Page 68

The Lake District – April 27, 1817

Lark’s mood the next day improved, but her insecurity around the others remained, for she dreaded making further mistakes and frightening off more birds.

Still, knowing Mr. Branok was on her side once again encouraged her to try a little harder and to be a little braver around the rest of the observers.

As such, when the rain let up that afternoon after church and the party meandered around a section of Lake Windermere, observing the birds flying over and drifting upon the water, she made a calculated effort to not disturb the others and to be the type of observer they would wish to be around. She was polite, kind, and kept her distance. And most importantly, she didn’t sneeze, yelp, or fall into nettle.

However, after an hour or two, she grew weary once again of holding her tongue and attempting to be the perfect companion. Did she truly have to be mute to be accepted by others? And if that was the case, did she truly wish to be around the others.

Mr. Branok kept her spirits up, which she was more than grateful for. Even if they didn’t speak as much as she would have preferred, he kept her on her toes by sneaking glances and sending hidden smiles in her direction as he taught the moving class more about the birds they spied—great crested grebes, cormorants, and terns—and the hungry ducks that circled around them, including goldeneyes, tufted ducks, and red-breasted mergansers.

After a quarter of an hour, the group discovered a few mute swans across the lake, and they shared spyglasses to observe them from their viewpoint at the top of a raised bluff overlooking the water.

Lark joined them in silence, but the edge of the steep-sided bank was narrow, allowing only a few of them at a time to observe the swans. Giving up her position to Mr. Dunn—who grumbled a begrudging “Thank you”—Lark awaited her turn again by peering down the bluff at the opposite side.

Mud filled the bank below, webbed footprints scattered here and there, and Lark narrowed her eyes at the sight of large droppings near the thick bushes that overhung much of the bank.

As improper as it was, she recognized the deposits as those of mute swans, due to their size, shape, and color, as she had observed them from time to time in Suffolk.

With a quick glance at the others who remained preoccupied with the swans in the distance, Lark made her way off the bluff, then down and around to the bank below. Sidestepping mud and droppings, she cast her eyes about the space.

Just as she’d suspected, though still to her delight, through the thick leaves of the bushes at her left, two swans with glorious white feathers floated in the calm water at the edge of the bank, completely hidden from the upper bluff.

Lark smiled at the sight, then softly gasped as one of the swans shifted round to reveal three fuzzy cygnets tucked safely within their mother’s wings atop her back. Grey-haired and black-beaked, the baby swans peeped and chirped contentedly at their parents as they enjoyed their moseying on the water.

Lark marveled at the view for a moment, sketching the serene scene and taking avid notes before glancing at the bluff. No one else had peered down to where she was, so no one else knew of the swans and cygnets. She would not wish to disturb the small family by bringing the entire party to see them, but one or two others would not hurt.

Especially if Mr. Branok was one of them.

Anxious to share with the gentleman her discovery, Lark walked back up the muddy pathway, but as she neared the top, she heard Mr. and Mrs. Shepherd instead.

“I’m certain we will have the opportunity to see them again another time, my dear,” Mr. Shepherd said softly.

“Yes, I know,” his wife returned. “I am merely disappointed, that is all. They were so very far away, I could hardly make them out at all. And…” She dropped her voice further. “And Mr. Dunn is so very large, I feared he might push me over the edge accidentally with his swinging elbows.”

Lark stifled a smile as she met them on the pathway.

“Oh, Miss Fernside,” Mrs. Shepherd said with a genuine smile. “I wondered where you had got to.”

Lark did not hesitate a moment. “Were you hoping to see the swans?”

“We were,” Mr. Shepherd said. “My wife has always had a particular affinity for them, but I’m afraid there was not much room for us.”

Lark could only smile. “Follow me.”

The Shepherds exchanged looks of intrigue as they followed Lark down the muddy pathway to see her findings, and the expression of joy on each of their faces—Mrs. Shepherd as she admired the swans and Mr. Shepherd as he watched his wife—was worth everything to Lark.

Before long, the three of them made their way back up the pathway, discovering the others had already carried on with their walk along the lake.

“It is unfortunate they were too impatient to wait,” Mr. Shepherd said.

“Too impatient and not as skilled as Miss Fernside here,” Mrs. Shepherd agreed. “I’m certain you could find any bird you set your mind to.”

Lark smiled with humility, and the discomfort she’d felt before shifted off her shoulders.

“Were you able to hear much of Mr. Branok’s teachings about the swans earlier?” Lark asked, braving to be herself even more.

“Only a little, I’m afraid,” Mrs. Shepherd said. “Do share with us your own knowledge.”