Color of Danger (Sullyard Sisters Book 3)

by Ruth J. Hartman

  Walter huffed out an irritated breath as he watched them leave. He sat, hands fisted on his lap for a full minute and then relaxed. Why did they have to treat him thus? As if he was Andrew. A baby in need of protection. Guidance.

  His anger waned the longer he sat. Perhaps this was a good thing. They didn’t specify who he’d have to marry, only that the girl in question was suitable. A slow smile snaked across his lips. The girl recently on his mind would surely be acceptable.

  Yes, this could work to his advantage. Quite well.

  Chapter Six

  When Patience and Walter arrived the next day, Mr. Wycliff was already at the falconry. “Good day.”

  Walter bowed and Patience curtseyed as she said, “Good day.”

  “How’s the panorama coming along?”

  Patience forced her expression to remain pleasant though it wasn’t easy. It had only been one day and he already inquired about her progress? “Fine. Coming along nicely.”

  “Splendid. I’m sure you’ll agree that my falcons are the loveliest around.”

  “Certainly.” Though she really had none to compare to. Didn’t the birds all look similar?

  The man puffed out his chest, his white whiskers fluffy, flipping against the breeze. With all of that along with his hooked nose and beady eyes, he resembled the objects of his affection quite closely. “As you spend time with them, you’ll become well acquainted, I’m sure.”

  Walter snickered, but Patience gave him a glare that silenced him. “Yes, I’m sure we will.”

  “Each bird has his or her own personality. And name, of course.”

  “Of course.” She waited, sensing he would want to make introductions right then. Would she be required to curtsey to the falcons? Would they bow in return? A smile quivered at one corner of her lips.

  Mr. Wycliff leaned over the first bird that Patience had sketched the day before. The one she’d assumed to be a female. “This lovely lady is Mary.” He stroked his finger down her chest. The bird closed her eyes briefly as if enjoying his touch. “And this is Charles.” The male of the preening pair from yesterday hopped toward the man. Was he hoping for some attention as well? Mr. Wycliff petted Charles as he had the other bird. Mary leaned to the side and gave Mr. Wycliff’s finger a little nip. He laughed. “They’re jealous.”

  Patience giggled. “I’d never dreamed birds could have feelings.”

  His mirth subsided as he opened his eyes wider. “My good young woman, then you have much to learn.” He pressed his hand to his chest. “They can experience contentment, joy, sadness and fear. Spend enough time with them and you’ll discover what I’ve said to be true. Never underestimate the depth of individuals in the avian world.”

  Better go along with him. The job was too important to lose. “How fascinating it must be to spend time with your birds every day.”

  He grinned. “Indeed. If I didn’t have them to take care of, my life would be quite meaningless. I often wonder how people not fortunate enough to have falcons even make it through the day.” He held out his arm to the side, “Now, if you’ll look over here, this is—”

  A rush of wings swirled around Patience’s head. She held still, not wanting Mr. Wycliff to think she wasn’t as enamored of his pets as she was. The fluttering sound lessened, as whatever it was moved away.

  “So you’ve come back today, have you?” Mr. Wycliff walked a few yards to a small enclosure Patience hadn’t noticed before. With a shrug, she followed. And along with her, nosy Walter. Naturally.

  Mr. Wycliff waited until the bird had settled on its perch. “And this, is Hervey.”

  Why would this bird be apart from the rest? Perhaps he was ill. “He doesn’t resemble the other falcons.”

  “That’s because he isn’t.”

  She swallowed hard. Oh dear, she’d done it again. “Uh…”

  “Miss Sullyard, I can see your education in all things avian has been lacking. This is a pigeon.”

  She eyed the bird. Smaller, more grey than brown, with a shorter, straighter beak. Yes, she’d seen plenty of these birds around their home, but usually she was trying to convince her sister’s cat, George, not to invite them to dinner as the main course.

  The pigeon gave a coo, though it sounded more like a cat’s purr. She had noticed that before, having teased George that since they sounded alike surely they were cousins.

  Walter stepped closed to the bird. “Why is his home so far from the others?”

  Mr. Wycliff raised a bushy eyebrow. “Does no one of your age know of birds?” He shook his head in apparent dismay. “Falcons kill pigeons.”

  Kill them? Patience gasped. Without knowing how it had happened, she found herself standing a little closer to Walter. Had he moved nearer, or had she?

  Mr. Wycliff pointed to the pigeon. “He just appeared one day, and I had not the heart to refuse him. Obviously, he was in need of food and a home. I provided both, but had to construct this perch far enough from the falcons’ own food that he’d hopefully be safe. Why he’d want to dine in the vicinity of his enemies is baffling to be sure.” He flipped his hand in the direction of the house. “Well, enough of that. I have business to which I need to attend so I must be going. Please see one of the footman should you require anything.”

  Patience thanked him and curtseyed.

  She eyed the pigeon again. She’d love to put it in the panorama as well. Perhaps he could sit among them, earning their friendship instead of the fear he might feel from them now.

  Walter moved away a few inches. “I know what you’re thinking.

  She studied his expression. “That’s not possible.”

  “You want to put this bird in your painting.”

  She stared at him. “How did you—”

  “I’ve known you for over a year. Do you really think I can’t guess what goes on in that head of yours?”

  How insolent he was. Patience clenched her jaw. “Then you must know what I’m thinking right now.”

  He grinned. “That you’d like to kiss me?”

  “No… but the word associated with you does begin with a k.”

  “Let’s see… keep, knight, king…, no, that can’t be it.” His smirk was infuriating.

  “How about kick?” She tapped her boot in the dirt, sorely tempted. “Just go away, will you?”

  He sobered. “Patience, I really don’t think you should include this bird in your painting.”

  “Why not?”

  Walter pointed in the direction of the house. “Because Mr. Wycliff has commissioned you to do the falcons. They seem like children, the way he talks about them. And this one, well…” He pointed to the pigeon. “He did say it just turned up recently. Like he’d taken pity on the bird and gave it a place to stay. Not at all the same as the others, who he may very well have bred or paid money to a breeder for.”

  The pigeon had been nestled down in some straw, watching them, as if listening to their conversation. Patience reached out her finger toward it, wanting to give him some comfort, show him he was just as valuable as the falcons. That he wasn’t just some afterthought who only received the bare necessities and nothing further.

  Walter grabbed her arm. “Don’t do that.”

  “He’s not going to hurt me. Look at those sweet dark eyes.”

  Walter frowned. “At least be careful. I’d rather not have to explain to your sisters how you came to lose part of your hand to an angry bird. Besides, wouldn’t you have trouble painting your panoramas with a useless stump instead of fingers?”

  Patience laughed and shook her head. She nudged the bird’s head lightly, amazed at the downiness of its feathers, almost as soft as George’s fur.

  The pigeon rose from its spot and waddled toward her. Walter leaned down and looked at something near the straw. Patience peered into the shadowy space. “What’s wrong? I’m guessing you won’t find any eggs, since Mr. Wycliff referred to it as a male.”

  He ignored her sarcasm.“Nothing, it’s…. Is there somet
hing attached to the bird’s leg?”

  She tilted her head to the side and peered beneath the bird. Something white was sticking out near the foot. “It’s… wait, is that a piece of foolscap?”

  “I have heard of pigeons carrying messages before.”

  “But why would this one have a message? Mr. Wycliff didn’t even know where it had come from, so it isn’t likely than an acquaintance sent it to him with a note.” Patience sighed and peered over her shoulder. “As fascinating as this is, I’d better get to work. I’ll be over by the falcons.”

  Walter nodded, but didn’t seem to notice she’d left. He kept his attention on the bird. Odd. That was the first time she could remember when he hadn’t focused his attention directly on her. Why did that bother her so much?

  Chapter Seven

  Walter waited until Patience was well into her sketches a few yards away then glanced around to make sure no one could see. Reaching out, slowly, he ran his finger down the side of the bird’s face. The bird purred, much like a cat.

  “There now, I’d like to see what you have caught on your leg. Would that be acceptable, little one?” The bird flapped its wings. Was it agitated by Walter? He lowered his voice. “That’s a good man. Can I have a look?”

  The bird relaxed its wings and willingly hopped onto Walter’s arm, giving Walter a good view of the bird’s leg.

  “Say, that does appear to be foolscap. Hold still while I get it, if you please.”

  The bird didn’t seem to mind being handled at all as long as Walter used slow movements and a gentle tone. In fact, he sat very still while Walter tugged at the piece of string that held the paper in place. The foolscap loosened and Walter grabbed the edge.

  “There’s a good bird. Want to go back to your perch?” He helped the pigeon back inside its home. How extraordinary. Walter had never been close to a bird before. Having one seem so calm when being handled by a human was nearly unimaginable.

  After making sure no one was the wiser, Walter flattened out the paper on a nearby rock so he could read the note. He narrowed his eyes to read the tiny handwriting on the scrap of paper.

  Please hurry. Time is of the essence.

  What did that mean? Who had sent it and why the urgency? Was the note intended for Mr. Wycliff? Probably, but…

  A part of Walter didn’t want to bring it to the man’s attention. The note wasn’t signed, so there wasn’t any way to know for sure who the sender was or to whom it was sent. What if the note wasn’t for Mr. Wycliff? What if it was for Walter instead? He shook his head. No. Ridiculous. He didn’t know anyone here except Patience. It was only coincidence that he happened upon the bird when he did. Should he go ahead and tell Mr. Wycliff anyway?

  Walter smiled. No, it would be more fun to speculate. Show it to Patience. Perhaps the two of them could figure it out together. That would be just one more way he could spend time with her away from her overbearing sisters. And any amount of time he could spend with pretty Patience was a positive thing.

  He tucked the paper in his coat pocket and went back to stand by Patience.

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t you have something better to do?”

  “No.”

  “Surely there’s something you’d find interesting if you took a stroll around the grounds?”

  He scrunched his brow, feigning deep concentration. “Hmm. No.”

  She huffed out an irritated breath. It was all Walter could do not to laugh. She was so fetching, especially when vexed. When her cheeks reddened and she flailed her arms about. But what he especially found adorable was when she stomped her foot.

  He reached into his coat pocket. “I have something to show you.”

  “What? A leaf? A feather? Honestly, Walter, I am here to work.”

  “It will only take a moment. I promise.”

  She sighed but held out her hand, in which he placed the foolscap. After reading the message, her brow furrowed. “I don’t understand. Where did it come from?”

  “It was tied to the pigeon’s foot.”

  “I know that. I meant, who could have possibly put it there?”

  “It could have been anyone. What do you think?”

  “About… what?”

  “The note. Don’t you suppose it’s some type of mystery?”

  Patience laughed. “Walter, you really are amusing sometimes. If you’re that bored, perhaps you should take a walk or something.”

  He crossed his arms. “I’m not trying to be amusing. Why would someone tie that to the bird’s leg?”

  “Well, it is a pigeon. Don’t they carry messages sometimes?”

  “But there’s not a salutation. It’s not signed. We really don’t know who sent it or for whom it was intended.”

  She read the words again. “It is strange.”

  Walter’s heart warmed at her agreement. Glad to have gotten her attention with the message.

  “I guess we’ll never know.” She laid her pencil on the table.

  “Don’t you want to find out?” Something in Walter’s chest burned, longing to know. Wanting to figure it out. He didn’t know why the feeling overtook him, just that at the moment, it seemed quite important.

  “I have to admit, it is intriguing.”

  No, you’re intriguing. But he couldn’t say that out loud to her. It might frighten her away if he came on too strong right at first. He longed to take her in his arms and kiss her, right there, but knew he’d get slapped at the very least for his troubles.

  Still, he’d better not push Patience too far. They did have to live in the same house after all, with her overbearing sisters, their crazy great-aunt, not to mention Walter’s parents, brother and cousin. He could just imagine the reaction from the family. It wouldn’t be good.

  She glanced toward the main house and retrieved her pencil from where she’d laid it when she’d examined the foolscap. “I’d better get back to work.” And with that, Walter was dismissed.

  Hmmm. Perhaps he could do some sleuthing on his own until Patience was free to help him. Then, at least, he’d keep himself busy while she drew her sketches. He picked up the note and took it with him.

  Retracing his steps, he went back to the pigeon. But right before Walter reached the pigeon’s house, the bird, as if startled, took off in a flurry of feathers, wings flapping as it rose a few yards into the air.

  Walter held his hand above his eyes to shade them from the weak sunshine. Where would the bird go? Back to the sender of the note? Walter stuffed the paper in his pocket once again and took off at a run, trying to keep up with the bird. It headed in a northerly direction. Walter hurried past the falconry, earning a strange expression from Patience. He rounded the corner and through a small grove of trees. When he could once again view the sky, it was empty of anything with wings.

  The bird had disappeared.

  Blast. Now he wouldn’t be able to figure out the mystery.

  With a sigh, he decided to keep walking. What else did he have with which to occupy his time? Once he’d rounded the last bend, he found himself standing in front of an old derelict of a house. Some windows in the front cracked or broken. The door sagging slightly on its hinges. Had it been the main house before the present one was built? Why wouldn’t they have kept the building up? It could have been used as a caretaker’s house or something similar. The place appeared deserted though. Still, it seemed odd that when the rest of the estate was so pristine, this building had been offered nothing but neglect.

  He shrugged and turned away, heading on past the old house. He may have lost sight of the pigeon that day, but was determined to see where it had gone. Eventually.

  Chapter Eight

  That evening, Patience walked next to Lydia as they laboriously made their way down the steps. She’d tried to take her sister’s arm to aid her, but had been rewarded with a scowl. “Wouldn’t it be better if you stayed in bed? Isn’t that what the physician told you to—”

  “I don’t give a rat’s arse what he said.”r />
  Shocked, Patience stared at her sister.

  “Pardon. When I’m irritated, I seem to revert back to my language while in Bedlam. I’m just tired of being… tired.”

  Patience patted Lydia’s shoulder, hoping her sister wouldn’t give her a mean look again. “Not to worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”

  Lydia didn’t acknowledge the comment. Did she and Kitty know how it hurt Patience’s feelings to be left out of things? That she’d love to be included in their private talks? But it had always been that way. Kitty and Lydia were two years apart, as were Lydia and Patience. But somehow, they perceived her as being quite the young girl instead of near their age. Couldn’t they understand that she was as grown up as they? Well, almost, at any rate. Near enough in age that they should at least consider her feelings and opinions when she gave them.

  They reached the bottom stair, finally, and Patience waited while Lydia caught her breath. Patience took Lydia’s hand, deciding to risk her ire once more. “Would you like to sit in the parlor? I think I hear someone in there already.”

  Lydia nodded, her face flushed from exertion. They made their way down the hall to the open doorway. Without even checking to see who was in the room, Patience made sure Lydia was firmly ensconced on the settee before checking around. Everyone else seemed to be present. Even Walter’s parents and his sister Annabelle. Patience hadn’t seen them much lately. Those three always seemed to be dashing off to London for this or that. Of course, with Stratford and Nathaniel both taking care of the magazine office, Walter’s father was free to do as he wished with his time.

  Stratford rushed to take Lydia’s arm, helping her to sit down. “Darling, I would have come up to get you after your nap. Why didn’t you have a maid come and get me?”

  She batted her eyelashes at him and patted his cheek. “Patience was nearby. I didn’t want to bother you.”

  Of course, because I’m always around. No life of my own, and all that. With a huff, Patience took the only remaining empty seat. Right next to Walter.