“I thought you’d rather not be in a position where I could see up your skirt,” he said.
Thud, bang!contributed Schreib and Cholmbaumgh, apparently smashing their bodies against the door.
“I believe we can allow some leeway in etiquette,” Beth said, glancing out the window again. The ground winked back with a flash of morning light against a lingering rain puddle. “Besides, you already saw my petticoat last night when I hung it up to dry.”
Bang, thud!
“I’m heavier than you,” Devon argued. “Should the drainpipe come away from the wall because of my weight upon it, you’ll be closer to the ground, therefore safer.”
Beth stared blankly at this dubious argument, Devon stared back, and the pursuers kicked the door so vehemently it cracked.
“Oh, very well,” she said, hauling up her skirts and climbing onto the window ledge. “But this is a mark against your character.”
“I’m flattered you’re keeping notes.” Taking hold of her arm, he steadied her as she reached for the drainpipe.
“You needn’t grip so firmly,” she grumbled.
“Just—careful,” he said. And again as she pulled away to grasp the pipe—“Careful!”
“My gloves are going to be ruined,” Beth muttered as she began her descent. A great crash announced the men’s conquest of the door, and Devon swung himself hastily onto the pipe. Seconds later, Schreib and Cholmbaumgh appeared at the open window.
“Oi! Stop!”they shouted, brandishing their fists.
“While that’s an entirely reasonable request,” Devon called out, “I’m afraid we can’t just now.”
“Dreadfully sorry!” Beth added.
“Damn!” came the response, and the men disappeared from view.
“Hurry before they get downstairs,” Devon said.
Beth frowned. “I’m going as fast as I—”
“Hey!” came a new voice as a window flung open beside her. Startled, Beth clutched the pipe even tighter. A young girl leaned out to gape wide-eyed at her. “Who are you?”
“Professor Pickering,” Beth said. “Forgive me for not shaking hands.”
“Are you the bird lady my dad told me about last night? The one who gave me a feather?”
Beth smiled. “Yes.”
“Is it a real, actual deathwhistler feather?” the girl asked, propping her elbows on the window ledge and staring with fascination.
“Indeed,” Beth assured her. “An underwing covert, which is a type of feather that birds use to—”
“Excuse me,” came Devon’s tightly measured voice from above. “Pedagogical diligence is all very admirable, but this really,reallyisn’t a good time for a lesson.”
“Right.” Beth gave herself a little shake. “Sorry,” she said to the girl. “I’ll send you a letter all about it when I’m next at liberty to write!”
“Are you doing that contest?” the girl asked as Beth recommenced the descent.
“I am.”
She waved vigorously. “Good luck!” Then Devon passed her window, and her eyes grew so wide she might be compared to the yeti owl of Siberia. “Oh gosh. Are you a birder too?”
“Yup,” he said with a grin.
“If I go to birding university,” she asked as he continued down, “will I meet more handsome men like you?”
