He shrugged. “I trusted you to act in time. I wanted to watch it fly. There was something odd about how it used its tail feathers.”
“Oh.” Beth found her mood veering in the direction of accepting compliments, after all. Besides, she agreed with him, confound the man. “I noticed that too,” she confessed, watching as he gently employed Miss Wolfe’s scarf in binding the frostbird’s wings to its body. “Almost as if it was going against its natural instincts.”
Devon looked up at her thoughtfully, and a whole library of ornithological theory filled the quiet between them. Once again, Beth felt a vague memory of frostbirds drift into her awareness, then out again. But before either she or Devon could speak, the passengers began to emerge from shelter, chattering more excitedly than a flock of garden sparrows in springtime. Devon hastily finished binding the frostbird’swings; Beth stood to act as a guard. But she was almost knocked down by Monsieur Chevrolet charging onto the scene, followed by Miss Wolfe. An iron cage swinging from the latter’s hand whacked several times against the monsieur, even though Miss Wolfe had to extend her reach considerably to make this happen.
Suddenly Beth felt enclosed by a warm shadow as Devon rose to stand beside her, his arms crossed, expression tight and cold, as he stared at the other two ornithologists. “Mind you don’t step on the lady’s feet,” he said in a tone that implied a further clause,“or else I will break your legs.”
“It’s fine, Mr. Lockley,” Beth said nicely. “Miss Wolfe brought a cage to protect the frostbird. We should thank her.”
Devon drew breath to reply with something Beth guessed would be not remotely close to thanks, but at that fortuitous moment a woman in a tweed dress and hat appeared.
“IOS,” she announced, holding forth a silver badge in much the same manner as a police inspector arriving at a crime scene. Beth noted the engraving of a phoenix, symbol of the International Ornithological Society, before the woman pocketed the badge once more. “Mrs. Hassan, Kent division. By complete and pure coincidence, I just happened to be present. Which one of you bagged this bird?”
“It was my scarf that allowed its capture,” Miss Wolfe said immediately. The crowd of passengers gave her a hearty cheer, and she smiled and waved to them.
“I provided vital supervision, without which disaster might have ensued!” Monsieur Chevrolet offered. Cheers sounded again, intermingled with a few whistles in appreciation of the gentleman’s fine mustache.
Mrs. Hassan turned to Beth. “What about you?” Her tonemade it clear that she’d witnessed the whole thing. “Perhaps, in a thrilling display of ornithological skill gained from your university education, you and the handsome young Professor Lockley here partnered to capture the deadly bird and save everyone?”
“Ooh!”said the crowd.
Beth looked to Devon in the hope he’d supply a response. But he seemed as taken aback as she felt.
“Handsome?” Monsieur Chevrolet muttered sulkily.
“How did you know who he is?” Miss Wolfe asked, eyes narrowing with suspicion.
“And I wouldn’t call him young,” Monsieur Chevrolet added. “Besides, he got his degree inAmerica.”
“Pardon me, I must dash,” Beth murmured, and turned to hurry away before anyone could further inflict conversation upon her. But she’d not gone a dozen steps before Devon appeared at her side.
“You were wise to leave,” he whispered. “Whoever claims that bird’s capture will have to transport it to an aviary, which means being diverted from the competition.”
“I wonder if that was the intention all along,” Beth said. “Perhaps someone wanted to eliminate competitors. Why else would they deploy a trained frostbird?”
“Shh,” Devon hissed. Glancing around warily, he caught her arm and guided her even farther along the platform. Beth considered rebuking him for yet again manhandling her, but refrained out of fear he’d stop doing it.
“I agree with you,” he whispered. “I also think the lapwing in Paris was trained; otherwise it’s hard to understand how we all survived, including whoever stole it from the Fotheringhams.”
Beth stared up at him. “The lapwing was stolen?”
“Yes, the—” He stiffened, abruptly somber. “Damn.”
Alarmed, Beth followed his gaze to the station’s entrance, where a group of men were strolling onto the platform. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “It’s our French friends!”
At Devon’s sigh, Beth frowned reprovingly. “They’re nice people.”
“You say that about everyone.”
“Not everyone.” She gave him a pointed look, and he grinned in response, biting his lower lip in a way that sent her stomach reeling.
“Why, Miss Pickering, whatever has befallen your good manners?”
“Youhave,” she said sternly, although humor danced beneath the words. Turning away lest she start giggling, she waved to the fishermen.“Bonjour!”
“If only Hippolyta Quirm could see you now,” Devon murmured, tapping his knuckles against her arm amiably. Her stomach, only just recovered, swooped all over again. But the fishermen had noticed them and began to run, shouting with a wrath that took her by surprise.
“Merde alors! Agresseur de femme!”
