She smiled. He hadn’t meant for her to do anything of the sort. Just trying to get a rise out of her. She reached into her bag and took out several small scraps another pencil, then pushed them across the table.
“Yes, these should do fine. What do you think we should say?”
A rustle came from the grass a few feet away. Mr. Wycliff stood there. Watching them.
Heat flooded her face. They’d have to be more careful. Delving into her bag again, she got the book she’d used the day before as a makeshift desk. She slid the book to him. “Here. Pretend you’re reading this to avoid suspicion.”
Walter eyed the title. “Truly? It’s a romance.”
Patience smirked. “Who knew you had such a varied taste in reading material?”
He sighed. “The things I do…”
Patience reached for the green paint, fully aware of Mr. Wycliff’s eyes on her back. She took a different brush and swiped in some green, for the base coat of the grass. Without looking at Walter, she whispered, “What are you going to write?”
He had his head bent over the book, one of the remnants of paper and the pen settled on the page. “How about something along the lines of ‘Glad to hear from you.’”
“That seems vague.”
“We have no idea who this person might be. What if it’s some escapee from Bedlam?”
Patience leveled at glare at him. “Not a very nice thing to say.”
Walter cringed. “You’re right. My apologies. Shouldn’t make light of Bedlam after what Lydia went through. “
“It’s fine. Normal to make jokes, I guess. That is, until you or someone you love has been faced with it.”
“I just need to remember not to joke about it anymore.”
“Thank you.”
He nodded. “Now… back to the note.”
“How about… ‘Is there something you require?’”
“That might work.” He scribbled the words on the foolscap.
“I guess the next step would be to tie it to the pigeon’s foot?”
“Yes.” Walter slowly lifted his head and surveyed the pigeon’s perch. “He’s gone.”
“Well, that takes care of that, I guess.”
“Keep painting. Perhaps he’ll return soon.”
She opened a container of grey, ready to add in some shadows around the base of the birds’ perches. “Now that you’ve discovered the notes, I can hardly stand not knowing who the sender might be.”
Walter chuckled. “As curious as George the cat, eh?”
“As if you were any better.”
He held up his hand. “I’m not denying my curiosity. I want to discover who it is as much as you.” Walter lifted his head and peeked past Patience. “Mr. Wycliff must have gotten tired of watching us. He’s gone.”
She let out a breath. “Good. He was making me nervous. Although, I’m not working as hard as I should be.”
Walter leaned over the table. “Work is commendable, but how often are you presented with such an opportunity as we’ve been given here?”
He was right. Her new quest for adventure and independence would let her think of nothing else but their mystery. “Why don’t you keep an eye on the pigeon’s perch while I get some more of this done? I need to have a certain amount completed when I return home. Kitty and Lydia will want to know of my progress.”
“Agreed.” He left the table and sauntered back to the pigeon’s domain.
Patience watched him go. She couldn’t help it. The man was so very handsome. He flirted with her all the time. Just once, she wondered what it would be like to give in. Allow him to embrace her. Kiss her.
Heat traveled up her spine. Patience. Get back to work. Forcing her attention to the panorama, she finished the base coat on the background and falconry itself. Next came the birds. She sighed as she thought of Mary and Charles, nuzzling each other just like people might. Just like she longed to with Walter.
Why couldn’t she stop thinking about him? Of course, it didn’t help matters that he was standing just a few feet away. Dappled sunlight streaming through the trees, making his light brown hair appear golden.
She grabbed a smaller-bristled brush. This has to stop. She changed her focus to the falcons. It was going to be a pleasure to paint them all. Such beautiful birds. The pigeon wasn’t as majestic looking. But Patience had found it to be sweet, with its big dark, trusting eyes. Too bad Mr. Wycliff was dead set against having the pigeon in the panorama. Maybe that was for the best. That way, Hervey the pigeon could be kept a secret between Patience and Walter.
“Psssst.”
“What in the…” Walter was motioning her over with his hand.
She glanced around, was satisfied no one was about, and abandoned her art work. Once beside him, she smiled. Hervey was back.
“Here.” Walter handed her the note. He took the bit of twine already around the bird’s leg off. Taking the paper, he slowly wound it around Hervey’s tiny leg, then re-tied the twine. He stepped back. “Now, I guess we’ll see what happens.”
Patience’s heartbeat thudded hard, like she’d just run a mile. How exciting it all was.
Chapter Twelve
Patience watched, heart thudding wildly, as Walter untied the message from Hervey’s leg. She could hardly stand it. “Quickly, read the note. What does it say?”
Walter grinned. “Give me a moment while I untie the string.” He peeked over his shoulder. “Botheration.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Mr. Wycliff. He’s staring at us.” Walter grabbed the note, stuffed in his pocket and took a step back from Hervey. Poor little bird was watching at them sadly. Almost as if he wished they’d stay and visit for a time.
Patience caught sight of Mr. Wycliff over her shoulder. “I must start painting before he gets upset with me.”
“Right. I’ll speak with you later.” Walter turned and hurried away, around the end of the falconry.
Patience wanted nothing more than to follow him, spend time with him, and read the contents of the foolscap. Alas, there was work to be done.
She rushed to the table and sat down quickly. Her bag, which she’d hurriedly set down when Walter had motioned her over to Hervey a few moments before, sat in a lump, mocking her. Telling her she was behind in her work. That her sisters would be quite upset if something went wrong during her time at the commission.
Quickly, she reached into the bag and grabbed the paper and her grey paint. Time to fill in the shadows she’d drawn earlier. One of her tiny brushes would do best, as the spaces around the birds’ talons and beaks were miniscule. She got the smallest amount of paint on her brush that she could, bent over the paper, and slowly, with the greatest care, dabbed in barely perceptible edges of grey. This stage of her panoramas always appeared odd to her. Mostly white space of paper, and outline of penciled objects, and a few small patches of color here and there and at the corners and the top. Like she was looking at a grey rainy day with sunlight peaking around a few corners here and there.
Her next color would be light brown, but she’d have to wait. Past experience had shown her that if she tried to use a different shade too soon, her colors would inevitably run together, forcing her to let both colors dry completely before she started that section over. If things seemed beyond repair, there’d been times she’d had to begin the whole panorama from the start. During the first panorama she’d done for a commission, that had been her fault. Her sisters had told her time and time again that it might happen if she wasn’t careful to wait for her colors to completely dry before using another shade. But she hadn’t listened. The result had been that the man commissioning her panorama of his home and stables had become irate when too much time passed and Patience wasn’t yet finished. The man had told her to leave and not return. Of course, she hadn’t been paid for any of her work.
Robert had been furious, threatening all three girls within an inch of their lives if it ever happened again. It had been a painful lesson for Patience.
One she’d never forget.
She sat quietly, waiting for the grey shadowing to dry. Now that Walter had taken off on a walk, she was alone for the most part. There’d be an occasional glimpse of a servant here and there, but for now, there was only her.
Glancing behind her, there was no sight of Mr. Wycliff. Still, Patience remained where she was, not wanting to incur his ire any further.
Even though the man was paying her for the panorama of his falcons, she didn’t see why Hervey couldn’t be included as well. She felt sorry for the sweet little bird. Didn’t he need recognition as well? Was it his fault he’d been born an average pigeon instead of a majestic falcon? She shook her head. Poor little fellow. Doomed to a life alone in his private perch away from the other birds. Though she did see Mr. Wycliff’s point of keeping them separate since the falcons might want to make the pigeon their main course. Didn’t the man worry that the falcons might get a hold of the pigeon anyway? He didn’t seem all that concerned about him.
Tomorrow, she’d bring some bread for Hervey. Even though he was fed at his perch, something told her he might only get what was left over once the falcons had eaten their fill.
Another look around told her no one was about. She slid her hand into her bag and retrieved some more foolscap. Not a scrap like she’d given Walter for the note, but a full piece, like she used for panoramas. And this one would be all for her. When she and her sisters had lived with Cousin Robert, he’d never allowed any of them to draw anything of their choosing, only what he dictated. Once in a while Kitty would sneak away and do something small for herself, but Robert hadn’t known. This one was Patience’s choice.
She unrolled that paper and smoothed it out. Picking up a pencil, she reasoned she’d only work on this sketch while paint dried on the other. There was nothing wrong with that was there? Otherwise, she’d be sitting at the table doing nothing while she waited.
Still, she’d make sure no one could see her when she did her own panorama.
Hervey’s head and beak came into view as she glided the pencil around, first in an arc, then a short straight line. What a sweet little bird he seemed. Might make someone a nice pet, though she doubted he’d like to be kept inside in a cage. But some caring person out there might be willing to feed and care for him.
While it was true that Mr. Wycliff did the bare necessities, Patience assumed the man didn’t give Hervey much further attention or affection. His falcons, on the other hand, appeared to get much of both.
She ran her pencil in a diagonal line toward the left and down. That would become the bird’s back. Next came his wing, only one since it was a side view, and then his feet. Afterward, she’d need to sketch in the individual feathers. She bit her lower lip in concentration. Too bad she hadn’t taken a longer study of him in detail. If she could see him up close again, perhaps—
Something brushed against her hair and she jumped. She opened her eyes wide. There sat the bird in question on the table, just a few inches away from her hand. How extraordinary. She laughed and ran her finger down the bird’s head and neck. “What a handsome fellow you are. Come to help me with your portrait?” Hervey closed his eyes as if the feel of Patience’s finger was comforting. Soothing. Perhaps it was. Did anyone else pay much attention to him? She hoped the sender of the notes did.
Not one to waste an unexpected gift, Patience did a quick sketch of Hervey’s feathers and wings while he still sat in front of her. She’d not noticed how small he was until she’d also seen the falcons up close. Quite a disparity in size. While she did admire the falcons greatly, and enjoyed painting them, worry plagued her for the pigeon.
Turning her pencil on its side, she did some rough shading around the bird’s wing, beak and around the skinny feet. She laughed. “It’s a wonder you can walk with those. If my feet were as spindly, I’ll fall with every step.”
Hervey turned and stared. Right at her.
Patience bit her lip. “Oh, dear. I meant nothing by it. Just giving you a compliment. Only a superb bird like you could be so graceful on such feet.”
To her amazement, he purred out his peculiar sound. One eye drifted shut. In a wink.
“What a delight you are, my tiny gentleman. I can’t imagine anyone favoring another kind of bird over you.”
As quickly as she could, she finished her rough sketch and wrote down the different shades of paint she’d need for later. It was a good thing too, because footsteps sounded from behind her. Hervey flapped his wings, rose into the air and was gone.
Mr. Wycliff reached the table. “How is the panorama coming, Miss Sullyard?”
Patience quickly turned over Hervey’s picture and turned. “Quite nicely. I’m waiting for some paint to dry before I proceed with another color.”
“Fine, fine.” He smiled. “Did I see a bird just flying away?”
“Oh, yes. A… pigeon landed on the table, but didn’t stay. I must have… scared it away.”
He shook his head. “I don’t understand why the silly bird stays around here. You’d think it would know instinctively that the falcons are its natural enemies.” He pulled out the other chair and sat. “Where is your other family member?”
Family? Oh, he means Walter. Though they shared a home and mutual relatives, he was not her family. “I believe he’s taking a walk.”
“Ah. Well, I shouldn’t be surprised. My grounds are lovely.”
“Indeed.” She twisted her hands together around her pencil. She wanted to continue drawing the pigeon, but doubted he’d come back now since being startled by Mr. Wycliff. She waited, feigning interest in the man’s words, but hoped he’d leave soon.
Mr. Wycliff edged forward, placing his forearms on the table. “I’m quite proud of my falconry, as you’ve probably noticed.”
She bit the inside of her lip trying to keep in the words. Yes, painfully obvious.
“I admire them so. Such strong, muscular birds. Incredible eyesight. So intelligent and capable.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder in the direction Hervey had gone. “English carrier pigeons, on the other hand, are very limited birds. While it’s true that they often carry messages, it’s usually only in one direction and have to be transported manually before another flight. Seems like a lot of bother to me. Hardly worth it. Their only redeeming quality is that if one places the bird’s food at one location and their home is at the other, they can be trained to fly back and forth up to twice a day reliably.”
She squelched the scathing reply she longed to utter in the pigeon’s defense, instead saying, “How… interesting. Have you ever trained Hervey to—”
“Heavens, no. What would be the point? Waste of time.”
Patience held her tongue, but again felt sorry for Hervey. Did the poor bird feel slighted? Know that the man who fed him didn’t especially like him?
As Patience watched Mr. Wycliff stand and then walk away, she shook her head. Perhaps she could befriend little Hervey. She certainly knew how it felt to be left out when her sisters shared secrets that she was not privy to. Something told her she and the bird were perhaps kindred spirits, sometimes ignored, when perhaps all he needed was a friend.
Chapter Thirteen
Walter wound his way past some tall hedges, watching his step to avoid tripping on the uneven path. Shadows lengthened as the afternoon wore on. When he’d last studied the panorama, it appeared almost complete. At least to his untrained eye. It seemed that Patience was nearing the end of her commission. That meant the end of him spending so much time with her away from the watchful eyes of her sisters. What could he do to remedy that? There had to be something.
Now that they were getting to know each other as more than extended family, he didn’t want to give that up. Perhaps she’d get another commission soon and he could accompany her again. Maybe it would be someplace like… Scotland. Far away. He and Patience could go there together, stay for weeks on end. Alone. Together. They could…
He chuckled. Yes that was quite a dream. As if her sist
ers would ever let her out of her sight for such an extended period and so far away. With Walter.
He reached the end of the hedgerow and stopped at the side of the old house. Something rustled from above. Looking up, he widened his eyes. The pigeon! Well, maybe not their pigeon but one just the same. Could it be Hervey? How many of those birds would be hanging around a falconry where they were in constant danger of attack from the falcons?
He took a few steps back from the building in which to see the upstairs windows better. The pigeon flapped its wings furiously at an open window. Walter’s heart thudded hard, excitement battling with the knowledge that any moment Mr. Wycliff or a servant might come along and shoo him away. Which might in turn create problems for Patience if Mr. Wycliff became angry and sent them on their way.
But he couldn’t move. Had to know if there was someone in the house. Was it the person who was sending the cryptic messages? The pigeon had to be in regular attendance of a human since birds didn’t write messages themselves. He had an absurd mental image of Hervey, quill clutched in his talons, awkwardly scratching out a short message on a tiny scrap of paper. Walter smiled. Wouldn’t that be an amusing addition to Patience’s panorama?
Putting his hands up to the sides of his mouth, he intended to shout out a greeting to whoever might be in the room.
Wait.
Doing so really would give away his presence in a place he was surely not supposed to be. Checking around to make sure he was alone, he kept watching the pigeon. It cooed and purred, finally perching on the window ledge.
Time seemed to slow as Walter waited for something to happen. The bird to fly to a different location. Someone inside the room sticking his or her head out. Voices floating down from a conversation from the room above.
Nothing.
After several minutes, the bird disappeared into the room.
Nothing again.
With a sigh, Walter gave one final glance upward and continued his walk. He wound around the back of the old building, checking for any signs of life from windows or doors. No one seemed to be about. The house did indeed appear deserted. Maybe the pigeon went inside only because a window had been left open long ago. Perhaps there wasn’t a human in there at all.
Color of Danger (Sullyard Sisters Book 3) Page 8
