“—evening, Miss Mims.”
She jerked her gaze to the ancient lady across from her, whose skin, by lamplight, looked even more green than in full sunshine. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Ophidian. What was that?”
“You just proved my point, dearie.” The older woman fluttered her fingers in the air, brushing away a yellow-rumped warbler. “I noted you are quite preoccupied this evening.”
Of course she was. Who could think when there were cages to be cleaned and feathers to be swept? Yet there was nothing she could say about it. Mrs. O had made it quite clear these birds were her companions. Nay, her children. Each one named and loved and pampered.
She curved her lips into what she hoped would be a pleasant smile instead of a grimace. “There is much on my mind of late.”
Mrs. O cocked her head like a woodpecker searching for a juicy insect. “Such as a certain dashing doctor?”
Her cheeks burned. There was no stopping it. But that didn’t mean she’d allow Mrs. Ophidian to gloat over her direct strike.
Rising, Amelia sidestepped a duck and picked her way to the window, then peered out at the lit street. “I am concerned for your other guests. They are late. I hope nothing has gone wrong to detain them.”
“I shouldn’t think they’d meet with any trouble on the short trek from two doors over.”
Amelia turned away from the window, fighting a tickle at the back of her nose. If she sneezed now, how many birds would she startle? “Did you not say it was only a few days ago the new neighbours arrived? How did you make their acquaintance so quickly after they moved in?”
“I haven’t actually met them. I heard about the couple from the owner, Mr. Lavenza, who let the house out to Mr. Shelley. Naturally, I sent my maid over there immediately with an invitation.”
“Well…” Amelia glanced at the sitting room door, wondering how many more birds she’d encounter when they finally did retire to the dining room. The sooner this evening was over, the sooner she could go home and brush the molted feathers from her hair. “Perhaps they are too exhausted after their move and have changed their minds. Maybe we should—”
The front door rang, the clang of the bell infiltrating from the corridor and rousing a chicken with a squawk.
“Here they are now.” Mrs. O arched a triumphant brow, then manipulated her chair about to face the doorway.
In walked a brown-haired young woman, far too young for such a grim-lined mouth and drooping shoulders that barely kept her black shawl from slipping to the ground. She was a mite of a thing. A pebble that’d been kicked one too many times. Sadness radiated off her, a sorrow so thick it sucked in light and air, pulling at one’s heart.
The petite woman stopped just inside the threshold. Completely ignoring the cacophony of tweets, chirps, and peeps, she graced a proper curtsey. “Good evening, ladies. I apologize for my tardy arrival. I misplaced my left shoe and did not wish to hop over like a onefooted wombat.”
Amelia stared. So did Mrs. O. What a strange little lady!
A small chortle warbled in Mrs. Ophidian’s throat. “Not to worry, Mrs. Shelley, though I hope your husband didn’t meet with the same fate.”
“I am neither a missus nor a Shelley, for now, at any rate, though I suspect my dear Shelley will revise that, eventually.” A hollow smile rippled across the woman’s lips. “My name is Miss Mary Godwin. And I regret to say that Mr. Shelley is gone for London, so you find me alone.”
Another silence followed, which was quite remarkable. Never had Amelia seen Mrs. O twice-over rendered speechless.
The older lady sniffed. “Then without further ado, Miss Godwin, allow me to introduce you to Miss Balfour.”
Amelia dipped her own curtsey. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Godwin.”
“As am I, but do call me Mary.”
“Ha ha!” Mrs. Ophidian clapped her hands. “I daresay we shall all be the best of neighbours. Do have a seat, ladies.”
Amelia took one side of the settee. Mary, after unsuccessfully trying to shoo a pigeon from a high-back chair, ended up smoothing her skirts next to her on the long cushion.
“Had I known it to be just us ladies tonight, I would have instructed Cook to make a more extravagant pudding.” Mrs. O leaned forward in her chair, a conspiratorial twinkle in her eyes. “Women do like their sweets, hmm?”
“Oh, I think we can manage something a bit more scandalous than that, can we not?” Mary folded her hands primly on her lap. “Without the censorship of the male of the species, we ought to partake of Madeira at the dinner table and smoke cheroots like three chimney stacks.”
Amelia stifled a gasp. What would Mrs. O say to such a shocking suggestion?
But the older woman’s shoulders merely shook with mirth. “I’ve been saving a bottle for just such an occasion, though I cannot abide cheroots. They give my darlings here a smoky odour for days.” She fluttered her hand through the air, ruffling a nearby cockatiel. “But I could manage to pass around my snuff box.”
This time Amelia did gasp.
