“Ow!”
“Violent, pompous clodhopper!” She smacked him again.
Devon caught Beth’s gaze then tilted his head toward the curricle. She nodded. They crept between the trees, wincing with every crack of twigs beneath their feet, barely daring to breathe—although they probably could have sung a shanty in two-part harmony and they wouldn’t have been heard above the shouts of the field ornithologists.
“Idiot, I told you Gladstone didn’t have the caladrius! Youridea to follow Pickering and Lockley was a complete waste of time!”
“We only searched half the house! If you hadn’t worn anorangedress, we wouldn’t have had to flee when that chambermaid spotted us!”
“It’s not as orange as your face!”
This insult was not particularly fair, since Oberhufter’s face had in fact turned bright red. He grabbed hold of Hippolyta by the ruffles of the aforementioned orange dress and, pulling her hard against him, kissed any further vitriol from her mouth. Immediately, Beth and Devon dashed from the tree shadows. Climbing into the curricle as quietly as possible, they set the birdcage on Beth’s lap, she placed her satchel in front of it for protection, and Devon grabbed the horses’ reins.
“Oi! Stop!”
Glancing back, they saw Gladstone’s footman making hot pursuit through the trees. The command alerted Oberhufter and Hippolyta also, and they stared with shocked confusion as the curricle began to drive toward them.
“Lockley!” Herr Oberhufter shouted.“Was zur Hölle?!”
But there was no time for conversation. Devon urged the horses into a gallop. Beth, clinging to the bench seat with one hand and the birdcage with the other, heard only incoherent screams from Oberhufter and Hippolyta as they were compelled to leap into a hedge or else be run over. Had she ever diversified her education to include cultural studies, she would have appreciated the karma of the moment. Unfortunately, her only instinct was a British one.
“Sorry!” she called out.
Alas, judging from Hippolyta’s roar, she was not forgiven.
They sped along the sloping lane, sending birds flying upfrom the hedgerows in alarm and an elderly pedestrian into paroxysms of outrage at the side of the road. The footman gave chase for a while but was soon left in their dust, literally. As Beth tried to keep the birdcage safe despite the wild shuddering of the curricle, she heard nothing from beneath its cover and began to worry that the bird had expired from fright.
Within a few minutes, the lane descended at a steep angle toward the main road, and Devon slowed the horses. They trotted into the village.
“How long have we got until the train leaves?” Devon asked.
Beth reached for her fob watch—and blinked in surprise. The glass surface was freckled all over with tiny white crystals, as if some magical force had tried restoring its original state. But the only performer of magic in the vicinity was the caladrius, and according to all the information Beth had reviewed, its power was healing illness, not actual regeneration.
“Um,” she said, holding up the watch.
Devon shot a quick glance at it. “Um,” he agreed.
The bird in its hooded cage had no comment.
“We’ll just have to hope we’re not too late,” Devon said.
Looking back over her shoulder at the diverging roads behind them, Beth noticed dust clouds in the distance and realized the race was on. Fear gripped her stomach tight. Forget hope; it was going to take a whole lot of luck to get out of this situation, and as a scientist, she knew that was the most precarious thing of all.
Chapter Twenty-One
The adventuring woman should not just expect the unexpected, butbethe unexpected.
Birds Through a Sherry Glass, H.A. Quirm
Arriving at thetrain station, Devon leaped from the curricle almost before the horses had come to a halt. He assisted Beth in making a more careful descent with the birdcage, then together they ran up the ramp to the platform. A clock above the ticket booth assured him they still had five minutes before the train arrived, but Devon knew he’d not feel safe until they were on board and heading for London.
Only when Beth stumbled behind him did he realize he’d kept hold of her hand and was practically dragging her along with him. “Sorry,” he said, letting her go—but immediately set a hand against her back as he guided her toward the ticket booth.
“I can walk under my own power, you know,” she said with wry humor.
“You’re keeping me steady,” he answered, flashing a grin to hide the fact that he meant it seriously, and far more soulfully than a licentious rake ought. Somehow over the past few days, Beth Pickering had become the center of his personal gravity.Whenever he left her side for long, it felt like his heart was spinning out into darkness. He had to appreciate the irony: after all, he was only in this situation now because he’d been so aghast at his head of department’s matchmaking endeavors, and so determined to remain single.
Then again, perhaps Beth’s wry comment was her nice, polite way of asserting her personal boundary. And Devon, respecting her, certainly did not want to overstep. So he withdrew his hand—
