“I’m chasing the caladrius, same as you,” he said.
“So you’re going to the Cotswolds also?” She rather impressed herself with how seamlessly the lie glided off her tongue.
He smiled. “That’s my ruthless girl.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she answered haughtily.
“No? On a completely different subject, I learned today that a shilling is all it takes to buy information from a railway ticket officer about where a passenger is heading.”
Beth gasped. “Cheat!”
“Liar,” he countered.
They stared at each other. All that prevented a sudden, shocking bout of tongue kissing and bodice ripping was the crowd of passengers bustling around them. Devon leaned forward, whispering in her ear.
“I’ll race you to Oxford University. May the best ornithologist win.”
Beth drew breath to answer that she was most definitely not going anywhere near the university, nor the city in general, nor indeed the entirety of Oxfordshire at all, thank you very much, and furthermore do not stand so close to me in this reprehensibly scandalous manner—
But he was already gone.
Well! She’d show the scoundrel exactly how ruthless she could be! Tea and biscuits forgotten, she turned sharply on a heel, and begging forgiveness, expressing regret, she forcefully apologized her way back down the corridor (while behind her, had she known it, sat two extremely excited publicists, shaking hands and congratulating each other).
Arriving at Hippolyta’s compartment, she found the steward already there, pouring tea from a silver teapot as Hippolyta watched him closely, lest a mustache hair fall into her cup. The woman glanced up as Beth entered.
“Where have you been? It’s not safe to just wander about on a train; someone might step all over you.”
“Sorry,” Beth said. Dropping to the seat, she took a napkin from the table and pressed it against her face. “So dreadfully hot!”
“Have a cup of tea,” Hippolyta suggested. “That will help.”
The steward handed her an already poured cup. Thanking him, Beth stared into the rising steam. Here at last was a reservoir of peace—and yet, it looked entirely inadequate for her needs. She could do with wine instead. Or maybe vodka.
“You really don’t look the thing, Elizabeth,” Hippolyta said. “Drink up. It’s important to take care of yourself.”
“You’re right,” Beth agreed. But it was an automatic response, for no Englishwoman worth her salt took care of herself if there was an opportunity to sigh instead and gaze wearily into teacups.
Hippolyta gave her a stern little frown. “I hope you will listen to me.”
“I have,” Beth assured her. “And I think—”
“No, dear, I meant listen to me now as I practice my acceptance speech for Birder of the Year.”
“Oh, I see.” Her brain trudged forward with its habitual answer, yes, of course.
“No,” she said.
Hippolyta blinked at her. “I beg your pardon?”
Beth set down the tea and straightened her spine, although she could not quite manage to look Hippolyta directly in the eye. Infuriated with herself for having succumbed so easily to the force of Hippolyta’s personality, she gathered that energy, transformed it into courage, and said, “I’m going to find another seat and then continue on with the competition alone.”
Hippolyta’s mouth fell agape. “By—by—!”
“Sorry,” Beth said, getting to her feet. “It’s been…nice…knowing you.”
While Hippolyta sputtered and huffed, she reached for her suitcase in the luggage tray above, accidentally knocking the table in the process and making dishes rattle. Tea leaped from her cup onto a napkin, where it proceeded to sizzle, blackening the linen. Beth stared at it for an empty moment, then lifted her expressionless gaze to Hippolyta.
The woman shrugged. “You’d have thanked me when you woke in the hospital. Competing against me would have been too anguishing for you, especially since I’m going to win.”
Beth almost laughed. “Goodbye,” she said, and turned away.
But then she stopped, her pulse skittering. This woman had been the closest thing to a friend she’d ever known. Memories stirred: walking a sunlit Italian shore, sipping iced tea as they searched for the double-beaked sandpiper…hauling herself up a rock face in driving rain while Hippolyta shouted directions from within the shelter of an umbrella on the ground below, only to discover the rainbow auk’s nest was a mirage…
“By the way,” she said, not bothering to look back. “My name’s not Elizabeth. It’s Beth.”
And she left, gently closing the door behind her.
—
Devon slammed open the compartment door and flung himself onto the seat with a loud sigh. Gabriel looked at him over the fine silver rim of his reading spectacles. “Are you all right?”
Devon scowled. Had he known his cousin would ask questions in this obnoxious and invasive manner, he’d not have asked for his ongoing help. “I’m fine,” he said.
Gabriel regarded him in a vaguely considering but mostly bored way, then went back to perusing his newspaper. Devon exhaled with relief. He did not wish to talk about what had just happened in the corridor with Beth, most definitely and absolut—
“I suspect I’ve been a villain,” he said.
“Again?” came the impassive response.
