Anne bit her lip. “Must we send Minnie with them? Caroline and I could most certainly use two maids when we reach our destination. What do you say, my dear? I spoke with Minnie this afternoon, and she would far rather stay with us.”
Captain Wentworth agreed. “I don’t mind at all. Susan really belongs with Caroline, after all, and you seem to rub along well with Minnie.”
“That is settled then. She will be very glad, and I will feel the better for not leaving her adrift here.”
They were surprised by a shout from above. The young second mate leaned into the hatch and shouted, “Captain Smythe! Sorry to disturb, sir, but there is a man here with a—with a parakeet!”
Captain Smythe sat very still, as if this final absurdity might be the straw that broke him.
The second mate hurried down, and saluted, looking sheepish. “I apologize for shouting, sir, I know it’s not seemly. There is a man on the wharf that says he needs to deliver a parakeet. It’s a yellow one in a wicker basket. I wasn’t sure if I ought to allow it.”
The rigging looked black against the golden light of the sunset as they went on deck. A short, round Portuguese man in a patched coat waited on the wharf. He carried a wicker cage half-draped in blue cloth.
The man lifted the cage, and in accented English announced, “For the boy! The boy Donny!”
The captain crossed the gangway fast as could be. “Tell me—who paid for this? A big gentleman with long, fair hair, always laughing?”
“Ah, big man, yes. But hair…short.” He waggled his hand with a shrug. “And a lady. Very pretty! Paid for bird, cage, delivery.”
Donny scrambled forth, the older fellows nudging him along, but he stopped short when the man held up the wicker cage. Inside, blinking and bright as lemon peel, perched a very large yellow parakeet. “What? Forme?”
The bird cocked its head, opened its beak, and gave a high trill followed by, “Allo! Allo!”
Captain Smythe ignored it. “But where was this? When?”
The merchant beamed. “I keep a stall at the bird market, onRua Augusta. We have fresh birds from Rio de Janeirothis week. And this one—especial—for he speak English! I will give thepequeninoto you.”
“No—I don’t want it,” Smythe said. “I need you to show meexactlywhere you met this man. Is there an inn or hotel near there?”
He laughed. “Everyinn and hotel is nearRua Augustaand Rossio Square.”
Donny stood transfixed, his fists clenched at his sides. “Captain Smythe—may I?”
Caroline pressed up against the gunwale. “Do let Donny keep the parakeet. The poor boy didn’t deserve to have that wicked woman poison his pet.”
“I don’t care—yes, Donny, take it!” Captain Smythe waved his hand and Donny darted across the gangplank.
The Portuguese man lifted the cage into Donny’s hands and bowed as though the boy were an admiral. “I have had him only one week, but I call him Peregrine for he say it very much.” He poked a finger at the bird who nibbled it gently. “Peregrine?”
“Hallo! Peregrine, peregrine!”
“I’ll take good care of him,” Donny said. “I’ll see to him proper. Eh, Peregrine? I bet you like orange peel.”
The bird whistled a long descending note and cocked its head. Donny’s hands trembled as he came back on the ship.
Without waiting for questions, the bird seller turned and trundled back down the wharf, ignoring the chorus of whoops and cheers.
“Wait,” Smythe demanded. “I will go with you—I must find that man.”
The man shrugged with Latin indifference. “I go home—it is dark. You will find our bird market onRua Augusta?—”
“I don’t know it?—”
“Simple—you will hear it; you will smell it,Senhor! But the man and lady, they pay and they go. I do not know which way, for there are many English in the streets. Vitoria! It is all Vitoria, and everybody celebrate. Goodnight, senhor!”
Smythe stood on the wharf, indecisive, but Captain Wentworth called him. “Captain, you’ve done your best. To go searching at night on such scant information is a wild goose chase. They acted on a kind impulse to make up for Lady Marston’s crime. Let it lie.”
Smythe didn’t need much convincing to rejoin them, but he scoffed. “A kind impulse? More like insolent—that scoundrel is rubbing our noses in his success!”
