Some mornings, it took more than a prebreakfast cup of strong black tea to face the world. It took cold-blooded courage. Particularly when Betsey stood near the bedroom door with a glower that could make a saint cower behind a crucifix.
Undeterred, Amelia gently picked up the small box with the sparrow inside and cradled it in the crook of her arm. The container jiggled a bit, the tiny bird moving about, more than ready to fly free. Twenty-four hours of following Mr. Lambert’s instructions had worked wonders. Apparently the man wasn’t only talented at caring for humans but for all of God’s creatures.
She crossed the rug, ignoring the sudden rush of warmth from thinking of the good doctor. Nor would she pay any heed to the endless concerns Betsey had been voicing since she’d opened the draperies and helped her dress. Amelia paused near the scowling matron. “Chin up, my friend. You worry too much.”
“Me?” Betsey snorted. “You’re the one who frets endlessly about your brother. Who’s awake till all hours, writing your fingers to nubs in an effort to appease a publisher who is capricious at best. And now this.” She threw her hands in the air. “Dawn’s hardly broken and here you are, escorting a sparrow as if it were a child in your arms, anxious for its release. Summer or not, you’ll take a chill this early in the morn, and then who will care for you?”
Amelia grinned and pertly lifted her nose. “You, of course. But I think the true heart of the matter is that you’re jealous.”
“Of what?”
She held up the box, cautious not to upset it overmuch. “That our fine fellow here did not have to awaken as early as you.”
“Miff-muff !” Her maid’s fingers fluttered towards the door. “Off with you.”
Amelia chuckled as Betsey turned away, but three steps later, the matronly servant pivoted back with an arched brow. “Unless you’d like me to attend the going-away ceremony?”
Amelia shook her head. “No need. Sit yourself down with a cup of tea. What with Colin’s morning treatment, I don’t think I shall be needing anything until later today.”
“Right. Good luck, then.” Betsey nodded at the box.
“Thank you.”
One hand on the railing to steady herself, Amelia toted the sparrow down the stairs. Despite Betsey’s outspoken ways, a compassionate heart beat beneath that sturdy grey bodice.
Armed with her lucky Ibis feather in one pocket and Mr. Lambert’s prescriptions in the other, she shoved open the back door, though she needn’t have bothered with the doctor’s written instructions. She’d memorized his details on how to release the bird, and as for the other recommendation to take a walk with him as needed, well…there was absolutely no reason to carry that about other than she found it strangely charming. How was it that a man, other than her brother, would not only take note of her fatigue but also make such a personal offer to remedy it? Dare she hope Graham Lambert took interest in her, not as a patient, but as a woman?
She stopped beneath the canopy of the linden and knelt, nestling the box in the grass. Silently she counted to ten, allowing time for the bird to get used to the lack of movement. If this didn’t work, she would simply have to add the poor thing to Mrs. O’s feathered menagerie.
“Are you ready, little one?” she whispered. “It won’t be easy, but I am cheering for you.”
Her brow scrunched. Did God ever murmur the same to her despite her imperfections? Strange idea, that the Almighty might view her efforts to please Him as a child’s fumbling attempts to walk or a bird’s hesitant endeavor to fly. She wasn’t sure she altogether enjoyed the comparison.
Gripping the top of the container, she lifted the lid then sank back on her haunches and waited. The tip of a beak appeared. Wings rustled. And then the sparrow lifted its head and took off on a breath of morning air.
Amelia’s gaze followed the bird’s route, bypassing branches and leaves, up into the blue. Flying free. Doing what it was created to do. Being exactly how it was supposed to be, without apology.
Soon Colin would be able to experience the same.
“I’ve often thought we might fly too, if only we would let go of that which weighs us down.”
Amelia shot to her feet, startled to see Mary Godwin’s thin face regarding her through the breach in the garden wall. How long had her neighbour been watching? She dipped her head in greeting. “Wise words, Miss Godwin.”
“Mary, please.” A small smile played on her lips. “Formality makes for good politicians, not friends.”
“You speak truth, Mary.” Amelia grinned in full. “I daresay this world could use more friends and fewer politicians.”
“Hear, hear! But do tell.” She lifted her hand to the sky, pointing to the sparrow’s route. “Is this a pastime of yours, freeing birds and wistfully watching them go?”
So she had witnessed the whole event. Amelia gathered the box and held it up. “This is my first—and hopefully only—venture. I’ve actually been spending more time working on your suggestion of the other night.”
“Excellent! The shadowy tales of Bristol, eh? I should dearly love to read it when you are finished.” She clasped her hands in front of her, quite the picture of innocence in her white lawn gown, morning sunshine blessing her nut-brown hair like a benediction. A sharp contrast to the gruesome history the petite lady wished to read about. “Perhaps your stories will inspire me to explore my new neighbourhood. Oh! That reminds me. Hold on a moment.”
She disappeared into the house, leaving Amelia standing with an empty box and a head filled with questions. What a queer little woman.
Moments later, Mary reappeared and held out a sheaf of papers bound with string. “Some inspiration for you.”
Tucking the box back under her arm, Amelia strode to the crumbled rock wall and retrieved the bundle. Fine penmanship graced the top sheet. Strong. Bold. Elegant. Amelia peered over at Mary. “Your mother’s writing?”
