CHAPTER 23

Mr Henley’s knees give way beneath him, but luckily a wing chair is behind him. As he sits down – well, collapses, really – the chair makes a soft “foofing” sound and feathers float up through the air around him. Mr Henley doesn’t see them as his eyes are closed.

Evie watches George Henley with interest. She has never seen anyone quite like him. He’s half-boy, half-man, well-dressed yet disheveled, confident yet accident prone, well-spoken yet a stutterer.

After a moment, Mr Henley opens his eyes.

“Mr Strahan. Evie. Please allow me to apologize to you both.” Mr Henley’s voice is quavery and he rubs his face. His hands are trembling. “I–I–I’ve been rude to you both. I’m exhausted from my journey, but my manners have been i–i–inexcusable.”

“Apology accepted,” says Grandpa. “I hope you don’t mind me saying, you look like you haven’t eaten in days. May I get you something to eat and drink?”

Mr Henley nods. “Thank you, Mr Strahan. I haven’t eaten since the day before last,” and his head flops back against the chair.

As Grandpa leaves the study, Mr Henley inhales deeply. Evie knows he’s caught a whiff of the delicious aroma wafting from the kitchen. Cook left a lamb stew for dinner and before she finished up for the day, she also prepared an upstairs room for their guest.

As Evie drags a small table in front of the fire for them to dine on, Mr Henley’s stomach grumbles.

“How old are you?” asks Evie.

Mr Henley opens his eyes. “I’m recently eighteen years. How old are y–y–you?”

“I’m ten years,” says Evie, stroking Albine.

“I remember being ten,” sighs Mr Henley, without a glimmer of happiness.

“You must have loved growing up in a zoo?” asks Evie, stroking Albine’s wings.

Burk burk.

“Not really. I’m n–n–not very good with animals,” says Mr Henley. “Come to think of it, I’m n–n–not very good with humans.”

Evie sees something in the depths of Mr Henley’s eyes. A flicker of sadness. She wonders what he’s seen and, quite suddenly, feels sorry for him. Have they been too quick in judging Mr Henley?

Evie leans forward and pats his hand, like Cook does when she wants to comfort her. “My grandpa is nothing but kind.”

Mr Henley glances at Evie with surprise and he gives her a small, grateful smile. The frown lines on his forehead disappear and his shoulders droop as he sinks into the wing chair.

Grandpa arrives back with a tray of food, placing it on the table between them. He pours Mr Henley a generous glass of wine.

“To warm you,” says Grandpa, passing it to him before taking a seat opposite. “We’ve made up the blue room upstairs for you. It’s the third room on the left. You’ll be very comfortable, but please don’t hesitate to ask for anything you need.”

“Thank you, Mr Strahan. I–I–I can’t tell you how exhausted and starving I am.”

“Only a brave man attempts to travel at this time of year, Mr Henley. I never venture out in August and September. It’s too wet and cold for me.”

Mr Henley takes a mouthful of the stew and sighs.

Grandpa and Evie grin at each other as they eat. It’s not the first time Cook’s food has received this sort of response. The stew is hot and meaty and hearty and Evie can feel it spreading its warmth throughout her entire body.

“This is delicious,” says Mr Henley.

“We live like kings here, Mr Henley, thanks to our wonderful housekeeper, who excels at cookery. We couldn’t do without Cook.”

“Goodness. I would love to meet her. I–I–I actually have a strong interest in cookery.”

“What sort of interest would that be, Mr Henley?”

“Well, I love to cook myself, Mr Strahan. I w–w–would love to be an accomplished cook.”

“A chef perhaps?” asks Grandpa.

Mr Henley blushes the color of beetroot and he nods as he swallows another mouthful of stew. Evie sees Mr Henley hesitate, as if he wants to say something more.

“At present, I’ve been put to work in administration by my father. I’m actually afraid of animals, large animals anyway. I do like birds though, I–I–I mean, who doesn’t? To fly must b–b–be incredible!” laughs Mr Henley, stuttering. “I’m sorry. I’m talking a bit too much. Anyway, my dream is to be a chef, much to my father’s disappointment.”

“Disappointment?! A chef is a marvellous profession. To have a calling in life means you will live happily. I believe in callings. I was called by the wonder of birds into ornithology. My son, Evie’s papa, was called to veterinary science by his love of all creatures great and small. A calling is a good thing.”

Mr Henley stares at Grandpa’s open enthusiasm and honesty with wide eyes. He nods his head vigorously and raises his glass in agreement. Grandpa raises his in return.

“Well, then, Mr Henley. Tomorrow you shall meet Cook.”

Their guest exhales in a rush and stammers. “Please, M–M–Mr Strahan, and you too, Evie. Please call me George.”

Grandpa and Evie glance at each other. She wonders if they’re both thinking the same thing – that George Henley isn’t too bad after all.