"Now, Bert, none of your larking about!" Mary Poppins instructed.
He fell in line but made a face at the dog walking next to him.
Mary Poppins turned around, appalled at Bert's total disregard for her order. "Now, Bert, what did I say? If you can't behave, I shall have to find a place for you with the London Zoological Gardens."
Bert grimaced, and mimicked a monkey, while she gave him a chalk tail, fez, and organ to grind. Then she quickly removed them and rolled her eyes. "Really, Bert. What would your Uncle Albert say?"
"' Stop monkeying about ?'" he said with a cackle, then stood up straight after a stern look from his nanny.
Mary Poppins suppressed a small smile as soon as he looked away, tickled by his clever sense of humor. He always seemed to bend her rules, though she'd never let him know it.
"Feed the birds!" a woman chirped from the other side of the path. "Come feast your eyes on their bright colors while the birds feast on your seeds!"
"Look, Mary Poppins! Can we please feed the birds?" Bert begged.
Mary jabbed her umbrella into the stone pathway and the parrot handle of her umbrella bit her pinky. "Why, you!"
"Go on, Mary Poppins! Feed the birds!" the parrot said, while Bert's mouth dropped open.
"Oh, very well," she conceded and Bert dutifully followed her to the large enclosed aviary filled with all kinds of colorful birds from Jamaica to Papua New Guinea to Kenya to India, and even Ireland.
Mary looked the woman in her slightly sagging eyes, and thought better than to tell her it wouldn't be necessary for them to pay.
"Bert?" she asked. "Do you have the money your uncle gave you?"
"That's alright, love," the woman said to Bert in a voice much posher than she expected. "You look like a good sort with a good mum. I wouldn't want to trouble you."
She gave Bert a bag of seeds and set him loose to sprinkle them where he liked.
"Now, hear me, Mrs…"
"Miss," she said.
"Beg pardon?" Mary asked, not used to being interrupted.
"It's Miss. I'm not married."
"Well, of course, you aren't!" Mary said defensively. Judging by her gray locks–-darker on top like the wings of a dove, and lighter on the bottom like its breast-–that were smoothly pinned into an exceptionally decorous bun, visible even under her modest hat, she was old enough to have been a spinster twice over. Yet she didn't seem any unhappier to be on her own than Mary was.
"But I'll have you know that I am not quite old enough to be his mother, and further-"
"Pardon me," she said with a gentle touch to Mary's forearm. No one had ever dared to touch her like that, yet the only reaction she could muster was an uncharacteristic giggle.
The woman smiled as sweetly as any Mary had seen before, her highly arched brows relaxing while her already high cheekbones grew taller and rosier, and she conceded. "Oh, it's no bother anyway." She was, after all, old enough to be Bert's great-great-grandmother and then some. She just wasn't used to hearing that she looked old enough for that.
"It's just that you're so good with the lad. You're a natural."
Mary felt a blush at the woman's praise, and she never blushed. She straightened up immediately, and called after Bert.
"And why shouldn't I be? I'm quite good at everything I do. If you'll excuse me, Miss…?" Mary said with a fake smile.
"Featherington." Then she slid her gloved hand into Mary's, and Mary stood slightly open mouthed at Miss Featherington's audacity. "Florence Featherington."
Mary yanked her hand away and turned her attention to her charge.
"Mary Poppins!" he shouted at her, "Come see! This one's talking to me!"
"Oh, Bert, what utter nonsense!"
"Good day, Miss Featherington," Mary said with a polite bow of her head and picked up her skirts at the knee to walk more easily towards Bert, slightly too fast to be as graceful as she usually was.
"Oh, Miss Poppins!" Miss Featherington said before Mary and Bert could take off. "I give a lecture series here at the aviary. Every Sunday at half two. I do hope you'll join."
Her sweet smile burned Mary's ears and the back of her neck. Sunday was her day off, but she usually reserved it for personal errands and walks around the park, visiting her own favorite places.
"Come along, Bert. Your uncle will be furious if I don't get you home and cleaned up in time for tea."
"No he won't!" cried Bert, though he cowered at the stern look Mary gave him.
"Bye, Miss Bird Woman!" he shouted behind him with a gentle wave as he clung to Mary's tugging hand.
Mary swept him in front of her and thought about the lesson she'd teach him later about meddling in other people's affairs.
That Sunday, Mary put on her walking dress with cherry red and white chevrons, and took extra care on her hair, to stroll around the park. She was leaned over, talking to a squirrel about the bountiful store of acorns he was saving for the winter, when a familiar voice hemmed to get her attention.
"Miss Poppins! So lovely to see you out here today."
Mary shooed the squirrel away with a glare and stood up straight.
"Good day, Miss Featherington," she said in the most dispassionate way she could.
"Were you just talking to that squirrel?" she asked, full of youthful mirth, despite her age.
"What a preposterous notion, Miss Featherington! A respectable woman like me carrying on ordinary conversations with random rodents in the park. Really. What next, you're going to tell me you talk to your birds?"
"Why, yes," Miss Featherington said, as she sandwiched Mary's hand between hers excitedly. "I do. We have lovely conversations about all sorts of things."
Mary snickered, and Miss Featherington slipped a hand into the crook of her elbow, as though they were old school chums.
Mary opened her mouth at the audacity, ready to scold her, but didn't ask her to move. Miss Featherington, in fact, adjusted her hand so they had to stand even closer together.
It had been a long while since anyone had rendered her speechless that way.
"Will you accompany me to my lecture, Miss Mary?"
Mary almost chided her like she would have Bert, 'Miss Mary?' but Miss Featherington's agreeable nature made it difficult to be so severe.
"I do hope you'll stay for the lecture," Miss Featherington said sincerely, her kid-gloved hands holding on tightly to Mary's, her thumbs just barely moving back and forth over her knuckles. A wave of heat traveled over Mary's body, despite the chilly London autumn air. Mary had half a mind to leave as soon as Miss Featherington let go of her hand.
She giggled over her shoulder before informally greeting her patrons, each with a genuine warmth of having known them for years. Soon a huge crowd drew up to hear the lecture, separating her from Miss Featherington, and Mary pressed forward out of curiosity.
She rubbed her knuckles as Miss Featherington spoke, and took in all of the interesting things she said. Miss Featherington gracefully answered each question, no matter how idiotic, generously imparting her wide breadth of specialized knowledge in the area of all things ornithological. Mary was quite impressed with her new acquaintance, and she found she couldn't turn away, as she had planned to do after the first few minutes.
She made haste to leave the park before Miss Featherington could follow her, but her song caught Mary's attention. It would have been more catching for her to sing in harmony with the lark, but it was the robin redbreast she tweeted with, one she herself often sang duets with. Mary negotiated her way against the crowd again so she could hear better.
"Miss Poppins!" she said, her eyes brightening as the crowd dissipated. "Won't you take a turn about the park with me?" She dipped her hand then threw it into the air so the robin would know to fly away. "You can tell me what you thought of my lecture."
"What an impertinent suggestion!" she claimed, but found herself supporting Miss Featherington's hand on her elbow one more time.
She fanned herself with her hand, in a not too proper way given the season, but she hadn't anticipated needing her fan.
Miss Featherington whipped out hers, and cooled them both off. "This way," she said and they passed through some garden gates where all of the people disappeared.
Mary didn't intend to bring them to her own private garden, yet she did.
"Where are we, Miss Poppins? This doesn't look like London Park."
"What on earth are you talking about, Miss Featherington? Of course this is London Park!"
Miss Featherington smiled mischievously and held tight to Mary's hand. "Come on! There's a maze over there! I want to see if we can solve the puzzle together."
"Two brilliant minds like ours?" she asked. "Not able to solve a simple puzzle? Really, Miss Featherington, you are too much sometimes."
Miss Featherington swung their hands, and Mary stomped her foot, before giving in. "Oh, very well, then!"
She floated over the field and towed Miss Featherington behind her. Mary stood tall though only practically perfect with her feet splayed pigeon toe, while Miss Featherington held tight to her hat and her feet flailed in the air. Her joyful smile infected Mary's very being and they drifted higher in the air.
Distracted by looking back at Miss Featherington's smile, she nearly crashed into the ivy laden side of the maze's entrance. Miss Featherington laughed as Mary combed her hair for loose twigs that had managed to alter her otherwise perfect coif.
She was still picking out twigs as they walked through, frustrated that she couldn't get them all.
"Allow me?" Miss Featherington asked, and took off her gloves, biting the tip of a finger to loosen it. Mary was appalled at her bad manners, but she was so intrigued she didn't even mention it.
Mary finally relented her approval and allowed herself to burn as Miss Featherington gently pulled at her hair and scratched at her scalp in her search for loose leaves. She eventually unpinned the bottom portion of her hair and poked out a few more things and threw them to the side.
Mary was quite sure she had gotten everything, but Miss Featherington kept combing anyway. There was no one else there in Mary's private world unless she granted them entrance, which she hadn't, so Mary closed her eyes and let herself be free in Miss Featherington's presence.
"Miss Featherington," she said patiently, as though to let her know how much she enjoyed having her hair brushed but enough was enough.
"You have beautiful hair, Miss Mary ," she said, to Mary's astonishment.
Then she combed another strand and twisted it around a finger. "I've never seen finer, in fact."
Mary couldn't argue with that. Then Miss Featherington removed Mary's gloves, one finger at a time. "We're out in the garden. Don't you want to feel the greenery between your fingers?"
She twirled around a couple of times, then threw Mary's gloves unceremoniously to the ground before running her fingers along the maze wall.
Then she held onto Mary's naked hand, and clasped their fingers together. "Come on! Let's get to it then!"
Mary couldn't argue with that, and ran ahead with Miss Featherington, enchanted by her exuberance.
"In here!" Miss Featherington said and led them down a narrowing path, forcing them closer together, first their shoulders touched, then Miss Featherington wrapped her arm around Mary's waist, and pushed her ahead, clinging so close behind they would have touched if not for Mary's bustle. Her laughter rang in Mary's ear like the robin's song each time she tripped on the hem of her skirt. Despite that, her bare hands remained splayed across the entire front side of Mary's bodice quite inappropriately.
Mary almost said something about it, but she found she quite liked having them there so she allowed it.
Once they crossed a threshold, the maze widened again, and Mary fell forward from squeezing through the most narrow point.
A blanket whose corners were held by four field mice broke her fall, but Miss Featherington fell on top of her anyway, giggling the whole time.
They were both far too old to be giggling like schoolgirls, but Mary found herself joining in. She rolled over so the two were lying on the ground facing one another.
Miss Featherington stroked her cheek, and asked if she was alright. Mary didn't have the words when all she could see was how black and dove-like Miss Featherington's eyes were.
Mary reached to Miss Featherington's once perfect coif and released a grayish curl that was threatening to fall loose. She extended the strand and slyly whiffed the air to inhale her intoxicating jasmine. It was the kind of scent that Mary knew would be different for everyone who smelled it.
She suddenly realized how magical Miss Featherington was, when a giant white cockatoo landed on the ground at their heads.
"Everything alright Miss Featherington? Miss Poppins?"
Mary opened her mouth to let the bird know his services weren't required, when once again Miss Featherington beat her to it.
"Thank you, Mr. Cockatoo, but we're just fine."
"Yes, thank you for your concern," Mary said, and the bird left them in peace.
"Oh, dear," Miss Featherington said. "But your bustle has collapsed!"
Mary got upset, until Miss Featherington had another fit of laughter.
"Really, Miss Featherington–"
"Florence," she insisted again as she swept a soft finger just below Mary's jaw.
"Well, you're as bad as Bert's Uncle Albert!" Mary said affectionately.
Then Mary dusted off her hands and made a comment under her breath about why they should have been wearing gloves.
She helped Miss Featherington– Florence –to her feet, and Florence reached her fingers up to sweep against Mary's wrist.
"Well, now your dress is soiled, Miss–Florence."
"That's better, isn't it, Mary?"
Mary didn't know what to say. It felt odd calling her by such a familiar name. It felt natural, though, and she loved the musical way it rolled off her tongue.
"Yes," she said with a smile. "I suppose it is. Well, there's nothing for it," she said and untied her skirt, dropping it dramatically to the ground.
Florence clapped her hands together and untied her own skirt. Mary then shed the next layer, followed by the hated bustle. She was down to her jacket, chemise, underskirt, and drawers beneath it. The cool air sweeping between her legs did nothing to lessen the burden of heat that plagued her as she watched Florence shed her next layer.
"Well," Mary said, "no sense in keeping our jackets on, now, is there?"
Mary unbuttoned her top button, but struggled with the second, which didn't make sense. Mary never had trouble doing anything.
"Let me?" Miss- Florence asked.
"Oh, very well," Mary said, and stamped her foot.
She lifted her chin and turned to Florence, who took her time with each button. Her fingertips touched enough that it was far from appropriate, but Mary smiled, becoming used to, even appreciating, Florence's impropriety.
Florence helped Mary slide her jacket off her shoulders, then she held Mary's flattened hands against her breasts, and asked, "Will you help me with mine?"
"Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious," she hummed as she worked her fingers down Florence's jacket.
Then she slid her hands beneath the jacket, brushing against her breasts as she removed it.
"That's better," Florence said. "It was getting so warm."
Mary nodded in agreement, and adjusted the fallen sleeve of Florence's camisole, brushing her fingers along her soft shoulder.
Florence caught her hand as she moved it away and kissed her wrist, rendering Mary speechless again. Though she didn't want Florence's lips to leave her skin, she pulled her arm back anyway.
"It's so nice out here," Florence said, brushing off Mary's rejection. "And we're all alone here in the maze…" She circled her hands around Mary's waist, and gently spun her around. Then she brushed Mary's hair over one shoulder, and swiped a finger along the skin framed by her hair.
"Practically perfect," she whispered, the bird-like timbre tickling Mary's inner ear.
"Practically!?" Mary said, putting her face mere inches from Florence's.
Florence touched Mary's chin and moved it to the side, and said, "Relax," before kissing the back of her neck.
Mary smiled and closed her eyes, giving in to Florence as she pressed the tops of her thighs into Mary's nervously taut bottom. She hugged Mary from behind, then to Mary's disappointment, she backed away to slowly unlace the back of her corset.
Each loosened eyelet brought relief to Mary's constrained stomach, one step closer to the total freedom she'd never allowed herself to have. She didn't have a need for it, and she didn't have time for it. Raising Bert, and all of the other children, was a full-time job, even when she wasn't on the clock. They needed a firm hand, and she couldn't give them what they needed unless she held firm to those same standards.
Mary held her breath and nervously clutched her stomach. Her heart fluttered out of her rib cage the closer Florence got to the top.
When she finally did, Florence teasingly said, "Arms up!" and feathered her hands down Mary's bare arms to the wrists and held them up. She pulled at the highest loop, then held her hands beneath her armpits, covering the sides of Mary's breasts. Mary was overtaken by both cold and warmth, as though she were sitting in front of the fire and drying her damp stockings after getting caught in the rain. She needed more heat, but the cold was what made the heat feel so good.
Finally, Florence moved on to the lower portion of the corset, repeating the tightening hands at Mary's hips as she lifted the corset from below to free her from the lowest set of tighteners. Her hands reached beyond the crease where her legs meet the hip bones, and she tingled so strongly she wished Florence would keep going.
Florence lifted her arms again and reached them behind her neck. She brushed her own hands over Mary's hardened nubs, both torturing her and pleasuring her at once before dropping Mary's steel cage to the ground.
Hands firm around her waist spun her around so she was centimeters from her gorgeous and lush lips. Mary hadn't noticed how supple they were before, and she licked her own without realizing it.
Mary ran her own hands down the front of Florence's corset, and she let out a musical gasp when Mary passed over the hardened peaks of the supple flesh spilling over her corset. Florence then spun around and moved Mary's hands all the way around her waist so Mary had no choice but to hold herself flush against her.
"Now me," said Florence as she let go of Mary's hands.
Mary set to work in a methodical fashion, committed to unbinding Florence as quickly as possible.
Florence reached behind to catch Mary's hips and slowed her down.
"Not so fast," she giggled. "Let me feel every centimeter of freedom so it means more."
"Very well, then," Mary sighed into Florence's neck so her breath caused Florence's hair to flutter in the wind.
She didn't see the point since it was antithetical, but Florence presented her case clearly enough, so she humored her. Her fingers moved methodically, but she slowed down considerably, until finally, the last few laces loosened enough to slide down Florence's slender waist and hips. She was about as tall as Mary, but much thinner, as though her bones were as hollow as those of the birds she loved.
She spun around with a smile and pressed her lips firmly, but tenderly against Mary's. Her eyebrows raised in surprise, and Florence backed away with a giggle.
She held fast to Mary's hand and tugged so they could continue through the maze. For such an educated and respectable woman well into her spinster years, she surely behaved like a silly girl more than half her age at times. Though Mary supposed it was part of her charm, and allowed herself to be swept away.
Once they got to a shaded area, Florence pressed her by the wrists lightly into less groomed ivy of the unkempt cooler section of the maze.
This time it was Mary who leaned forward to meet, not capture, Florence's lips, to feel two firm pillows against her upper lip. She opened her mouth with a gasp as Florence opened hers, and they locked again in a more intertwined position.
Florence let go of Mary's wrists, which flew to Florence's neck and jaw as their lips parted wider and wider, each time exploring deeper into each other's mouths.
Florence rested one hand teasingly to the side of Mary's breast, and the other, equally taunting, to the base of her spine, a pinky and ring finger grazing the wedge between her cheeks.
Mary felt her face flush as it had never flushed before when Florence slid her hand over one of her breasts and squeezed in rhythm with their kiss, while her middle finger properly explored the chasm between her cheeks to stroke her tail bone from underneath.
"Do you trust me, Mary?" Florence whispered as they broke apart to catch their breaths.
"Yes," Mary sighed, the birds floating above her head teasing her lack of propriety.
Florence spun her around and kissed the back of her shoulder, her upper back, her neck, and lightly nipped at her ear. Mary squeaked, and Florence covered both of her breasts with her soft but strong hands, drawing them to a point and wiggling when she got to the pinnacle of Mary's pleasure there. She found herself needing something more, though, and just then, Florence's hands wandered down her front side. One hand clutched her nethers and Mary moaned, while the other hand reached for the bottom of her chemise and lifted it with her hand creeping beneath.
"Then let me set you free," she said as she switched hands, sliding one between the open seam at the center of her drawers.
Mary leaned her head back over Florence's shoulders, and more birds circled above. Mary smiled contentedly and lost herself to Florence's delightful touches as she experienced everything Florence promised her and then some.
Mary brought Bert to the London Zoological Gardens the next day, and, while he pretended he was a monkey again, Mary visited with her friend.
They shared a subtle, yet knowing smile, despite their formal greetings.
"Good day, Miss Featherington."
"Good day, Miss Poppins."
The sky cracked and the birds panicked, flocking nervously in their spacious confinement.
Florence held onto her hat as she looked up. "There's a storm brewing," she observed. "The birds always know before we do."
Mary frowned slightly, and instructed, "Chin up, Miss Featherington. A rain brings new possibilities, new opportunities. Though some doors must close, others must open. It is the only way we may truly be free."
Florence smiled weakly, understanding Mary's meaning. A couple of tears formed in her dark eyes, but Mary cautioned her that it would be unbecoming to shed them in public. So Florence forced the corners of her mouth up to the rosy cheeks that reminded Mary of her youthful, rebellious spirit. She suppressed a small giggle and nodded her head.
"I'm afraid we must be off now, Miss Featherington, lest we get caught in the rain."
"Goodbye, Miss Poppins," Florence said through a wrinkled mouth. "I wish you well on your journey."
"Come along now, Bert. There's going to be a storm, and I don't want you to catch cold." Mary offered her one more weak smile over her shoulder, which widened at Florence's deepened grin and tightened cheeks.
"But Mary Poppins!"
"No 'buts,' Bert. Now, spit spot!"
Bert held onto her hand, and Mary looked at him wistfully, too. She would miss him almost as much as Florence.
"Why are your cheeks so red?" he asked.
"What an impertinent and preposterous thing to say! My cheeks are never any shade darker than rosy!"
Bert took one more look, and scratched his head in confusion, agreeing that he must have been wrong.
Mary smiled, knowing Bert would remember every second of their time together. Her other charges had forgotten her magical gifts, just as her future charges would. But Bert's imagination was so grand that he never would.
Just as Mary would never forget Florence's magic.
Mary carefully removes a snow globe at the bottom of her carpet bag. She hadn't looked at it in quite some time, but she senses that Mr. Banks could do with a little bit of Florence's magic when he takes Jane and Michael on their outing to the bank.
The children are so excited to be spending time with him that they jump on their beds in a wildly indecorous manner, not at all how Mary had instructed them.
They finally settle as she tells the story of the Bird Woman at the steps of St. Paul's Cathedral. The children, enthralled with her song, fall sleepy and cozy into their beds.
"But Mary Poppins, how did she get to be the Bird Woman?" Michael asks precociously.
"Well," Mary says, "that is a long story. But in short, she freed the birds that now flock to her out of love. You see, it was love that freed them, and it's love that keeps them with her always. And sometimes that means they are always near her, but the parrots and the cockatoos you don't see flying around London, live on in her heart. Not as in a cage, mind you, but as a memory from the moment she let them go."
She turns over the snow globe, entranced by the floating birds for a moment, and runs her finger over the inscription: Stay free, Mary. With an engraved feather beneath the words. Mary closes her eyes to remember Florence's musical sighs, then continues her song, as though she were singing for Florence.
And that night, her hand reached beneath her blanket, and she opened her heart again, as she had every night since the maze, to the freedom Florence granted her so long ago.
