He glared at her from one black eye for a long moment before resignedly inching back her way. “Tea and cake! Tea and cake!”
Priscilla waited until the last possible second before snatching him from the rod and cradling him to her chest. Koffi was a gorgeous African Grey Parrot, and did not drink tea… or deserve to spend decade after decade behind bars, without ever spreading his wings.
Here in the safety of her private quarters, she allowed him as much freedom as he pleased… as long as Priscilla was home to protect him.
Serving the bird for dinner was no idle threat. Grandmother had hated the parrot on sight. When Priscilla was ten, she’d been caught with Koffi perched on her finger. Grandmother had ordered him to be cooked for lunch like pigeon.
That had been the one and only time when Priscilla’s tears had prevented something bad from happening.
“Now behave,” she chided Koffi as she delivered him to his cage.
It pained her to lock him inside. She loved him like a brother. For most of her childhood, he’d been the only company she ever had to play with or talk to.
Before Koffi, there’d been no one at all.
“Tea and cake!” he squawked. “Tea and cake!”
She slid the painted snuffbox from its usual place of honor on the shelf, among her leather-bound travel books and miniature globe collection.
The snuffbox was small enough to fit inside her reticule with ease, and contained bits of pilfered treats from soirées Priscilla attended. Koffi could not accompany her, but she could bring the best parts home to him.
In the wild, African grey parrots ate seeds and nuts, berries and fruit. She took care to select cakes and breads that shared some of these ingredients. Koffi was in England now, but she didn’t want him to forget where he was from.
As soon as her inheritance was hers to spend, they would be on the first boat to Africa. They wouldn’t have to wait for permission anymore in order to have a real adventure at last.
“Cake for the good lad,” she said as she slid a few pieces between the bars.
Koffi nudged all the crumbs into the center of the cage and positioned himself with his tail feathers to Priscilla, as if guarding his treasure from pirates.
Priscilla had never taken back a treat or broken a promise. Mistrust was something Koffi had learned on the voyage from Africa to England.
While he was busy with his cake, Priscilla set about collecting stray feathers from exposed surfaces in her parlor. The maids were aware of Koffi’s forbidden freedoms, but the real danger was Grandmother.
Although her grandmother rarely ventured further afield than the primary guest parlor or her private quarters, Priscilla would not risk returning home to a silent bedchamber and empty cage. Koffi was the only member of her family that actually acted like it.
“Unfair,” she murmured beneath her breath. “He’s here because Papa and Grandfather care about you.”
They’d been exploring Africa when they’d heard tragedy had struck. They hadn’t made it home in time for her mother’s funeral, but they’d brought Priscilla a bird for company and assured her she could join them as soon as she was grown up.
Perhaps a hurried visit during her darkest hours wasn’t the fatherly love she’d been craving, but at least it proved they thought of her while they were gone. When she was old enough, they wouldn’t have to leave her behind.
Even at nine, she knew her father and grandfather were very busy men. Adventuring wasn’t something that could be done inside a London townhouse. The trip to China or India or Africa took months and months by boat, and of course there was no postal service whilst at sea.
And who could blame natural born adventurers for being too busy exploring new frontiers to waste time hunched over a writing desk when they could be astride elephants or camels or wild horses?
Priscilla had read every travel journal she could get her hands on. Even when glimpsed secondhand through ink on a page, the wonders more than dazzled.
By the time her father returned for her, she would be as knowledgeable and eager a traveling partner as any adventurer could hope to have. It would be impossible to leave behind a worthy companion.
“Don’t worry,” she said to Koffi before she quit their chamber. “You’re coming with us.”
Although one could exit the townhouse without passing through the front guest parlor, Priscilla had never done so. Grandmother spent every daylight hour shuttered in the parlor, and Priscilla wouldn’t dream of leaving for even a moment without saying goodbye.
The front parlor was the largest room in the townhouse. Its tall, wide windows were perennially covered and dark. The Axminster carpet upon the floor had seen little tread. Every surface was as frozen in time as the antiques covering them.
Although the stiff collection of old furniture could seat more than a dozen guests, the only chair that was ever used belonged to Priscilla’s grandmother.
As usual, Grandmother’s pale hands were folded in her otherwise empty lap. A small fire crackled in the grate, but was unworthy of her attention. Grandmother’s ice-blue eyes glared up at the wall at a faded portrait painted the morning after her wedding.
