17 AN INTERVENTION—MISS PLIM ARRIVES—CHARLOTTE IS BRAVE—AN AFTERNOON SNACK—A PEDESTRIAN CONVERSATION—THEY COMMIT TO A FITNESS REGIME Generally speaking, Charlotte disliked the frank, the open-hearted, the eager character beyond all others. She preferred those who kept their thoughts to themselves, so saving her the inconvenience of listening to them. However, in the circumstance of someone wielding a sword, a little candor could be a good thing. Ned Lightbourne offered no explanation as he raised his weapon, and Charlotte was able to remain calm only because she had been so well educated that not even imminent mortal peril could make her cry out. Unexpectedly, the sword left Ned’s hand and flew over their heads, arcing gently as dancers screamed and cowered. Watching it, Charlotte caught sight of Alex’s face, of the perfect tranquility there, and realized he had not worried for even a moment about what Ned might do. It astonished Charlotte and, were she not standing beneath a sharp, flying blade, and—worse!—with her furious aunt bearing rapidly toward her, she might have felt a moment’s fierce longing for that degree of friendship and trust. The sword came down precisely as it was aimed: into the upraised, lace-gloved hand of Cecilia Bassingthwaite. Typical, Charlotte thought dourly. (One of course did not wish Cecilia any harm . . . but if she’d failed to catch the sword, or dropped it on her foot perhaps, scratching her gorgeous shoes, then one would be more inclined to believe in the benevolence of the universe.) Cecilia spun the sword dispassionately, turned on her heel, and applied the pommel with a professional degree of force against Miss Plim’s head. Charlotte gasped in horror—and the merest breath of delight. Miss Plim went down in a heap of black crinoline. Her topknot thwacked as it hit the floor. “That should give you ten minutes or so,” Ned said. He jumped from the chair and slapped Alex’s shoulder in a friendly manner. “Thanks,” Alex muttered. “I shouldn’t have done it, since it only encourages your bad behavior.” Ned frowned first at Alex and then Charlotte, who would have stared back imperiously if she wasn’t aware of Cecilia coming up behind her, cool and elegant, not a hair out of place. As a result, she only managed to look queenly, which is not as noble as it sounds. Ned reached between her and Alex to take his sword back from Cecilia, and the smile he gave his wife was so unconsciously tender, so melting with love and regard, that Charlotte’s look degraded to common envy, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Alex grimace. “You really need to separate,” Ned continued as he sheathed his sword. “Alex, go quiet for a while. Smuggle some sugar, rob a few minor lending institutes. Miss Pettifer, go home. I know it’s enjoyable stirring up trouble, but you’ll find a more lasting contentment in your own spheres.” “What nonsense!” All three turned to stare at Cecilia. She stared back unperturbed. “Don’t listen to him. He just doesn’t like the idea of wearing a white waistcoat to your wedding—he thinks doing so at ours was enough for a lifetime. The man is a fool.” “But a debonair fool,” Ned argued. “Wedding?” Alex said weakly. “Besides,” Ned added. “I would wear a pink dress to their wedding if they asked me. That is entirely beside the point.” “Excuse me, what wedding?” Charlotte said. “The point is,” Cecilia contended, “they have an amulet to retrieve.” Ned raised an eyebrow. “We have an amulet to retrieve.” Alex glanced at Charlotte. “Wedding?” he whispered. She shook her head with bemusement. The crowd, now silent in fascination at the scene unfolding before them, smirked and nudged each other. “Yes, dear,” Cecilia continued. “This is why we must keep an eye on them, which we can do more easily if they are running around together, attracting policemen, outraged pirates, and wit— Er, women who are in no way involved in witchcraft. Better this than them working independently in secret.” “Well, they won’t be running anywhere if they don’t start before the aunt recovers.” At this reminder, Charlotte jolted to attention. “Thank you for your assistance, Captain Lightbourne, Miss Bassingthwaite,” she said, “but we must be leaving. Were Captain O’Riley and I not committed enemies, with absolutely no plans for a wedding, we would invite you to afternoon tea in our—er, that is, Captain O’Riley’s house. But I’m afraid we must dash.” “Of course,” Cecilia said. “I am the last person who would inflict a woman’s aunt upon her. It was lovely to meet you again, Miss Pettifer. I hope you will come to me when you are planning your baby shower. My housemaid has developed a mania for knitting booties, and we now have more than we will hopefully ever use.” “Baby shower?!” Alex echoed in a strangled voice. A few voices in the crowd chuckled. Alex’s glare repressed them back into prudent silence. “Thank you, Miss Bassingthwaite,” Charlotte said stiffly. “I would one day enjoy a discussion on footwear.” She ignored the small noise Alex made, for she felt like she was crossing a chasm on an uncertain rope bridge, and needed no distractions lest she plummet into mortal embarrassment. “I am keen to know where you bought those charming shoes you are wearing.” Cecilia smiled warmly, and the rope bridge became a little steadier. “I would be happy to tell you. Perhaps we might defy the feud and take luncheon together one day soon. We could admire Black Beryl’s amulet displayed above my hearth.” Charlotte’s own smile in reply was tepid, but only because it had originated from a lifetime of being out in the cold. “I would be pleased to bring Beryl Black’s amulet on my visit, and set it temporarily above your hearth so we may admire it together.” They looked at each other with a steady silence that, for any two other women, would have been a chuckle. Charlotte realized she’d crossed the bridge, and had a moment’s pride in herself before panicking and running back along it to safe ground again. “Come along, Captain O’Riley. We must be leaving. Although we are not together”—she gave Ned a fierce look, and he raised his hands to surrender the point—“we had better return to the house before Aunt Judith rouses.” She gave Cecilia a sharp little nod then strode away, Alex following in somewhat of a daze, his hand still in hers. “How did we get from a wedding to a baby shower in one conversation?” he could be heard asking as they made their way through the crowd to a door someone hastily opened for them. Ned smiled sidelong at his wife. “You shouldn’t really have teased them like that,” she chided. “I wasn’t teasing them,” he said in a noble tone. “I was testing them.” “Ned Lightbourne, fairy godfather?” “Well, I am rather dressed for it.” Cecilia laughed. And as Miss Plim raised herself groaning from the floor, they nonchalantly walked past her and out the way Alex and Charlotte had come in, pocketing wallets and a particularly fetching emerald ring as they went.
Outside the hall, Charlotte and Alex disengaged their hands self-consciously. Charlotte put on her sunglasses; Alex shoved at his hair as he frowned up and down the street. “All right,” he said, “I give up. I don’t know where we are. In fact, I’m completely lost.” Charlotte swallowed back an instinctive “I told you so,” for she too possessed no idea of their location. This, however, did not prevent her from striding purposefully southward. “Follow me,” she announced in the tone of a woman who knew exactly where she was heading. With a shrug, Alex obeyed. They reached the end of the street, incantated over a fence, hurried through a garden, and then walked another street eating grapes they had obtained from a vine in that garden. Miss Plim would struggle now to find them, and Charlotte began to relax. Her posture stiffened. Her boot heels smacked more decidedly against the cobblestones. “Despite recent circumstances, I would like you to consider yourself still under abduction, Captain,” she said. “My elders are not entitled to enforce a prejudiced injunction on my plans; I remain independent of opinion and therefore of action.” Alex frowned as he worked this through. “Ah. They can’t tell you what to do,” he translated finally. “I agree. But sweetheart, sooner or later you’re going to have to face the truth that we’re choosing to stay together.” He shifted a grape between his teeth and grinned at her. “I could have tossed you out my door any time I wanted, and you could have walked away as soon as we reached Clacton. We are not exactly being sensible.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you want me to leave?” His expression leaped as if in alarm. “No. No, I’m not saying that. But you’re risking your reputation if you stay.” Charlotte lifted her chin so high with affronted dignity, she pulled a muscle in her neck. “I have a perfectly fearful reputation. There is no reason people shouldn’t believe that I kidnapped you.” He smiled wryly. “I meant your reputation as an unmarried woman.” “Oh. Well. I will not deny it would be politically sensible to relinquish your company. But you have not yet brought me all the way.” “Your reaction last night suggests otherwise.” She cast him a brief, disdainful look. “I shall ignore that. Only an uncouth person employs lewd innuendo. It shows a kink in the imagination, and I urge you to take a more somber, penetrating perspective, Captain. It’s not hard.” “It is now,” he muttered, but thankfully she did not hear him. “I meant all the way to Lady Armitage’s house, which will be the climax of our efforts. Once I have my amulet, you can withdraw.” Alex laughed. “Oh dear, I do love you,” he said— And silence clamped down between them. “Um,” he added, pushing a hand through his hair. “Metaphorically speaking, of course.” “Of course,” Charlotte agreed hastily. She realized she had stopped walking, possibly because her heart seemed to have stopped beating; she began to stride once more along the street. “Do not look so concerned on my behalf, Captain. It is a common enough statement. For example, I myself love that house there with the wooden shutters. I love tea. I love you, and your smile, and the way you sigh in your sleep. See, common. Unconcerning. We are still enemies.” “Mortal enemies,” he agreed, smiling rather self-consciously. “Enemies born to utterly despise each other. Mind you, this doesn’t mean we can’t take a little nocturnal exercise together now and again, in the interest of our health.” “I am also partial to exercise in the morning,” Alex said, “to start my day right.” Charlotte nodded. “It is important to keep fit. Especially in our line of work.” “Don’t let the Wisteria Society or Wicken League hear you say that. Our work is completely different, remember.” Somehow their hands had become entangled again. They swung them as they walked. “Everything about us is different,” Charlotte said. “To begin with, pirates are wrong and witches are right.” He laughed. “I disagree with you so heartily, I want to take you home and exercise your brains out this very moment. But if they found us, they’ve probably also found my house. I doubt it’s safe for us to return just now.” “Bother. How will we give chase if Lady Armitage suddenly leaves town?” Alex shrugged. “I can fly anything. But to be honest, I suspect Armitage is long gone.” “Excuse me,” came a mild voice behind them. They shifted aside automatically to make space on the footpath. “I fear you may be right,” Charlotte agreed. “Look, that street sign says we are on Anchor Road, and yet I see no red door ahead of us anywhere.” “Excuse me,” came the voice again. They shifted in the opposite direction. “Bixby will have to get down another load of information,” Alex said, “and reroute us to a likely new port.” “Excuse! Me!” At the irritated shout, they turned, eyebrows raised in surprise that anyone would yell at a pirate who was more weapons than man. And found a woman standing in the doorway of a townhouse five feet behind them on the pavement—and five feet above the pavement. She smiled down at them, revealing large teeth that glinted menacingly in the sunlight. Her hair was a rigid gray fan. Her door was blood red. “I hear you have been looking for me,” she said. “Lady Armitage!” Charlotte dragged off her sunglasses as if doing so would improve the vision before her. Alas, she was still staring at a bony woman encased in a dress so black, it went beyond mere darkness into an eclipse of all possible light, hope, and happiness. This was a dress that might have been marketed as Couture de la Tragédie were it worn by a younger woman, but despite her erect stance Lady Armitage exuded age to the worrying degree of close-to-death. (Or possibly close with death, which is considerably more worrying when associated with a pirate.) “At your service,” replied the lady. “Although whose service, exactly? I recognize this boy.” She pointed a long, loose-skinned finger at Alex. “You once played with my grenade collection while your father tried to sell me a bag of turnip seeds. He thought I was stupid enough to buy them—but where would I plant seeds in a battlehouse, I ask you? I remember your pretty eyes, so blue—and black and purple. My, how you’ve grown.” Alex took a small step back as her lecherous gaze stroked him from head to foot and halfway back up again. Charlotte shifted protectively closer to him, and Lady Armitage’s attention snapped her way. Charlotte flinched so slightly it might have been a mere blink. No wicked old pirate woman scared her! Not completely, anyway. “Who are you?” the lady demanded. “Charlotte Pettifer,” she replied. “I have come for my amulet.” “Pettifer, Pettifer. Goodness me, not by any chance niece to Judith Plim, who leads the Wicken League of witches?” Charlotte stared silently in reply. Lady Armitage had a smile like a hangman’s noose. “Well, well, a pirate and a witch standing together at my door. I must have lived forever because now I’ve seen everything.” “We are not together,” Charlotte replied with exasperation. “Why does everyone keep saying this?” “We are merely in proximity to each other,” Alex agreed. “As enemies. Mortal enemies.” Lady Armitage leered at their joined hands. “That’s a very interesting degree of proximity. But why are two nice children like you bothering me? Have you not heard I am an evil genius, scourge of the skies, voted World’s Most Notorious Pirate in 1882?” Alex and Charlotte glanced at each other. Charlotte shrugged. “Actually, no.” “I heard you use snake oil for your arthritis and have a habit of parking on other people’s roofs,” Alex added. “Well I never!” The smug grin snapped shut. The door followed its example and before Charlotte could knock on it in a peremptory manner, or Alex hit it with his sword, the house lurched and flew away.