“We are not accustomed to being shielded,” Imogene finally said.
Drew glanced at Lady Tribble. Imogene rarely provoked her mother, but she was certainly capable of it. And nothing provoked the baroness more than discussing their time at T.O.E.
“I expect you were shielded quite a lot, in the care of the Reverend Sagg,” Drew tried. Half of her wanted to neutralize the topic, the other half wanted to hear what the girl would reveal.
“The reverend did not shield us, so much as incarcerate us,” said Imogene.
Across from them, Lady Tribble lifted the book from her lap and held it in front of her face.
“We were not incarcerated, were we, Genie?” asked Ivy.
“We were notfree,” Imogene said.
Drew held her breath, waiting for Lady Tribble to address this, to say something, to excuse or object or apologize—anything. Instead, she pulled the botany book closer to her face.
Beside her, Imogene laid her head back, balancing it on the seat back.
Finally she said, “There is a difference between having someone worry on your behalf and having someone restrict you for the sake of control.”
“I would be very worried, indeed,” said Drew, “if you’d been forced to tangle with my mother.” She would turn the subject back to herself. The day was meant to be an escape for the girls and their mother. Now the baroness’s hand gripped the reference book so tightly, it shook. And Imogene’s voice had taken on a hard, bitter quality.
“I enjoy tangling with awful people,” the girl said.
“Perhaps you do,” said Drew, “but I mean for your life to be filled with positive, useful experiences. Not quarreling. Now that you raise it, I do rather like the idea of pittingmymother against Reverend Sagg in a sort of... battle. Seeing who might come out the champion?” She glanced at Lady Tribble, hoping she’d not offended or overstepped.
Ivy giggled, and after a moment, Imogene did too. “I should pay money to see that,” she said.
“Me, too,” laughed Ivy.
Slowly, Lady Tribble let the book sink. Her lips were quirked up in a small smile.
Drew said, “Oh, that reminds me. I’ve a coin for the two of you. Here. One of the grooms will watch over you while you enjoy the Heath—”
“John?” asked Imogene hopefully, naming the handsome groom who blushed every time Imogene came into view.
“Buellis,” corrected Drew. “Buellis will watch over you as you take your picnic. When you’ve finished with your meal, you may buy yourselves and your mother a sweet from the pastry cart.”
“But where will you go?” asked Ivy.
“If you can spare me, I’d like to walk to the far side of the pond. There is a stand of trees there, very good for bird-watching. I visit it whenever I need to... clear my head. I tend to want a head-clearing after any encounter with Lady Blicken. It won’t take long. Can you survive without my relentless harping for a half hour of so?”
The girls nodded, studying the coins in their hands.
“My lady?” asked Drew softly. “Do you mind if I step away? Could you enjoy Hampstead with the girls?”
“Off you go,” said Lady Tribble. “I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t intend to spend the day with my girls.”
Ivy beamed at this, snuggling into her mother. Imogene toyed with her coin, considering her mother with narrowed, speculative eyes.
“And you’ll be respectful of Buellis; give him no trouble?” reminded Drew. “Oh look, here ’tis.”
She pointed out the window at the sprawling parkland, high above London. Cottages and shops formed a small village, but Drew came to Hampstead for the pond. Formerly a marsh, it had been drained some forty years ago to combat malaria. Enough of the field and water, trees and hedgerow were intact, and the area remained the bird sanctuary it had been for centuries.
The girls must have felt sorry for her, she thought, because they promised to mind the groom, to be considerate of their mother, and to stay together. Drew watched them only until they ran toward the water, the hems of their new dresses held high. Buellis struggled after them, bearing the picnic basket. Lady Tribble drifted slowly behind him.
Free at last, Drew turned away, trudging into the brush, following a faint trail known only to woodland creatures and bird watchers.
The sparrows came first, as they often did. Their compact, perfectly round bird bodies lighting on a dead limb, calling out a test chirp, hopping three times, launching to the sky. Back again—a pair of them—with an insect over which they fought and ultimately ripped in two.
