Blackmoore(35)

For the bird.”

I found myself leaning against Henry, the late night leeching my en-ergy from me, until my head rested against his shoulder. Neither of us moved, and our silence was deep and comfortable as we watched our little dark bird fly and fly and fly.

When the clock chimed twelve, I forced myself to move. I straight-ened and yawned. “How are we going to catch him? I assume your grandfather cares about him.”

“Let him have a night of freedom. I’ll come take care of him in the morning.”

I watched sleepily as Henry went around the room and blew out all the candles but one, which he picked up and took with us as we left the room. He closed the door carefully behind us. The house was dark and completely silent except for the creaking of the stairs beneath our feet.

We walked in silence to the west wing, and when we reached my room I felt a nagging sensation—as if there was a solution to my problem 101



J u l i a n n e D o n a l D s o n right in front of me, which I could not see. But the harder I tried to peer at it, the fuzzier it became. Henry stopped before my door and opened it quietly. “Good night, my little bird,” he murmured, so softly I wondered if I imagined the little bird part, or the tender note in his voice.

I stood in the open doorway of my room and watched him walk down the hall. He did not hurry this time. And I did not move until the light he carried with him slipped around the corner, leaving me in dark-ness. Only then did I face my quiet room and the fears I was left with.

It was one thing to set a bird free. But how on earth was I supposed to set myself free? I lay awake, listening to the moans and creaks and the wind blowing off the ocean and across the moors. I thought of my bargain with Mama, and hopelessness overwhelmed me again. Over and over I vacillated between images of the rabbit caught in the trap and the dark bird flying free, feeling despair, then a glimmer of hope, until I could no longer sort through my own thoughts or feelings. And finally, exhausted and spent, I fell into a troubled sleep.

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Chapter 13


I awoke to birdsong. My room was shrouded in darkness, and in my restless sleep the bedcovers had wrapped around my legs, cocooning me in dark plum. I kicked myself free of them, then shivered as I hurried across the cold wood floor to pull aside the drapes and throw open the window.

Fog blanketed my view to right and left, covering the ground like another cocoon. The sun had not yet risen, but there were signs that it was on its way—the brightening of the sky in the east and the calls of the birds. Resting my elbows on the windowsill, I leaned out and breathed in the wet, cold air. I closed my eyes and listened for the songs I knew—the blackbird and the swallow and the woodlark, the sparrow and the thrush and the goldfinch. But I had traveled far from home, and the birds here on the edge of the land sang songs that were new to me.

Pulling my head in, I shut the window and hurried to dress. I had to be quick, before the sun rose and quieted some of these birds. Throwing on my warmest clothes, I did not bother with my hair and put my boots on while I ran down the hall, hopping one-footed as I bent over and tugged.

Then I ran down the stairs, and did not bother to look for a back door. I ran straight through the great entry hall and out the tall front doors.

The fog folded me into itself, its chill, wet fingers creeping around me. I walked straight west, which I knew would lead me toward the 103



J u l i a n n e D o n a l D s o n moors, as the ocean bordered the east side of the house. The land was obscured in white, but when I felt the dry crunch of heather beneath my feet, I knew I was in the right place.

A large outcropping of rock rose out of the mist, and I turned my steps toward it. The navy sky lightened to a clear, light blue as I walked.

The bracken and heather, wet with dew and fog, brushed my skirts.

Horses neighed from pastures far away. It was the birds I was really listening to, though.

When I reached the rock, I paused only long enough to look for a way to climb it. It was larger than I had thought at first from a distance. It rose like a jagged, wind-carved castle, and I had to tip my head back to see the top of it. I slipped twice on its wet surface, but grabbing hold with my hands, I pulled myself to its top. Sitting on my perch, I folded my hands in my lap and breathed in the chilly air and watched the fog grow thin while birdsong sounded all around me. There were chirps and squeaks, cluckings and whirrings and sweet, high, piercing whistles. I knew none of them.

Sitting atop that rock in the middle of the moors, surrounded by an unfamiliar land and unfamiliar birds, I felt small. Or rather, I felt the vastness of what I did not know, had not experienced, had never seen. It frightened me to realize how little I actually knew of the world. It frightened me because I had no idea how to fulfill my bargain with Mama. I had no plan for earning my freedom. And if I could not earn my freedom, then my world would always be precisely this small.

The sky had a pink and peach cast to it now, and I knew the sun would show itself soon. Soon the fog would burn off the land and leave everything clear. But I could not fathom how the uncertainties of my future could be burned away—how I could see my way clearly from here to a new life in India with Aunt Charlotte.

Henry had said there had to be more than one option in life. But the fact was, I had bound myself to Mama. I had entered into a bargain that I could not win. I could not win it either practically, nor could I win it ethi-cally. I could not come up with three gentlemen here who would propose 104