arms folded, not looking at her husband. The tall white plumes in her turban quivered.

  Their son Edward was nodding sleepily over a glass of port, not his first of the evening, also not looking at his father. Miss Bates was completely absorbed in a box of candy on her lap.

  Allison felt a jolt of fresh hope for their makeshift offerings. She looked up at William, who stood close to her chair, and exchanged smile with him.

  Reginald walked over to where a small, covered object sat in the corner. “After traveling far and wide, Aunt Harriet, we have found you the finest partridge in a pear tree,” he announced importantly.

  Letitia gave a loud sniff.

  Reginald ignored his wife, and pulled away the cloth with a flourish.

  Inside a small gilt cage was a bright yellow parakeet, perched precariously on a pile of evergreen boughs vaguely shaped like a tree. It looked out at them with bewildered little eyes, and gave a tentative peep.

  There was a moment of stunned silence in the room, then Gertrude burst out, “That is not a partridge at all! That is a parakeet.”

  She turned as cherry-red as the sash on her white dress, and slapped her hand over her mouth.

  “You are quite right, Miss Bradford,” Lady Kirkwood said, her cheeks wrinkling even further in a gleeful smile. “I believe that is a parakeet, Reginald, not a partridge at all. What is more, it came from my own conservatory.”

  “I told you so, Reginald!” Letitia hissed.

  Kitty looked indignant as she watched the bird balance on its boughs. “He obviously hates it in there,” she muttered. Before anyone realized what she was about, she ran across the room and flung open the door to the cage.

  The parakeet, delighted at this new development, spread his small yellow wings and soared off across the drawing room. He swooped over the fireplace mantel, sending a Chinese vase crashing to the floor, before plucking at Letitia's plumes. One came free, and he flew away triumphantly with
it in his beak.

  Letitia shrieked and screamed, clutching at her ruined coiffure while her son snickered into his port and her husband tried in vain to comfort her. Miss Bates hastily stuffed three pieces of candy into her mouth, as if she feared the bird would escape with them.

  Finally, William went and opened the drawing room door, and the bird flew off in the direction of his conservatory home, the plume in his mouth as a prize.

  Allison was too surprised to do anything but stand there. She knew she ought to scold Kitty most severely, but all she wanted to do was laugh.

  Just as Lady Kirkwood was doing. The old lady leaned back in her chair, laughing so hard she gasped, her cane flailing in the air. “Oh, my! Well, after that little performance, I am most eager to see what you have to display, Miss Gordon and Mr. Bradford. I hope it is not quite as—active.”

  Their display! Allison closed her eyes in dismay. She had forgotten all about it in the excitement. Now everyone looked at them in expectation, Reginald smirking as if he was sure that whatever they had would surpass his in humiliation.

  “Of course, Lady Kirkwood,” William said. “We are most pleased to present our discoveries to you. But I fear we have gotten a bit ahead of ourselves. We have both a partridge in a pear tree and two turtle doves.”

  He gave Allison a reassuring smile, and beneath his calm charm she felt her pounding heart slow down. Her hands ceased their trembling. Everything would be well, she thought. It had to be, with him.

  She nodded to Gertrude and the twins, who went into the foyer and came back bearing the tray where their partridge in a pear tree was set up. They carefully placed the tray on a table in front of Lady Kirkwood, and curtsied prettily.

  The marzipan “partridge” gleamed in the firelight. Gertrude had done a superlative job, making each feather look soft and real. Even the hastily dried tree was intact.

  The only thing amiss was that the little parakeet now nestled in the paper leaves along with the partridge, happily nibbling on a sugared pear.

  “Er, a partridge and a parakeet in a pear tree,” William said, his voice thick with laughter.

  **

  “I thought that went quite well,” Allison said later as William escorted her up the staircase. The twins ran ahead, trailed by a still-shy Gertrude. “Lady Kirkwood seemed to like our partridge and our turtle doves. Even though Reginald said Bertie and Susan should not count, since they are people and not doves.” She was still rather disgruntled about that. Did the man have not a particle of imagination?

  “But Lady Kirkwood accepted them, and that is all that matters,” William said comfortingly. “Reginald is just jealous because their stolen parakeet was such a disaster.”

  Allison laughed at the memory of the bird swooping around with the plume in its mouth. “Indeed! But we cannot count on him and his family being so—dare I say it?—bird-witted with their objects. They have promised to present their turtle doves tomorrow morning, and they might come up with something quite clever.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “Anything is possible.” She stopped in front of her chamber door. The twins were already inside, she could hear them running about and giggling. “This is my room here.”

  William looked down at her, his shadowed face serious in the flickering light from her candle. “Miss Gordon. I...” His voice faded, and he glanced away, as if he longed to say something but could not quite find the words.

  She wondered what it could possibly be. “Perhaps you could all me Allison. When we are not in company. Miss Gordon sounds so very formal.”

  He gave her a dazzling smile, and leaned closer, so close she could smell the fresh, clean scent of his lemony cologne. She wanted to breathe him in deeper. “And you should call me William. Since we are such old friends now.”

  Allison scarcely dared to breathe. “Are we friends?”

  “Do you not remember the last party we attended here? We spent much time together then.”

  “Time where you pulled my braid and called me 'Ginger',” she said crossly, trying to banish the spell his warmth wrapped around her. She had her family to look after, a scavenger hunt to think about. She couldn't afford to fall under William Bradford's distracting spell.

  He laughed. “I only wanted to get your attention. And I was too young to know that was not the way to do it. I am most sorry I called you Ginger. Am I forgiven?”

  “Perhaps,” Allison murmured, leaning back against the door to smile up at him. “Now, I should go in before the twins destroy the room. I have French hens to think about.”

  “Oh, yes,” William said with an exaggerated sigh. “The scavenger hunt. I must think about that, too. And I should go look in on Bertie and Susan, see if they are happy with the chambers Lady Kirkwood gave them for the night.”

  “They seemed quite content with the cakes and ale they were consuming with all the upper servants!” Allison said with a laugh. “They were certainly having more fun than we were in the grand drawing room.”

  “So they were, though I don't think anything could be quite as much fun as watching that bird steal Letitia's plumes. Good night, then—Allison.” It was the first time e had called her by her given name. The sound of it was so very sweet in his deep voice.

  “Good night, William.” Allison gave him one last smile, then ducked into her chamber to close the door between them. She wished with all her might she didn't have to do that.

  Kitty and Jane, already clad in their nightdresses, were chasing each other around the room, swinging pillows and laughing. They stopped in mid-run to stare at Allison with wide eyes.

  “Allie!” Kitty cried. “You are blushing.”

  Allison pressed her palms to her cheeks, which did indeed feel too warm. “Don't be ridiculous, Kitty dear.”

  “It's because she likes Mr. Bradford,” Jane sang. “She was talking to him out in the corridor for ever so long.”

  “Allie likes Mr. Bradford!” they chorused, joining hands and dancing around in a circle. “Allie likes Mr. Bradford!”

  Allison forced down the urge to giggle with them. Instead, she went and took the girls by the hands, leading them briskly toward the connecting door to their own room. She had to be the older one, after all, the sensible, practical one. No matter how silly she felt just hearing his name. “What nonsense. You girls should employ your energies toward figuring out where we can find three French hens, not conjuring up romances for me.”

  **

  William stood in the corridor for a long moment, staring at Allison's closed door. He could hear muffled laughter and chatter from within, and he longed to go inside and join them in the merriment.

  His life had been devoid of laughter for so long, and Allison Gordon and her sisters radiated it so effortlessly. He was drawn to it like a warm fire on a frozen day.

  But he knew he could not. He was in no position to take care of a wife properly. His estate was falling about his ears, and its gray halls were no place for Allison and her merriment. He had his sad sister to take care of, and a scavenger hunt to win.

  As if to confirm those solemn thoughts, a small, cool hand slid into his. He looked down to see Gertrude had joined him, slipping up as silently as she usually did. She was still looking very solemn, but he thought her thin cheeks looked a bit pinker. The exercise of the day must have agreed with her.

  “Hello, sparrow,” he said. “I thought you would be asleep by now.”

  “I wanted to wait and say good night to you.”

  “Aren't you very tired?”

  She shook her head with another ghost of a smile.

  “I was just off to check on Bertie and Susan in the servants' hall,” he said. “Would you like to come along?”

  Her eyes widened. “Won't there be lots of people there?”

  “Very probably. They were having some Christmas ginger cakes. Maybe they would share with us.”

  “Really? Ginger cakes?” Her head tilted to the side like she was a sparrow indeed, and much
to his surprise, she nodded. “I would like that.”

  Chapter Four

  Three French Hens

  “This is intolerable! Completely intolerable.” Sir Reginald slapped his hand against his bedroom window, as he watched the Gordons and the Bradfords go tripping off down the graveled driveway in the pale morning sunlight. “I am meant to be the heir to everything. What good is this house with no money?”

  Letitia did not even look away from her reflection in the dressing table mirror. She leaned forward and carefully dusted rice powder over her cheeks. “You said if we came here we would be sure to be the heirs. I did not want to leave Town to travel in the middle of winter, but you said...”

  “I know what I said!” he interrupted impatiently. “How was I to know she would make us play some silly game? Or that she would invite them.”

  “She seems to like them. More than she likes our dearest Edward.”

  Reginald's eyes narrowed. “We shall soon see about that.”

  **

  “We have looked everywhere, and no French hens.” Allison sat down at the last empty table in the village teashop, wearily reaching down to rub at her tired feet.

  “No hens of any sort, I fear,” William said, signaling to the serving maid for tea and cakes. “None alive, anyway.”

  “We could back to the confectioner's shop again, and see if they have any marzipan hens,” Kitty suggested.

  “We already did that,” Jane said, with a playful shove at her sister's shoulder. “We can't have candy birds again.”

  Kitty shoved back. “There is no rule that says that.”

  The two of them giggled, while Gertrude looked on with wide eyes.

  “Girls, please,” Allison said. “You are not helping matters.”

  “I fear they may be right,” William said ruefully, stirring his tea as Allison poured and passed cups around. “We may have to repeat ourselves if we have no new ideas today.”

  Allison shook her head. She was most determined to do this game right. “There must be something.”