The man continued his task, tracing the poker along the outline of the sill, knocking it clean. Shards of glass and splintered wood rained down. When he retracted the poker, only the open square remained. They immediately felt the morning chill and smelled the murky River Thames.
Silence took up gradual residence in the room, all sound filtered out the window. Everyone gaped from the absent panes, to the man, to the shattered glass at his boots.
In less than a minute, the first warbler seized freedom. A dozen flock-mates immediately followed, launching themselves from the terror of the small room into the free world. Feathers wafted to the ground. A dog whimpered. A breeze swung the door on the birdcage with a creak.
They recovered their voices all at once.
“By what right do you have, sir? I ask you—”
“How dare you, them birds belonged to—”
“Oy! Did youseeit?”
The callers were angry and confused. Every comment was punctuated by glass crunching underfoot. The dog chorus resumed.
The man ignored them all, removed his hat, and pulled a gray feather from his ear. He wound his way through angry people to the doors to the Throne Room. He glared at thethick oak as if he could open it with his mind. He replaced his hat.
Drew watched him in disbelief. She’d encountered many people in her life. Well-meaning people, compassionate people, hardworking and capable people, but she could never remember anyone doing anything quite so demonstrative or dashing as this.
Without realizing she’d moved, she came to stand beside him.
“Thank you,” she said.
“I did it for the birds,” he said.
She chuckled. Another joke.
One of the boys skidded to a stop beside him, brandishing the fireplace poker like a sword. He ignored him.
“Any notion of how long they usually make us wait?” the man asked Drew.
“No.” She shook her head. She forced herself to stare at the door and not at him. “Shattering windows cannot hurt. If we mean to move things along.”
Another boy appeared, and the first boy began to jab at him with the poker. Two nuns descended and hauled them away. Behind them, the argument about order of admission had resumed.
“What are you in for?” the man asked Drew.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Why are you calling on the prince?”
“Oh,” said Drew, and she paused, trying to think of the best way to explain.
Later she would realize that the true damage of the day hadn’t happened when the birds were released or the window was broken.
Later she could see that the real damage of the day would happennow.
Nowwas when things went horribly, irrevocably wrong.
She said, “I’ve come to make the acquaintance of a potential client. Princess Cynde is my stepsister, and she is to make the introduction.”
And here, she should have stopped. He’d not asked for more details. She knew only that he was handsome and clever and together they had saved the warblers.
Unfortunately this was all she required to continue talking. Drew was a spinster and rather good at it, but she wasn’t dead. She’d excelled at style, and cleverness, and even confidence, but when it came to speaking to men, she was out of her depth. So very far out.
“I am in the business of turning out debutantes,” she said. “Not in the manner of a finishing school, not yet, but I provide a similar service. For private clients.”
The man beside her said nothing, but he slowly turned his head in her direction.
