“Just wait, woman!” Oberhufter growled, throwing his sandwich wildly. All the servants ducked. “Mein Gott!I’ll have you over my knee yet, and then you’ll know a beating like you’ve never had before!”
Instant shocked silence filled the chamber. As the elevator thunked to a halt, a footman had the door open so fast one might suspect him of possessing superhuman strength.
Hippolyta stepped to the threshold of the chamber and swung about, skirts whirling, to glare at Oberhufter. The elevator door slid across to collide with her, but she did not move even so much as an inch. Devon was only aware of this at the periphery of his attention, however, for he could not seem to look away from Beth. Nor, apparently, could she break whatever force kept them locked together.
“When I am once again Birder of the Year,” Hippolyta intoned, “I shall have your name stricken from the ranks of the Ornithological Society, Oberhufter!”
The door withdrew slightly, then banged into her again.
“When I am Birder of the Year,” Oberhufter shouted, “I shall have you banned from ever picking up a birdcage again, Quirm!”
Devon blinked. A ripple went through Beth’s expression in response.
“Heinously gormless faradiddling cockalorum!” Hippolyta roared with a tour de force of English eloquence, while the door tried in vain to force her out of its path.
“Gehirnverweigerer!”Oberhufter’s voice made the servants cower.
“Ahem.”
Devon turned his head, as did everyone else, to see a dark-suited man in a bowler hat standing in the hotel lobby, holding a briefcase and folded newspaper, politely blank-faced behind his mustache as he awaited his turn to use the elevator.
Mrs. Quirm harrumphed, and whirling, she stormed off.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Beth said politely, and followed.
Devon flinched at the sudden loss. He reached out unthinkingly to stop her, or even just to touch her one more time—
But she was gone.
“Bäh,”Oberhufter said as the ladies’ footmen hastened to exit with their luggage trolley. “The sooner I am Birder of the Year and get to gloat over that woman’s tears of defeat, the better.” He clapped his hands. “Another sandwich! Now! More cheese this time!”
“Aaargh!”cried Elvira Fotheringham as her sister pounded her head against the floor.
Devon sighed. Another lapwing feather drifted past, scenting the air with vanilla, blood, and wicked magic. Watching it, he had a sudden premonition that this was going to be a long summer indeed.
Chapter Five
Integrity is the hallmark of the master ornithologist, trust me on this.
Birds Through a Sherry Glass, H.A. Quirm
The train arrivedat Calais after midnight. Gas lamps lit the station, but the sea beyond was dark and still, and dampness made the air feel tired. A ferry waited to carry the train passengers on to Dover in England, and a veritable scrum had formed as everyone made the transfer. Beth clutched her satchel for comfort as she trudged along the dock, the noise and jostling of the crowd making her feel twitchier than a white-eyed hurricane sparrow. The day had been far too long, with far too many people in it (not to mention a deadly lapwing), and she wished she could hang back until everyone else had boarded the ferry. But it was going to be a matter of first on, best seated, and no one cared more about seating arrangements than birders. Should Hippolyta find herself farther from the exit than Mrs. Huang of the Chinese Avian Tracking Society, someone was liable to end up overboard.
Excitement for the competition ran high. Señor Perez had glued yellow silk feathers to his wheelchair, Mrs. Nnadi’s hat bore a mechanical bird—at least until Miss Eliza Wolfe“accidentally” knocked it off with hernext birder of the yearflag—and Monsieur Chevrolet was for some reason outfitted in a Scottish kilt that only just covered his excellent thighs. (Beth noted several people staring at it intently, as if trying to manifest a sudden breeze.) Hippolyta, however, focused all her energy on Herr Oberhufter, some ten feet ahead. His luggage trolley was preventing her from overtaking him, and such was her frustration that she vibrated even more than an African sacred ibis in mating season.
Suddenly, the trolley met a crack in the dock’s surface and lurched to an abrupt halt. “D—!” said the footman, his curse reduced to polite punctuation by the clatter of toppling suitcases. The crowd swarmed past him. Oberhufter vanished from sight.
“Great galloping Jove!” Hippolyta exclaimed. Shoving aside two ladies wearing largeso iiosbadges, she pursued Oberhufter into the night, leaving Beth suspended in stunned astonishment.
“What a disaster!” cried the footman pushing their luggage trolley. Beth turned to give him a reassuring smile.
“Don’t worry, Samuel, we’ll just catch up with her on the ferry.”
“I mean, I can’t find Mrs. Quirm’s cosmetics purse!” The poor man was as frantic as a student who hasn’t studied for exams. “I think I must have left it on the train!”
“Oh dear,” she said. Hippolyta felt the same way about her cosmetic purse as Beth did about her satchel: like it was an extension of herself, containing the necessities of life. And while it might seem that Beth’s field journal, binoculars, and emergency supply of birdseed were more ornithologically valuable than mere toiletries, Hippolyta had once caught a poisonousgoldfinch using a hairnet and rose-scented lip rouge, so Beth was not about to scoff.
“I can’t go back for it,” Samuel said. “I need to guard the luggage.” He gave Beth a wide-eyed, imploring look.
