11
a discourse on devilry—a devotional image— baroque versus romanticism—caught in the act— dangerous trousers—a confusion of agency
The road to hell is paved with piratic entertainments. They began before breakfast in the form of an impromptu game of tag initiated when Bloodhound Bess was caught stealing a pearl necklace from Mrs. Ogden’s dressing table. Then came Capture the Flag with a pair of Mrs. Ogden’s knickers. By the time the butler warily announced breakfast served, the company was bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and ready to board a fast train to the Abode of the Damned.
“Let’s do a spot of hunting after this,” Millie the Monster suggested as she dipped toast into a soft-boiled egg.
“Jolly grand idea!” Frederick exclaimed. “Just the thing to stir the blood!”
“I’m glad you agree,” Millie said. “Your footmen look like sprightly chaps—my blood is stirring already. How much of a head start shall we give them?”
Across the room from her, two footmen shuffled nervously.
“Ah,” Frederick said with a startled laugh. “I supposed you meant out in the fields, shooting grouse and whatnot.”
“How barbaric, killing defenseless animals in such a manner!” Mrs. Ogden exclaimed through a mouthful of bacon. “It behooves us as ladies and leaders of society to be more civilized. I for one will not be hunting any small, fluffy creature. It’s dignified indoor pursuits for me, thank you.” She scrutinized the footmen with a widow degree of interest. “I say five minutes should be enough. I’ll take the one on the left.”
Alice tried not to tap her fingers against the tabletop with frustration. She did not want to be caught up in mindless games all day. There was a weapon to be found, the Queen to be saved, and the rest of her current reading to be finished in peace and quiet back in London. Leaning closer to Daniel, who sat beside her, she murmured, “I fear I have not much appetite. Would you like my crumpet?”
She watched his eyes darken as he stared back at her, and understood that he had recognized the code for Let us escape the company as soon as possible and scour the damned castle in hopes of finding the weapon, for the sake of Her Majesty’s life, not to mention my sanity.
“It is shaped rather like a cat, don’t you think?” she added—i.e., I have an enchanted petticoat on today in case we need to be like cat burglars and climb in through windows again.
Daniel blinked rapidly at this—but before Alice could decipher what he meant, Jane tapped a spoon against her teacup.
“How clever is Mrs. Blakeney?” she said. The company paused in their eating to stare nonplussed, first at her, then at Alice. “I will be busy this morning in conference with the housekeeper—which reminds me, Frederick, where did you put my thumbscrews?—but why don’t you all take inspiration from Mrs. Blakeney’s creative vision and tour the castle’s artworks?”
The excellence of this idea was generally agreed upon, and Alice congratulated for it. Her nerves twitched at the attention—but since the sober contemplation of art was second only to reading in her esteem, by the time she left the table she was prepared to be happy indeed.
Had she instead prepared to be exhausted, confused, and nearly stabbed to death, that might have been more helpful.
The company tramped through corridors and galleries, not so much contemplating the art as calculating its value, measuring it for theft, and, in the case of smaller pieces, stashing it inside hidden pockets. (They weren’t particularly sober either, since Millie the Monster had secretly spiked the breakfast tea with rum.) Several gaps in the collection caused irritation, as pirates do not like having missed out on anything. Daniel and Alice hovered awkwardly at the edges of the group, receiving suspicious looks for their law-abiding behavior.
“Perhaps we should try to steal something,” Alice whispered.
“Or perhaps we should sneak off,” Daniel whispered back. “We could search Frederick’s office while everyone is busy.”
“Very well,” Alice agreed. “Let’s go now, bef—”
“And that is why I consider Rembrandt a fraud!”
Their heads whipped around.
Mrs. Rotunder was sneering at a group of oil paintings. “Complete fraud,” she averred.
“Surely you jest,” Miss Darlington said sternly.
“Why should you think so?” Mrs. Rotunder answered. “Just look at this portrait of Danaë. Leaving aside the matter of her outrageous nudity (which, you may be sure, I do not approve of), where is the golden shower come to have nooky with her?”
Miss Darlington gasped. “I cannot believe you said such a rude word, Gertrude! A lady never mentions”—she whispered loudly—“nudity. I must protest. En garde!”
Mrs. Rotunder scoffed at the rapier Miss Darlington had drawn from inside her walking stick. “Really, dear? Before ten in the morning? How déclassé.”
Now the entire company gasped. Metal rang out as swords and daggers were presented. Forget contemplation: the art was now catapulted across the room to emphasize various point of debate.
“Such offensive language is unacceptable in our polite company! I’m going to teach you a bloody lesson!” Thud! Miss Darlington smashed a painting over Mrs. Rotunder’s head, denting the hat thereon.
“The ‘impasto technique’ just means the artist ate a lot of spaghetti while he painted, do you know nothing?!” Clang! Hadiza the Horrible sent a miniature landscape bouncing off the edge of Mrs. Etterly’s sword.
“Look you, the woman is wearing a wedding ring, therefore cannot be Danaë!” Smack! Bloodhound Bess applied Danaë’s portrait emphatically to the face of Essie Smith.
“Your dress is ugly! Oh yes, and I also disagree with whatever you said about the painting!” Crash! Ping! Ping! Ping! Millie the Monster smashed a vase against a wall, causing shards to ricochet about the chamber.
Daniel watched in a state of silent disapproval. But Alice found herself tapping her fingers and clicking her tongue. “Really,” she declared at last, to no one in particular, “it is obvious the illumination of Danaë’s figure alludes to the golden shower.”
Bloodhound Bess took exception to this (on general principle, since she did not know what illumination meant, although she suspected it was another rude word), and moments later Alice found herself stumbling back so as to avoid the lady’s sword. She collided with Mrs. Ogden, who was disputing the pronunciation of Baroque with Lysander Smith by means of shouting “Barro-kew! Barro-kew!” and bashing him around the head with her purse.
“Hey, watch it!” the elderly pirate complained as Alice knocked against her.
“I beg your pardon,” Alice said. But Mrs. Ogden swung about, aiming her purse toward Alice’s head even as Bloodhound Bess moved closer—
And suddenly Daniel was there, standing between Alice and the two pirate women, his arms crossed and his disapproval more daunting than a drawn weapon.
“Ladies,” he said. “I’m sure you do not mean to threaten my wife.”
At that moment, a freak lightning storm occurred inside Alice Dearlove’s circulatory system.
“My goodness,” Bess remarked dryly as she lowered her sword. “What a romantic gesture!”
“I can look after myself,” Alice said—since, according to the mission dossier, a statement of feminine independence was required at such moments, not dreamy music and a dozen roses displayed by candlelight in her brain.
Bess gave a short, crisp laugh. “Come now, every pirate adores romantic gestures. A man risking life and limb for you? So thrilling! And let us be clear—” She pinned Daniel with a hard look. “Life and limb are at risk here.”
Daniel looked back unflinchingly.
“Frankly, I didn’t think he had it in him,” Mrs. Ogden commented.
“Oh, I suspect there is a great deal of interest under Mr. Blakeney’s cover,” Bess replied. “Come, my dear, let us go attack each other over in that corner, and leave Mrs. Blakeney to handle her—” She broke off, clearing her throat.
“Husband,” Mrs. Ogden supplied.
“Hm,” Bess agreed, and with a smirk she drew the other lady away.
Alice and Daniel stood for a moment in awkward silence, not meeting each other’s eyes. Finally, Daniel shifted, straightening his already perfectly aligned spectacles.
“Yes. Right. Where were we?”
“Going to search Frederick’s office,” Alice said. “But if we leave now, they’ll assume we’re being—you know.”
“Antisocial?”
“Romantic,” she whispered fiercely.
He gave her a smile so wicked it was as if he’d put on a feathered hat and fascinating boots. Remembering that he’d been butler to a notoriously rakish pirate, Alice wondered just how many vices he had picked up along the way . . . and whether he might be persuaded to show some of them to her.
“Good,” he said, and tucked her arm around his.
Alice strove to remain tranquil. Over the years, she’d wrestled with men during training, been helped by men into carriages and trains, and even been groped by men who thought she was a naive, powerless servant (and who afterward had much time to dwell upon the error of their ways from a hospital bed). But Daniel Bixby’s physical presence always made her feel like a book whose pages were being riffled.
Now, with my wife echoing in her brain as they walked together from the gallery, Alice had to admit herself feeling indeed riffled—by a tornado.
The moment they left the pirates’ sight, Daniel released her. They did not speak as they strode through the castle corridors, and by the time they arrived at Frederick’s office, Alice was sensibly tranquil once more.
“The door is locked,” Daniel reported, tugging on its handle.
“I’m wearing my lockpick as a hairpin today,” Alice said, and patted her coiffure in search of it.
“Allow me.”
Before she understood what he was about, Daniel set a hand against her cheek and used his other hand to slowly withdraw a long copper pin from her hair.
Sticks! Fiddle! The tornado swooped back in again, riffling her so vigorously her brain fell down and had to struggle to get back up again. Her heart tried to outrace the storm. But her eyes were riveted on the sight of Daniel’s temperate face, his lashes casting delicate shadows as he watched himself release the pin. A lock of hair tumbled loose against her throat, and she shivered at its light, stroking touch.
Pressing the sharp point of the lockpick to his fingertip, Daniel smiled. “I should have no problem sliding it in,” he said.
And Alice’s brain, having restored itself, collapsed again.
“Uhngh,” she said.
Daniel gave her a slightly perplexed look, then turned to insert the pin into the door. Alice hastily tidied her consciousness yet again. She did not tap even one finger. She was after all a master spy! Her entire focus remained on the mission’s sex.
No, wait—the mission’s success.
Suddenly, footsteps sounded.
“Quick,” Daniel whispered, turning to Alice and angling himself so the door’s lock was hidden. “Act married!”
Someone appeared around the nearby corridor . . . Daniel reached for her . . .
“And furthermore,” Alice said in a strident voice, slapping his hand away and shoving her fists against her hips. “When you take off your shirt at the end of the day, you should leave it in the hamper, not on the floor!”
Stunned, Daniel opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again wordless. There would have been no time for him to respond in any case, for the person was upon them.
“I say! Fancy seeing you here, what!”
“Snodgrass.” Daniel directed a chilling stare at the scientist, who grinned back cheerfully. Behind him came a footman carrying a ladder. “What are you up to, Doctor?”
“Up to?” The scientist’s limbs jerked slightly, as if they’d taken the question as a command to jump.
“Why do you have a ladder?” Alice specified.
“Oh! It belongs to this fellow. We simply happen to be going in the same direction and fell into chatting, ha ha. I say, what are you up to?” He peered at the door behind them. “Trying to open that? Ah! I can help! I have a specially designed key here somewhere.” He patted his various pockets; something buzzed, and smoke puffed from the hem of one trouser leg.
“We don’t need it,” Daniel said hastily.
“No, no, I’m sure I have it, my own particular invention, what, and it’s the perfect gadget for a—”
Daniel closed his eyes. Alice flapped a hand at the scientist, mouthing Go! Quickly!, and the man finally had enough sense to do as he was told. By the time Daniel opened his eyes again, Snodgrass was almost to the end of the corridor, out of the range of assassination.
The footman lingered, however. Biting his lip nervously, he glanced along each direction of the corridor, then leaned forward.
“I heard you brought down a pack of thieves in St. James using only two fingers and a hat,” he said. “Don’t suppose you could teach me how?”
He was allowed to leave in full possession of his life and limbs because killing a man who held a ladder would inevitably be noisy.
Watching the footman run after Snodgrass, Alice exhaled. “That was a close call. I feared if Dr. Snodgrass patted one more pocket he might explode.”
“Hm,” Daniel said, packing into one syllable a fervent monologue on how much he wished such a thing would happen. He unlocked the door to Frederick’s office and peered inside.
“Clear.”
They entered and, closing the door behind them, began searching the room. But no weapon lay hidden behind its several mirrors, nor amongst the colognes and hair-care products cluttering its desk, nor inside the mannequin dressed in a white shirt and pink silk waistcoat.
“Ned Lightbourne has a waistcoat just like this,” Daniel remarked, inspecting the garment’s pockets in case a catastrophically dangerous assassination device was hidden inside their two inches of space.
Alice set down a locket containing Jane’s portrait and, turning, noticed several marks on the floor. “What are these?” she asked, bemused.
Daniel regarded them thoughtfully for a moment, then began to follow them with his feet.
“It’s the tango,” he said, moving with the easy, fluid grace of a man whose body was a finely honed weapon. “Frederick must be trying to learn.”
“He doesn’t seem the type who would dance well,” Alice mused.
Daniel turned on his heel and followed the marks back again. “What type would that be?”
“Self-confident,” she said. “Good spatial awareness. Firm hips.”
A sharp little silence followed this statement. Alice realized she was staring at Daniel’s hips. “Um,” she said, lifting her gaze—and immediately became caught in his.
He was staring right back at her, transfixed. Alice did not even try to look away. She was going to set up camp in this hot, silent moment; she was going to build a house and grow old here. The world beyond turned as dark and vague as smoke. The mission vanished altogether. Daniel took a step closer, and something rattled—her heart maybe, or the office door’s handle.
She blinked just as Daniel did, yanked violently back into clarity. The office door’s handle rattled louder and began to turn.
There was no time to hide. All they could do was dash to the end of the room and press back against the wall, where they were concealed by the door as it slowly opened.
“I know you’re in here,” came a cold, hushed voice. “I have a gun intended for you.”
A brown-haired woman dressed all in black entered cautiously. Daniel moved toward her with silent swiftness, grasping her by the neck. She had no opportunity to react: within seconds, consciousness abandoned her, and she collapsed to the floor.
“Dead?” Alice asked as she closed the door again.
“I hope I am not so clumsy as that,” Daniel answered dryly. Crouching before the woman, he checked her pulse. “Alive.”
“Do you recognize her?”
“No. The housemaid’s uniform would indicate she’s a servant, but these manicured fingernails suggest otherwise. Whatever the case, better safe than sorry.” Taking string from his trouser pocket, he began tying the woman’s wrists.
“You are using the wrong knot,” Alice advised. “She’ll be able to slip out of that easily.”
“It’s a sledge knot. Entirely suitable.”
“You should use a constrictor knot.”
“Uh huh.” He continued applying a sledge knot to the woman’s wrists.
“I would rather take advice than risk a suspect escaping,” Alice noted.
Daniel paused, his forearms resting on his thighs, and looked up at her with an unblinking sternness that would no doubt have daunted someone not raised by spymasters. “Are you questioning my professionalism?”
“Of course not.”
He nodded.
“I am impugning it outright.”
A muscle in Daniel’s jaw leaped. Alice did not smirk, for that would be undisciplined, but her mouth did slant a little at one edge as she bent to pick up the woman’s pistol.
Bzzz. Bzzz.
She almost dropped it again as it vibrated in her hand.
“Oh dear,” Daniel murmured.
Bzzz. Bzzz.
Alice pressed the facing of the pistol’s handle, then caught her breath as it slid up, revealing a metal interior etched with Latin. With a trepidatious glance at Daniel, she held it to her mouth.
“Hello?”
“Agent A?” came a tinny reply from within the pistol. Alice winced, recognizing Mrs. Kew’s voice. Daniel bit his lower lip and glanced guiltily at the woman lying bound and unconscious before him.
“Yes, this is A,” Alice replied.
“Kew here. Glad to . . . Agent M found you . . . disguised communication device. I have important information . . . you.”
“Go ahead,” Alice said, watching as Daniel untied the suspicious housemaid Agent M.
“We have discovered . . . will . . . absolutely ghastly! . . . you must . . . at once, before the whole . . . crashing down! . . . disaster!”
“It’s a bad connection,” Alice replied. “Say again.”
“Imperative that you . . . stop . . . or else . . .”
Sparks began flashing from the gun’s barrel. Alice instinctively tossed it from her, and even before it reached the floor, the whole thing erupted in flames. Alice grabbed a nearby blond wig and applied it to extinguishing the fire. She managed to do so quickly, but there was no hope of using the device again.
“Any idea what Mrs. Kew was saying?” Daniel asked.
“None. You?”
He shook his head. Then Agent M began to stir, moaning a little. Daniel immediately attended to her.
“You attacked me!” she gasped as he helped her to her feet.
“Er, yes,” he confessed. “Sorry about that.”
“You actually used a choke hold on me!”
“Well, something of the sort. Apologies.”
Her dark eyes widened. “Agent B rendered me unconscious using a specialist maneuver! I cannot believe my good fortune! Just wait until V-2 hears, she will be so jealous! Would you autograph my—my—” She looked about her person for something to be signed, and finally rolled up her sleeve, revealing a decidedly un-housemaid-like tattoo of a bird. “Just sign my arm,” she said. “The name’s Mia Thalassi, and if you wanted to fold—”
“Listen, Mia,” Alice interjected before Daniel could get calm again. “Do you know why Mrs. Kew was calling?”
“No, ma’am. Shall I ask Dr. Snodgrass for another device?”
“No!” the agents answered in immediate unison, causing Mia to take a cautious step back from them.
“No,” Daniel said more sedately. “We must get that information. But we can’t risk sending a telegram—the network is completely infiltrated with enemy spies.”
“You mean employees of the British government,” Mia said.
“Exactly. Someone will have to go to London and speak to Mrs. Kew in person.”
Mia thrust her hand into the air. “I volunteer as traveler!”
“Hm,” Daniel said, crossing his arms as he regarded her.
She stared right back. “If you’re trying to daunt me, just know that I currently share quarters with Agent V-2 and have to spend half the night listening to her read out scenes from the Moby Dick retelling she’s working on, written from the perspective of the whale. It starts with, ‘Call me Dick, Moby Dick. I am a sperm whale.’ As a result, not much unnerves me these days.”
“Fair enough,” Daniel said, easing his stance. “Very well, return to headquarters and bring us back the information. But be quick about it. Any moment now, the Wisteria Society might—”
“Find the weapon and use it for nefarious purposes,” Mia said, nodding somberly.
Daniel frowned. “I was more thinking they might—”
“Discover your identity and force you to walk the plank?”
“Make us play another parlor game,” Alice said, and both she and Daniel shuddered.
They sent Mia off, but any further searching they might have undertaken was forestalled by the ringing of the luncheon bell.
“It would help if we’d been told who exactly amongst the staff is on mission support,” Alice complained as they headed for the dining room.
“I trust no one,” Daniel said. “Except you, of course.”
Alice’s stomach did a small flip at this statement, and she immediately scowled in self-annoyance. Her stomach was not the flipping kind. It was the disinterested, unemotional kind, entirely professional. Her mind was well regulated. And her eyes did not keep glancing at a gentleman’s buttocks like some shameless hussy, thank you very much. She needed to pull herself together, or else by the time this mission ended she’d practically be a pirate.
“At least the ladies will be exhausted after this morning,” she said. “They’ll want to spend the afternoon resting on your bottom—er, on their—er, sitting down—which means we can continue our search.”
Bang!
A porcelain vase flew out of the dining room and shattered against the opposite wall. Hollers and cheers followed it.
“You were saying?” Daniel asked.
“Oh God.” Alice pressed a hand against her stomach, which had advanced from flipping to twisting. “It’s going to be fun, isn’t it?”
“I’m afraid so.” Daniel tucked her arm in his, and they entered the fray.