Broken Engagements and Other Adventures

~ Chapter 1 ~

Total word count: 4079

June 20th, 1872

Mr. Frizzleshanks was a veritable weathervane of calamity.

If he accepted his breakfast with grace, the day would hold no trouble larger than a hangnail or a missing button. If he sulked in the corner, there was bound to be some sort of accident involving the dinner service — although Cook held that this rule must be applied more broadly, since young John Footman fell off a ladder on one such occasion, and it was his arm that broke and not a plate.

No matter what, it was universally agreed among the staff at Rosebriar Croft that when Mr. Fizzleshanks was cantankerous, someone would receive very bad news indeed.

~*~*~

"Miss Rose! Miss Rose!"

With a wince, Miss Rosemary Griffiths lowered her cup of coffee as Polly's strident screech shattered the quiet of an otherwise peaceful morning.

The screech preceded the young housemaid into the conservatory, followed shortly by the girl herself, who flew in from the garden with her collar askew, her apron mussed, and her bright orange hair springing loose from her cap. She pulled up short just inside and began looking all about, even up at the ceiling, while wringing her hands in her apron.

At the far end of the conservatory, Rose held her breath and remained absolutely motionless, more than half hoping she could simply finish reading her papers and let this new trouble roll by without her.

Such was not to be.

Polly's eyes finally found Rose sitting there at the tea table, trying to blend in among her father's potted plants, whereupon the maid burst into motion again, frantically flapping her arms toward the door behind her. "Oh, Miss Rose, do come quick, there's been a kerfuffle!"

Rose closed her eyes with a sigh, resigning herself. Then she took a last sip of her coffee and got calmly to her feet. "What sort of kerfuffle?"

Polly dipped into a hasty curtsy while simultaneously turning to go back the way she had come. "It's Mr. Frizzleshanks, Miss! He has let them all loose!"

That made Rose hurry, following Polly down the path to the summerhouse at a brisk pace that her aunt wouldn't quite have considered ladylike.

Mrs. Doughty was leaning against the outside of the summerhouse door, her face set in the ferocious expression of one about to make war. "It's bad, Miss. He is most cantank'rous today," she announced.

Rose took a moment to prepare herself. Then she gave a small nod.

Mrs. Doughty stepped away from the door, rotating swiftly to open it just enough for a body to slip through and advancing into the summerhouse sideways.

A small blur of yellow and green feathers whirred through the gap at the top of the jamb, but there was nothing to be done about it now. Father would just have to survive with one less bird. Rose slid in after the housekeeper, and Polly slid in at her heels, all three of them immediately ducking as a flock of budgerigars burst into flight over their heads.

Rose, who had grown up with such things, straightened first, her brows rising as she took in the chaos.

Every bird cage stood open. Several hundred finches, of every size and color, fluttered at the windows that made up the walls of the summerhouse. Her father's collection of parrots chattered and screamed from the rafters, the South African guinea fowl and the American turkey pullets pecked through a mountain of spilled feed grain, and the great horned owl was puffed up and hissing in a corner.