Page 5 of A Winter By the Sea
Mr. Wallis turned to see what had drawn her attention and frowned. “Popinjay,” he muttered.
The man’s curly dark hair fell over his forehead. Long, sharply angled side-whiskers framed a face that—while not handsome—was interesting, with a nose that seemed almost Mediterranean, its center portion dipping nearer his lips.
As he neared, he gave her companion a sardonic smile. “Ah. Wallis. You should have joined me. Nothing so refreshing as a bracing dip in the sea. The shock of the cold water drives the blood from the skin, and immediately brings it back to the surface.” He pounded a fist to his chest. “Now my entire body glows with warmth and vitality. Whereas you...” His gaze flickered over Wallis’s rather spindly form with meaning, but he let the sentence go unfinished.
Without apparent self-consciousness over his state of undress, he dipped his head to Emily and passed by with a polite “Miss.”
She turned and watched him continue on, following the esplanade to its end.
“Who is that?” she asked uneasily.
Again Mr. Wallis frowned. “My competition.”
———
When Emily returned to Sea View a few minutes later, she heard Mr. Gwilt’s singsong voice in the parlour and realized he was probably entertaining the twin sons of Mr. and Mrs. Johnson again.
Whenever Emily saw the ten-year-old boys, she was reminded of her own twin sister, although the boys looked far more alike than she and Viola ever had. Her sister had reddish-brown hair and hazel eyes, while Emily’s hair and eyes were dark brown. Viola was also smaller, though she occupied a large part of Emily’s heart. Emily missed Viola’s daily presence now that she was married and living with her husband. Thankfully, Westmount was only a short walk up the lane, and the two visited each other often.
Mr. Gwilt had been a guest himself last summer and had stayed on as part-time accounts clerk and odd-job man, assisting their increasingly frail manservant, Lowen.
A widower of about fifty, Mr. Gwilt was a small Welshman with an amiable disposition, unfailingly kind to all. Yet he possessed one peculiarity. He’d arrived at Sea View with an eyebrow-raising companion—a parrot in a cage, kept lifelike thanks to the efforts of a friend who dabbled in taxidermy. Moreover, Mr. Gwilt had the unsettling habit of speaking about and to his feathered companion as though he were still alive.
While at first wary of the man, Emily had come to like him. Especially after she’d learned he had long devoted himself to caring for a wife who had lost her memory and ability to speak. During those years of silent isolation, he’d talked to Parry to assuage the loneliness. And even after the parrot died, the habit lingered.
That tendency had diminished in recent months as Mr. Gwilt found his place in Sea View, becoming one of their retainers and nearly one of the family. He still mentioned Parry often but acknowledged the bird was no longer alive.
Once Mr. Gwilt transitioned from guest to staff, Sarah had insisted that he keep the parrot in the room they had given him belowstairs near Lowen and their cook.
But Sarah had made an exception when Mrs. Johnson told her how much their sons enjoyed the tales of Parry’s adventures Mr. Gwilt made up to entertain the boys on rainy days. When the boys begged to see the parrot, Sarah had relented, but only while the boys were in residence, she reminded him.
Now Emily paused in the parlour doorway to listen. The parrot was perched in his cage on the side table, while Mr. Gwilt perched in the armchair nearby. The boys knelt before the cage, gazing in wonder at the colorful creature.
“As a young bird, Parry longed to see more of the world,” Mr. Gwilt told them. “Wanted to be famous, he did. So he bid farewell to his island home and flew off in search of his destiny. Parry flew and flew, but no matter how far he went, he could not find land. He grew exhausted and finally had to return home.
“Then one day, a ship dropped anchor in the bay. Sailors rowed to the island in small boats to gather fresh fruit and water. The leader of these men lured Parry with a bet o’ mango, captured him, and put him in a cage. Parry was sure his life was over. He would soon disappear and the world would remember him no more!”
Emily listened with interest until Mrs. Johnson appeared to tell the boys it was time to dress for dinner. The two groaned, but Mr. Gwilt assured them he would continue the tale another time.
He and Emily watched the trio depart, then Emily asked, “Have you ever thought of writing down Parry’s adventures? They would make a wonderful children’s book if the Johnson boys are any indication.”
“No, lass. I just make it up as I go, I do. Couldn’t write it down. I am a man of numbers, not letters.”
“I could help you.”
“Oh, now. You have too much to do as it is.”
“Not at all. I would enjoy it. You might as well.”
“I suppose we could give it a go, when I am not needed elsewhere.”
“Excellent!” Emily replied. She had not succeeded in furthering her own aspirations that day, but the thought of helping someone else lifted her spirits.
They began that very evening.
3
Oh, that joy so soon should waste!
