Bees in the Butterfly Garden (15 page)

“Oh, did I forget to take you with me?” Her loving words, aimed at the bird, made the gray-feathered pet instantly relax. His head and body went up, and his wings fluttered as if inviting an embrace. When Evie held out her arm, he hopped aboard and climbed up to her shoulder. “That’s my pretty baby.”

“Pretty baby,” the bird repeated. “Funny prank. Funny prank.”

Meg couldn’t help but laugh. “It seems he’s tattled on you, Evie.”

She scowled. “He always says that.”

Claire pointed a finger at her sister. “That’s because anyone who’s around you for five minutes knows that’s what you do best: your so-called funny pranks. Only I don’t think they’re funny at all. Look at the mess he made!”

“Hello, pretty girl,” the bird went on, this time eyeing Meg.

“You don’t have to greet her, Pindar. She’s the one who made me leave school.”

To that the bird whistled in a decidedly human way.

Evie might have walked from the room, but Meg held out a hand to detain her, despite the bird’s proximity. It did have a rather large, black beak that looked capable of tearing into flesh.

“It wasn’t my decision to have you leave, Evie.”

“We all know who was responsible for your expulsion,” Claire said. “You were, Evie. And it’s ancient history by now anyway. Apologize to Meg this instant, and then get that bird out of here.”

Evie walked from the room, gazing downward, mumbling as she walked. “I don’t apologize.”

“Apologize,” the bird said and repeated the word all the way out of the room.

When her sister was gone, Claire turned to Meg. “You’ve gotten off lightly. The last time I had a friend stay, she put a snake in the bed. Oh!” She eyed the neatly covered mattress as if an idea had just struck her. “I think we ought to check anyway. I’ll have someone up here to clean that table and replace the lamp too. Perhaps we ought to check the closet and the corners and drawers as well.”

As they did so, Meg couldn’t help thinking that, despite Evie, she might enjoy her stay after all.

16

The difference between bank robbery and bank burglary is whether or not the victimized bank was open at the time of the theft. It is robbery if the bank is open for business, putting the lives of employees and patrons at risk. It is burglary if the bank is closed at the time of compromise. Either criminal act is a felony and not to be dealt with lightly.

An Informal Look at the Penal Codes of London and New England

Ian left the bank, having made yet another deposit—one he would soon withdraw in both an unconventional and illegal way. He walked with a light step until turning onto Broadway. It was there he felt something old and vaguely familiar join him. The weight of a shadow trailing behind.

This was no human shadow. Rather it was something Ian had long ago thought he’d banished. He shrugged one of his shoulders as if to shove it away, but no sooner had he done so than the memory of its origin made it grow even larger. It was a shadow his father had tried to bequeath him—his real father, not the replacement both he and John had established through their friendship. This was the shadow of compunction.

Why be bothered with such a thing now? This wasn’t the first bank job he’d planned. Ian’s thoughts scattered in search of an answer. Surely by understanding the dilemma, Ian could leave it behind.

The answer was easy. Meg’s wish to have better known her father had conjured memories in Ian of his own family. Memories he hadn’t allowed himself to ponder for quite some time.

He picked up his pace in a useless attempt to skirt the phantom. His plan for the bank was set. It was bound to be a success with the measures he’d taken, and it certainly could not be abandoned at this late stage anyway. Besides, what harm was done? Brewster might work with those possessing fewer scruples, but Ian limited himself to an etiquette established by Skipjack, one that had steadily averted threat of arrest. Settling for the theft of stocks and bonds for ransom—and not endangering either the public or bank employees in the process—would result in the same freedom John had enjoyed his entire life.

Ian was a master at negotiation, something John had always utilized. With the theft limited to banknotes, the bank often didn’t even involve the police. True, it made the banks somewhat complicit in these crimes, but it was worth it to save the embarrassment of having been robbed. Through negotiation they ended up with their stolen notes returned, and Ian with cash that was more or less sanctioned. The banks benefited by tightening their security, so as far as Ian saw it, he did them a favor. More or less.

Ian knew the layout of the targeted bank as if it were his own home. Before this week was out—on Thursday, to be exact—Dickson would stay late on his shift to prepare the supposedly crack-proof safe. He would drill holes with one of the smallest drill tips available, holes that would be indiscernible once he adhered putty to the vulnerable spot. Ian could then compromise the safe by removing a small piece of the drilled metal and inserting a tiny mirror below the combination wheel. He would twist the dial to see which numbers allowed the safe to open. With the holes already drilled, Ian could be in and out in a matter of minutes. All under Keys’s watchful beat parade on the sidewalk outside—making sure the street remained safe. For them.

They waited only for the designated day. Soon, not only would Ian’s coffers increase; so would his reputation for designing a job without John’s—or Brewster’s—help.

With the upcoming success, Ian’s claim to have little use for Brewster couldn’t be denied. He could far more easily refuse anything Brewster proposed after this week.

Including the proposal to accept help from Meg.

Now all he needed do was avoid thoughts of either her or the old memories newly stalking him.

Although Fifth Avenue ran alongside Central Park, the park was too far from the Pemberton mansion near Thirty-Fourth Street to reach by foot, at least by feet confined within fashionable shoes. The afternoon following Meg’s arrival, Claire insisted they continue her normal routine by taking a drive to the park and, once there, a walk.

Surprisingly enough, Evie didn’t need to be asked. She appeared at the door at the appointed time of departure, looking far neater than she had yesterday with her messy braids and rumpled day dress. Today her maid must have taken great care with Evie’s coif, creating curls from a fountain of light-brown hair that cascaded in waves past her shoulders. Her dress, though falling above the ankles, denoting her youth, was clean and attractive with straight sleeves and a cinch waist. She didn’t compare to Claire, who looked particularly lovely in the multiple flounces and dainty lace of her turquoise morning gown, but Evie was pretty nonetheless. If Meg didn’t know better, at that moment Evie could have presented herself as an immaculate product of Madame Marisse’s.

They soon alighted from the Pemberton carriage under the welcoming shade of young oaks and maples inside the low, concrete Scholars’ Gate.

“Are there any particular plants or flowers your mother has admired in the park?” Meg asked. “Perhaps we might consider them for the courtyard, if you see any that grow in shade.”

“She does love those tall purple flowers,” Claire said. “We’ll see them along the way.”

“Must we always go the same route, Clairy?” Evie moaned.

“There’s nothing wrong with taking a familiar path.”

Evie looked from her sister to Meg and then issued a smile that was never a good sign from the girl. “Do you know why she always takes the same path, Meg?”

Meg shook her head but, judging by the unprecedented wrinkle marring Claire’s forehead, guessed she didn’t want it discussed.

“Because she used to walk this route with our old neighbor, Jude Johnson. They were supposed to get married, only Jude left her. A year later, the rest of the family packed up and followed him to Chicago. The last of their belongings were taken away the very day their wedding was to have been.”

Meg watched the color in Claire’s face heighten, though she made no attempt to stop her sister’s words.

“I’m so very sorry, Claire,” she whispered. “I didn’t know.”

“Nobody did,” Evie went on, her tone a cheerful contrast to the subject. “She went back to school that last year even though the engagement had just been broken. Didn’t you notice how she was? I expect she didn’t say a word at school, unless they were the ones no one could avoid: ‘Yes, Madame,’ or ‘No, Madame.’”

“Really, Evie,” Claire said quietly, “must you enjoy yourself so much in trying to embarrass me?”

“I’m not trying to—oh!” She cut herself off, waving a handkerchief that had appeared from her palm. Meg followed Evie’s gaze to see a young man with an older woman—much older, gray-haired and somewhat frail—walking slowly along a path that would naturally intersect theirs up ahead. “Look, it’s Geoffrey!”

“The latest of the new neighbors,” Claire said to Meg. “The Masons.”

Eyes sparkling, Evie nodded. “Yes, they’re the third family to live next door since the Johnsons moved out. They’ve lived there only a few months, but we hope they stay! People do come and go in New York, don’t they? Come along, Clairy! They’ve spotted us. We don’t want to keep them waiting, and you know Nomi doesn’t do much walking. She’ll be back in that carriage before you know it.”

Considering the slow pace of the woman tottering alongside the man, it was doubtful they would reach the intersection before Evie.

“Good afternoon, Geoffrey!” Evie greeted. “How lovely to run into you.”

“Hello, Evie.”

Geoffrey could not be much older but was considerably taller than Evie, even without the top hat he removed in greeting. A light spring coat broadened his shoulders, giving him the classic look of a gentleman in the latest dove gray. His light-brown eyes were set a trifle too close and his mouth a straight line until stretching into a polite smile. Overall he was strikingly handsome, though, with a proportionate nose and thick hair that suddenly reminded Meg of that dog Ian so loved, with its color of milky cocoa.

Because Evie had reached them first, she was at the forefront of the meeting. Claire made introductions as Meg joined them, and she learned the older woman was Geoffrey’s grandmother, whom everyone called Nomi. She was an impressive woman, her thick gray hair perfectly waved beneath a feathered hat—a hat that could have been the inspiration behind Geoffrey’s dove-colored coat.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Davenport,” Nomi said. “How long will you be visiting the Pembertons?”

“For the summer. I hope to help them refresh the courtyard garden. Perhaps you might be able to see a portion of it? Claire tells me your house is the closest to hers.”

Geoffrey, who upon introduction had politely bowed toward Meg while keeping his hold on his grandmother’s elbow, nodded and replaced his top hat. “Yes, we can see the furthermost corner.”

“Improving the garden is welcome news,” Nomi said, sparing a glance with one raised brow Claire’s way.

“So you’ve an eye for greenery and flowers, I take it?” Geoffrey said to Meg.

“Yes, I do enjoy the colors of a garden. There are so many.”

“I do, too,” Evie said.

Claire shook her head. “You detest the garden, Evie. For someone without a trace of fear when it comes to birds or snakes or lizards, you have a most unexpected respect for at least one of God’s less amicable creations: bees.”

“That’s only because I was stung and know how much it hurts.”

“Speaking of your fearlessness, Evie,” Geoffrey said, “how is Pindar doing?”

“Pindar was a gift from Geoffrey,” Claire explained to Meg. “He brought him from . .  . where, did you say?”

“The Congo, just after my graduation from secondary schooling.”

Meg eyed him, assessing his age. He seemed to possess confidence that came with maturity, but that often came with money as well. Certainly his skin was not smooth like a youth’s, yet there was something very young about him despite the knowledge that at his graduation he would have been precisely the age Meg was now.

“That explains why the bird speaks French,” Claire said. “Though some of his words wouldn’t have been any learned at Madame Marisse’s.”

Meg felt Nomi’s gaze on her. “So you’re a graduate of the famous Madame Marisse’s as well, Miss Davenport?”

“Yes. Please feel free to call me Meg,” she said. Might as well join Nelson and Claire in abandoning some of society’s rules this summer—along with the others she was delighted to discard.

“Claire is such a spoiler about our wonderful Pindar,” Evie said to Geoffrey. “You’ll be happy to know he is very healthy and happy and so brilliant there isn’t a cage in the aviary that can contain him. Feel free to visit us anytime, Geoffrey.”

“Pindar greeted Meg upon her arrival,” Claire said.

Geoffrey’s gaze had gone briefly to Evie but now rested again on Meg—a gaze she was dismayed to recognize as an interested, exploratory one. She broke their eye contact, feigning shyness. No use complicating her visit with an unwanted suitor.

“I hope you weren’t frightened,” he said. “He’s larger than most house birds.”

“Oh, he didn’t frighten her in the least,” Evie said. “I was right there, anyway, to take him away. His favorite perch is my shoulder. Do you know, I think he’ll be able to entirely undo my braids one of these days. Our Pindar is so clever!”

Geoffrey glanced back at Evie, where the look in his eye shifted entirely to one of simple affection. “Tell me when he can braid that hair of yours, and then I’ll call him truly clever.”

“Miss Pemberton,” Nomi said, “won’t you bring your guest to our home for supper later this week? Thursday, perhaps? And your brother, if he’s available, of course. Perhaps my daughter can give you some suggestions for the garden. We did promise your mother to look in on you from time to time while they’re gone, you know.”

If Meg were to judge Claire’s enthusiasm by her smile, she didn’t feel much in that direction. “We should love to come to dinner, Nomi. Thank you for the invitation.”

“My daughter will send a note this afternoon, then. Good day.”

They started to walk on, and Evie called after them, “I’ll look forward to seeing you on Thursday, Geoffrey!”

Once she and her companions were also on their way, Claire took less care to conceal her dissatisfaction. “I suppose that will please Mrs. Mason, to help design Mother’s garden.” Then she glared at her younger sister. “And I don’t recall your name included in the invitation.”

“But of course they meant to invite me! Didn’t you see Geoffrey smile at me?”

“It’s understood now, in any case,” Meg said.

Claire nodded, to Evie’s obvious delight—and Claire’s just as obvious dismay.