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Oh.
Maybe the bucks had the right of it and a darkened cave did have its amusements. The clandestine nature of it all compelled her hand to continue its wander – purely to steady herself of course. Mr Hawkins’ palm pressed firmer, his fingers interlacing with hers. “Do you think I could–”
Torchlight flickered anew, and in that moment, their gazes met.
Mr Hawkins’ features held no amusement.
In fact, his jaw was tight, pupils cast to Stygian black, lips thinned. Bare restraint and…more that she did not recognise held sway, but it both terrified and thrilled in equal measure.
The light slanted away, their hands dropped and her swift exhale was echoed by his.
“Well…” She puttered with her veil. “It appears a new torch has been procured.”
Mr Hawkins spun to inspect the walls. “Indeed,” he murmured.
All at once, a sinking sensation pervaded her as Matilda suspected a proper governess should never mention chest muscles – especially if they belonged to one’s employer.
With a rustle, Mr Hawkins twisted back, arm proffered. “Shall we continue, Miss Griffin?”
She noted his expression had returned to amiable and considerate, and so resolving to never again mention his rather magnificent pectoralis, she took his arm and they followed a short passage, turning a tight corner to reveal…
A colossal room, light falling from a circular dome in the roof upon a mishmash of items crammed in cheek by jowl. The high walls were decorated with armour, shields and pistols, whereas lower down, cases of glass contained legions of stuffed animals eerily staring out.
“The Pantherion,” she whispered.
Central to it all, and guarded by an armoured medieval knight for some reason, was a roped-off display of statuesque animals from Africa – an elephant, zebra and giraffe, plus a few creatures she’d not a name for. A slack palm tree shaded the sight, a huge stuffed python coiling around its trunk, and upon another branch were blue peacocks – which she thought came from India not Africa.
“A mite macabre for my tastes,” Mr Hawkins declared.
Matilda sauntered amongst the cases, peering in at lifeless crows, motionless woodpeckers and less than magnificent plumed pelicans, until at last she found her Bird of Paradise.
But…
Its tail drooped and some of the feathers had fallen off; a vagrant leaf could not disguise the stitching. It looked…sad.
The adjacent case helped not – the Black-bodied Bird of Paradise had faded to grey and it was missing an eye.
“Oh.”
Peculiar and sinister, and she so wished to hear their song. More birds squinted down from branches, but without life, their magnificent tails curved downwards not upwards, their demeanour stilted and unnatural. All useful, she supposed, for study, but the drawings she’d viewed held more emotion and…motion.
“Not what you hoped for, Miss Griffin?”
All night, she’d been so excited at the prospect of seeing these birds, had dreamed of them in flight, their tail feathers brushing her face.
“I…” The next case held a Golden Bird of Paradise – the one she’d wished to see most of all – but the gold had tarnished.
A fierce sadness enveloped her – for the lifeless birds and, pitifully, for herself.
Never would she view them in the wild, had been dreaming foolish dreams when she’d talked of voyaging to the Molucca Islands.
Her scattergood of a cousin had destroyed that hope – by squandering her parents’ money and the dowry that would have been hers in August.
Yet here, at least, Matilda had thought she might imagine the birds in flight, share their exotic life and be dazzled by their colour…just for a few short moments.
“No. Not what I expected. Although perhaps I expected too much.”
A robust hand took her own and she gazed at Mr Hawkins. His eyes appeared brighter than those of any creature here – kind and strong and full of soul.
