by Julia Watts
A round table, covered with more red silk, fringed at the bottom, held a cup and water pitcher, candlestick and a long wig on a stand. A huge gilt frame mirror and gold wall sconce complemented the oriental rug on the parquet floor. A red velvet robe and house slippers were set out.
Liv wondered if she should feel uncomfortable at being invited into such a private space, but Maskelyne paid no attention to the girls. He walked straight to a brass cage, where a macaw as large as McGinty hopped up and down at the sight of her master. She was almost completely ruby red, with accents of blue, green and gold on her wings and tail.
“You’ll probably fancy her. Would you like to have her? You could take her as a companion for that outrageous specimen you had with you the other day.”
He reached for the latch and Precious waited politely, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Maskelyne offered his arm, and she flew out, bypassing him and making straight for Frederica’s shoulder.
Instead of becoming irritated at his lack of control, he simply rolled his eyes and smiled. “Well, that’s typical of Precious. Swans about like she owns the place.”
He laughed. “I remember when I bought her in Barbados. I was there on His Majesty’s orders, testing Harrison’s timepiece, and while I was at it, would I please pick up a parrot for Her Majesty the Queen? That made a dismal trip even worse.” He shuddered at the memory and the smile disappeared.
“There were birds for sale at a roadside market,behind a dusty old canvas in a filthy wooden cage. I nearly bought one for myself, thinking it would be like having a brightly-colored chicken— nothing that would live on year after year, demanding attention and special food and getting continually into mischief.”
Precious left Frederica’s shoulder and hopped onto the bedside table, stealing a bite of hair from his wig and flying from the room. He followed her and the girls trailed along, entering the great Octagon Room. Precious flew up, up, up, where she perched on the plasterwork frieze above a portrait of King Charles I, nearly twenty feet above their heads.
He continued, “I didn’t buy a bird that day, but later, in a pub, I saw this gorgeous fowl.” He pointed at Precious, who cocked her head at him and yelled, “Buy me a drink! Buy me a drink!”
Maskelyne grinned sheepishly. “Perhaps it was the bottle of rum the barkeep poured from so freely, but at the end of the night, I was the proud owner of Precious and poorer by several gold pieces. The king was happy enough to ask me to bring a bird home to him, but never offered to pay for it.”
Precious dived from the frieze but slowed as she neared them, landing delicately on Frederica’s shoulder again, this time rubbing her head against the girl’s hair. “I think she smells McGinty,” said Frederica, rubbing the bird’s beak with her finger.
Precious closed her eyes and swayed contentedly. “Closing time! Closing time!” she called.
“Isn’t her repertoire a little inappropriate for the Queen?” asked Liv.
Maskelyne shook his bald head. “I never had the chance to worry about it. By the time I returned from Barbados, Queen Charlotte had acquired a cockatoo. I couldn’t get rid of Precious because His Majesty insisted I keep her, just in case the Queen might ever want her.” He folded his arms. “She didn’t, of course, and this is the third wig, among other things, that she has delighted in chewing on.”
“Well, I can solve that for you,” Frederica offered. “She likes the powder—not the wig. All parrots like to eat clay in the wild— it neutralizes the toxins in the foods they eat. Our macaw used to get into my mother’s face-mask powder all the time, because it’s kaolin-based.” Maskelyne looked appreciative, and Liv was intrigued. The girl could be helpful when she wanted to.
“We used to scold him for it,” she continued, “and he’d squawk, ‘Not me! Not me!’, but the dusty beak was a giveaway. Now that we know he needs it, we furnish him with a bit of clay to eat now and then.”
“Thank you,” said the astronomer. He looked at the girls and waited.
Liv held up a hand and said earnestly, “Don’t ask us how we know, just trust us when we tell you that Cumpston is up to no good. We don’t know the details, but he’s going to kill Mr. Harrison with poison—soon. You have to stop him!”
“I have to stop him?” he replied petulantly. “And just how do you propose I do that?” He turned and spoke to the air, “Oh, Cumpston, that murder which I did not request you do—you know the one? Well, don’t do it, because those ridiculous girls reappeared to me—without their parrot this time—and said you shouldn’t.” He crossed his arms and stared at them.
Liv’s mind raced through a dozen possibilities. Maskelyne didn’t seem to want Harrison dead—he just didn’t believe them. Maybe they could find some evidence and come back tomorrow, try again to convince him. Maybe they could find John Harrison and warn him. Maybe, maybe.
While she racked her brain for alternatives, Maskelyne seemed to have a change of heart. “Perhaps you’re right about talking to Cumpston,” he said, “although you couldn’t possibly know the future.”
Liv’s stomach lurched, and she stole a glance at Frederica.
Maskelyne took no notice and rattled on, “It’s not an easy thing to put him off, and you don’t want to be on his bad side. It’s common knowledge that he does things.”
“Things,” repeated Frederica. “Like. . .”
Liv finished the thought. “Like making your enemies disappear.”
Maskelyne shook his head. “I don’t think he’s as extreme as all that. Here’s a more benign example: Say you have a tea shop, and it’s not doing well. You’re losing customers to the shop down the street. Cumpston can arrange for a shipment of your competitor’s tea to arrive late. Rumors will spread that he cheats customers by mixing dried grass into the tea. The glass in his front window may be smashed overnight.
“Or say your neighbor’s dog is killing your chickens. The dog might simply disappear. Or, for a higher fee, one of the neighbor’s chickens might appear on his doorstep, slaughtered and torn to bits.”
He continued, “Cumpston knows how to get things done, and if he were more stable, he’d actually be useful.”
He reached out to Precious and stroked her wing feathers. “I am comfortable with believing that society has a place for people like him, but he’s unreliable. He loves power and becomes obsessed easily, as he is with that pirate he’s been chasing for years.
“Ironic, isn’t it? I’ve been obsessed with beating out John Harrison all these years, and look how it caused this present difficulty with Cumpston. Harrison harbors no good feelings for me, either, though I suppose I’ve earned some of that.”
He faced them. “The Longitude Board ordered me to confiscate all four copies of H4, and I did it with great enthusiasm. It did not endear me to the man, I must say.”
Frederica interrupted, “We’ll take care of telling Cumpston to stop.” Her eyes were no longer haughty, but kind. “Just tell us where we can find him. If he knows we’re on to him, he may back off, and if he tries anything, we know how to disappear in a hurry.”
Maskelyne nodded.
Liv added, “We’ll warn Harrison, too.”
“No!” Maskelyne undid the top frog of his high-collared vest and loosened his white silk neck scarf. “I’ve hated him for years. I’ll admit I’ve nursed a grudge that’s grown to be an old friend.” He removed his wig and mopped his bald head, which had turned crimson along with his face. “But kill Harrison? Never.”
He pointed to a pitcher on a carpet-covered table and gave Frederica a meaningful look. She took the hint and poured water into a mug for him, which he took without thanks, sinking heavily into a velvet-upholstered chair.
The Astronomer Royal’s color quickly returned, and he continued as if nothing had happened. “Though I loathe the notion of giving Harrison aid, I shall take it upon myself to warn him. He won’t have the decency to thank me, I’m sure, but I don’t wish the old curmudgeon to come to an untimely end.
; “Now, if the two of you are willing to confront Cumpston and convince him to lay aside his sorry plot, you could do it tomorrow evening. I’m hosting a reception here in the Great Star Room for members of the Board of Longitude.
“Since I’ve taken pains to convince them not to trust Harrison and his infernal timepieces, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to invite the King and Queen—” He smiled at the girls’ widened eyes “—and sway them completely over to my way of thinking. His Majesty still leans a bit too far in Harrison’s favor for my peace of mind.”
He sighed. “Saving his sorry hide may cause me to forfeit that opportunity.” He stroked the powdered wig in his hands and fell silent.
Liv wondered if he would decide not to help them after all, but he surprised her. “It will be a small matter to invite Harrison at short notice, and Cumpston will fall over himself with delight if I invite him as well. We could kill two birds with one stone.” He caught himself and frowned. “Hmm. . .unfortunate choice of words. Now, if you plan to attend my small soiree, please do not come dressed in those very odd costumes.”
Frederica drew in a breath. Liv placed a hand on her arm, but not soon enough to stop her from bristling at the criticism. “What’s wrong with them?”
The astronomer pressed his thin lips together and exhaled a snort. “They’re too fine for peasant or scullery maid garments, not fashionable enough for a well-paid house servant, certainly not suitable for a gathering of gentle or royal people.”
Frederica whispered to Liv, “They’re musicians’ costumes, designed to blend into the background for all occasions, so they’re not perfect for any one time period.”
Liv was out of her depth. Maskelyne mistook their lack of answer for an invitation to explain more. “What do I know of women’s clothes?” he spluttered. “The sleeves are too long, there’s too little trim, the cut of the neckline and shoulders is peculiar. They simply don’t look right.” He eyed them again and said, “It’s as if you poured the fashions from several decades into a pot and stirred them together into one distasteful stew.” His words made Liv’s stomach drop.
Relax, she told herself. If there’s a little of the future in these clothes, he won’t know the difference. It’s just a small mistake. But even small mistakes could cause big trouble. That much she knew.
She forced herself to smile. “Thank you, Sir Nevil. We can meet you about this time of day tomorrow. And there may be four of us, with my brother and his friend.”
Maskelyne began retying his white silk neck scarf. “I’m sure that won’t do, it won’t do at all. I have a reputation— quite undeserved, of course—for being difficult to get on with, especially with children.”
“Children?” Frederica leaned forward into the astronomer’s face, challenging him to say another word.
He ignored her and continued, “It would strain the imaginations of everyone who knows me that I would tolerate even a single visitor, but four guests? Impossible!”
Liv brushed a tiny red feather from her velveteen skirt and narrowed her eyes at Maskelyne. “Excuse me for being frank, Sir Nevil, but you’re in for a world of trouble if we don’t get this Cumpston fellow to change his plans. And if he’s caught for poisoning Mr. Harrison, do you think he’ll take all the blame for it?”
Liv felt a twinge of guilt as Maskelyne began to fan himself again, but she pressed on and asked Frederica, “What’s the penalty for being an accessory to murder? Do they still use the Tower of London to hold prisoners?”
“Stop! Stop!” he begged. “Of course you may bring guests. My life will be in shambles if we don’t get this thing stopped. I can introduce you as my nieces.”
He held up his arm and beckoned to Precious, who turned her head away from him and refused to leave Frederica’s shoulder. The old astronomer threw up his hands and turned to leave the room. “I have many things to attend to, and I’m sure you young ladies do as well. As soon as you can extract that bit of feathered pestilence from yourselves you may find your own way out.”
He left the room and called from the hallway, “Or take her with you. It’s of no consequence to me.”
Chapter Twenty
Liv slipped behind Frederica. “I’ll just grab her like I did McGinty. You get ready to slam the cage door shut.”
Precious dug her claws into Frederica and screamed, “Back in the cage! Back in the cage! No!”
“Ow!” Frederica pulled at the claws and got her hand pecked for it. “Ow, again!”
She frowned at Liv. “Stop helping—will you? She’s killing me!” She tried coaxing Precious, inching a finger toward her again. “Come on, pretty bird, just step onto it.” The macaw refused to budge.
“I think we can trick her,” offered Liv. “Ignore her. Keep talking to me and walk slowly toward the c-a-g-e.” Precious gave another scream and lowered her head. “Uh-oh, she knows what that spells.”
A tear trickled down Frederica’s cheek, though her expression never changed. The macaw’s grip must be ferocious. “I’ve changed my mind about your helping. Here’s what we can do: Stand in front of me. I’ll turn suddenly, you use both hands to secure body and beak, and I’ll take care of the claws. Ready, set, go!”
With a quick attack and a little luck, they captured her and stuffed her into her cage before she could react. Frederica shut the door, but had to forgo locking it in favor of moving her fingers out of harm’s way as the indignant parrot snapped at them.
“How can anybody stand her?” Liv asked as she pulled the box out of a deep pocket of her skirt and opened the latch.
Frederica inserted a thumb at the side of the wide neckline of her blouse and inspected her shoulder. “I think she’s not so bad— just a bit desperate for attention.”
“If you say so. Hang on to me. Here we go.”
Frederica took Liv’s arm, Liv pulled at the drawers of the box, and Precious threw the unlocked cage door open and propelled herself like a shell from a howitzer, landing right back on Frederica’s shoulder before the three of them disappeared from seventeen seventy-two.
“I know a source for the perfect clothes.” Frederica led the way down the steeply descending walkway from Flamsteed House,ignoring the passersby who pointed and stared at Precious. They’d been fortunate enough to find themselves alone in the astronomer’s apartment when they’d returned to the present, but getting outside with Precious had seemed problematic. In the end, the simplest solution worked. They walked straight out, slipping into an empty room once to avoid a tour guide.
Now that she could ride Frederica’s shoulder unchallenged, Precious was completely docile, making little cooing and gurgling noises and rubbing Frederica’s head with her own.
Frederica continued, “That is, the source is perfect except for one thing. We’ll have to pretend to be the best of friends, getting along famously and eager to have a girly evening together, playing dress-up.” She led the way off the path and into the grass, stopping beside an empty park bench. She slipped off her long skirt, revealing jeans underneath. Liv did the same and folded both skirts around the box, carrying it all in a bundle.
They returned to the path and continued their descent. Frederica said, “Mummy has a friend who’s wickedly rich and loves to put on costume balls for charity functions. We can ask her to borrow two dresses, I think.” Liv frowned. “Pretend to be friends.” “That’s it.” “Give the lady a call.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Delighted that her daughter appeared to be getting along well with anyone, Mrs. Havard wasted no time making the phone call to her costume-owning friend, and the girls had an invitation to the home of Mrs. Philomena Davison for the next day.
Mrs. Havard gave them cab fare for the ride home, since they would be carrying their costumes, but they took the tube to Mrs. Davison’s house.
“Your mother must be the nicest person ever,” Liv said as they left the platform area and stepped onto a steep escalator that would carry them from the bowels of the earth up to str
eet level. “Calling Mrs. Davison, paying for the cab, and putting up with Precious. I think you’ll end up keeping her, by the way—we both know no one’s going to answer your mom’s Found Bird ad. And McGinty would never survive the heartbreak if she left.”
It was true. The girls had brought the macaw back to the Havards’ flat, not quite sure what to do with her, and McGinty had been smitten from the moment he’d set his beady eyes on her. He’d stared, beak open, for a full five minutes, as if he couldn’t believe she wasn’t a dream.
Precious, out of sorts from having been smuggled all the way from Greenwich, wrapped up in Liv’s shawl and carried by Frederica, had given an impatient squawk that sent McGinty scurrying to find food, toys, and trinkets to bring to this vision of loveliness. By the next day they were inseparable, a pair of real lovebirds.
Frederica led the way out of the tube station and down the street, turning left after two blocks, then again and again, looking up at the street signs secured at second-story height to the buildings. As they made their way along, drab buildings with shabby little shops on the ground floors gave way to nicer ones with expensive-looking boutiques.
A few more turns, and the girls were walking down a quiet street where stately houses boasted small front yards,meticulously landscaped.
“This is it,” Frederica said, turning up a brick walk leading to a house swathed in a flamboyant mix of climbing roses in every color. Of course the owner liked costumes, Liv thought. She’d even dressed up her house.
They rang the bell, and the door opened at once. A plump lady with warm hazel eyes and hair tinted a vague shade that was neither blond nor brown stood before them. “Well, come on then, dears, you must be Frederica and her friend. Now, which is which?”
She held up her hand for silence while she looked them over carefully. “Got it!” she declared, beaming at Frederica. “Your mother’s eyes and creamy complexion, your father’s jaw and slender build.” She paused. “Not sure where the blond hair came from. But you’re definitely Frederica.”