CHAPTER THREE“Hello, hello! What shall we have for tea?” Pickle was squawking, sounding uncannily like Aunt Beatrice.
Rosella smiled and pushed her finger through the bars of his cage so that he could nibble on it with his beak.
The parrot was usually allowed out of his cage at teatime to fly around the drawing room and play hide-and-seek amongst the curtains.
But that did not seem such a good idea today with Lord Brockley and his companion about to arrive. Pickle was nervous with strangers until he became used to them.
It would not be a good introduction to his new Master if he flew up onto the top of the pelmet and would not come down.
“They are very late,” Mrs. Dawkins said, standing by the cake stand that she had set down on a small table. “Something must have happened to delay hi
