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Kindle Notes & Highlights
by
India Holton
Read between
April 26 - May 4, 2025
Hippolyta Spiffington-Quirm…a high flier
Beth Pickering…an intrepid professor of ornithology
The moment they met in Epping Forest, accidentally smacking each other over the head with their nets while their mutual quarry, a fine specimen of rain-singing robin, flew away in a teeny-tiny storm,
Hippolyta might at times be more discombobulating than a whole flock of thunder-winged loons,
Klaus Oberhufter…a stain on the noble name of beak bagger
“A little blackmail should do the trick. But if that fails, you can always seduce the membership committee chairman.”
“He won’t be able to escape your feminine wiles, not in those ridiculous sandals he wears over his socks.”
(braining a red-tufted mousetwitter that happened to be pecking about in the undergrowth, thereby bringing an end to its species on the Continent
Devon Lockley…a young man who has not yet seen the error of his ways
Beth absolutely would not blush, for she was an Englishwoman—but inside, her heart was fanning itself urgently with a handkerchief.
“By Jove, this is outrageous!” “No, madam,” Devon said. “It is ornithology.”
heart-shaped face—although it was also a rather sweaty face, and currently scowling at him as if she’d like to stab him with her furled parasol.
Pretty was nice; naughty was ever so much better.
Hippolyta was reaching for her hatpin in a manner that suggested a mastery of naughtiness...
This highlight has been truncated due to consecutive passage length restrictions.
But Hippolyta had started tossing out words like “antisocial” and “hopeless” and “you will wither on the vine, Elizabeth!”
When one was an owl in a world of seagulls, one took any balm available.
leather sliding over skin, long fingers taking the gloves in a strong grip that might lift a woman from the ground if he—
Miss Fotheringham (à deux)…binate birders
Monsieur Tarrou…verminous
We shall employ smarter tactics. Seduction, for one.” “Um…” Beth said, for despite being recently informed of her feminine wiles, she had not yet found a satisfactory description of them in her field guides and remained dubious about the whole concept.
“Don’t worry. Although you know plenty about the birds, you know nowhere near enough about the bees, and we’re in too great a hurry for you to catch up.
After all, what possible trouble could I encounter in a museum?”
one catcall, and she might educate them.
Not that Beth felt any such yearning. Heavens no! She was far too sensible for that. The riotous sensations in her stomach were merely due to French tea.
She also suspected him of possessing masculine wiles.
“All may be fair in love and war, but this is ornithology.
If he’d whistled a birdsong, she’d have been able to interpret it at once, but her ability with human conversation was mediocre at best,
“I thought you were a nice girl,” he said.
“That doesn’t mean I’m weak.”
You will not disturb my calm waters. Furthermore…”
“Stop smoldering at me like that.”
“With your eyes like that. We can’t have a reasonable discussion while you are smoldering.”
“Why, Miss Pickering, I thought I couldn’t disturb your calm waters.”
“No, thank you,” Beth replied stiffly. “While it’s been a pleasure escaping death with you, and I wish you all the best despite your general villainy, I should like to be alone now.”
And arriving at the next corner, they parted ways without a word, set on never meeting again. (Then traveled the same route back to Hôtel Chauvesouris, took the same elevator to the seventh floor, and walked down the same corridor to where their rooms were located side by side—but as both vehemently refused to notice this, the narrative is powerless to offer any comment.)
Beth checked again for a pot of tea, or a cup of tea, or even a tea bag she could chew on at this point. “Being chased by a carnivorous—”
it was tea in her silver flask, regardless of smell, color, or that half-empty bottle of rum sitting on the shelf.
“I stole it from Oberhufter’s room.”
“Funny you should mention a pebble,” Hippolyta retorted, “since we all know that is the size of your—”
“I heard you plagiarized your book!” Oberhufter shouted. “I heard you plagiarized your personality!” Hippolyta shouted in return.
He wanted to undress her brain, stroke her perspective, make her gasp out the most fascinating theory she hid from all other men. (He also wanted to kiss the hell out of her, but that went without saying.)
“Just wait, woman!” Oberhufter growled, throwing his sandwich wildly. All the servants ducked. “Mein Gott! I’ll have you over my knee yet, and then you’ll know a beating like you’ve never had before!”
