8
the first kiss—the pirates dine out on alice’s marriage— a captivating conversation—getting to business— daniel leaves—alice makes a new enemy
Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden requirement to kiss. The sun might shine or the clouds might lower, but nothing could appear to Alice as it had the moment before Mrs. Ogden’s dare. No creature had ever been so miserable as she.
With the possible exception of Daniel Bixby.
As she watched him being gently jostled and outright shoved across the room by pirates, his face calm but lamplight flashing wildly against his spectacles, Alice recalled a memory from her early days in the Academy. Forced into the center of a classroom with a dozen other children staring at her, she had been asked to demonstrate the basic first position for sweeping. Her small pale hands had clutched the birch broom at random. Her gaze had ranged unseeing around the room. She’d not spoken anything more than echoes of other people’s words since being taken from the orphanage, and still screamed and flailed when anyone touched her without warning—so the concept of holding a broom correctly while a small crowd observed had overwhelmed her mental processing capacity and rendered her almost catatonic.
The instructor, exasperated, had demanded again—first position!—but had not dared to approach. The year before, a student had been pushed too far in the same situation and used the broom to damage every piece of furniture in the classroom. The teachers, if no one else, had learned their lesson well that day.
Standing in the Bassingthwaite parlor with pirates watching her avidly as they clapped their hands and chanted Kiss! Kiss!, Alice felt her gaze loosen in the same way it had all those years ago. Her heart began to thud. The only thing that kept her from hysterics was the knowledge that the student who had so drastically failed the sweeping exercise had been Agent B.
Daniel Bixby.
Who currently stood in front of her with his hands in his trouser pockets and such tension in his body she feared he might use himself as a birch broom and destroy them all.
Kissing was not the problem. Being stared at by a score of people was. It went against every instinct a spy possessed.
And, well, perhaps kissing was part of the problem. Alice had never experienced it. Her heart beat so forcefully, she wondered if she was feeling Daniel’s pulse also.
He blinked down at her. She gazed up at him. The air roared with voices and bright, jagged feeling.
“So here is our first olive,” he whispered.
Oh! gasped her heart, leaping up to wave a volume of North and South as it recognized the Elizabeth Gaskell reference. Her countenance, however, remained cool. “We should not make a face when we swallow it,” she whispered in reply, and Daniel smiled. Seeing this, her heart clutched the book to its, er, heart with happiness.
Disturbed by such an unprofessional emotion, Alice tipped her face up toward duty. And Daniel set his lips against her cheek.
Immediately she was relieved. This need not count for her first kiss; this was nothing.
And then sensation flashed through her body. She felt not only his kiss but the whole Daniel-ness of him, from his physical presence to every memory she possessed of his warm, fleeting smile and the way his hand had felt holding hers until it pleasantly hurt.
He did not touch her now, besides where his mouth lay briefly upon her skin. She did not touch him. Merely one second later, they stepped apart. And yet, Alice feared she might swoon.
Professional woman, she reminded herself firmly. Pirate.
Daniel set one finger to the bridge of his spectacles, pushing them back up his nose, then turned away, patting her shoulder in a companionable manner as he did so.
The roomful of pirates stared gobsmacked.
“Er, right then,” Mrs. Ogden said.
“I do believe I am going to overheat from the profusion of romance,” Miss Darlington remarked.
“How long did you say you had been married?” Mrs. Rotunder asked in a hesitant voice.
“Three years,” Daniel replied.
“Uh huh.” She turned to look blankly at Miss Darlington, who shrugged her mouth with bewilderment.
“Ah, love!” Frederick’s voice swelled through the awkward quiet. “That beacon for all dreaming hearts. Bestowed upon the most fortunate, and blessing them with the mellifluent—”
“Is it dinnertime yet?” Bloodhound Bess asked.
Alas, it was not, but this did not prevent the pirates from trooping to the vast, gilded dining room. Alice and Daniel found themselves carried inexorably along, propelled by chattering voices, bustled by bustles, and nudged by a few mild skirmishes as ladies literally battled to take precedence. The table settings were already laid, and the company had a moment’s entertainment flicking embossed name cards at each other before sitting wherever they pleased. Two younger ladies appropriated Daniel, tucking their arms around his, practically hauling him to a seat between theirs. Alice was left to find a seat on her own. Every trained inclination in her wanted to stand back against the wall in proper servant fashion, but she was a pirate now, a rotten scoundrel, and so she slipped into a chair, murmuring apologies to her neighbors on either side as she did so. They smiled back in a manner that threatened polite conversation.
Looking down at her fingers tapping together in her lap, Alice silently counted her breath in and out. She would have been far more comfortable storming Starkthorn Castle solo to fight the pirates than chatting with them.
It was going to be a long two hours’ wait before the scheduled dinnertime.
Five minutes later, food began arriving. Servants in a pirate household are always prepared for the unexpected.
Alice stared at the plate before her with disquiet. She’d felt obliged to take a little of whatever the footmen presented, and now was faced with a bewildering selection of foods, half of which she could not identify and the other half of which was tumbled together in a most distressing fashion. The roasted mushrooms looked delicious but were rendered inedible by their proximity to the honey-glazed carrots. And the cow’s brain had been spoiled by—well, by being cow’s brain, quite frankly, even had lobster sauce not dripped on it.
As she rummaged delicately with her fork, eating whatever was salvageable, she tried to arm herself for conversation. To her left sat Mrs. Essie Smith, a young lady infamous for having stolen the Russian empress’s favorite teapot; to her right, Mrs. Olivia Etterly, several decades older, with a swirling froth of lilac hair. Eventually, Alice turned to the latter and attempted some benign small talk.
“Tell me, madam, what do you think of the Queen?”
Mrs. Etterly paused in lifting an asparagus-laden fork to her open mouth. “What an arresting question,” she said. “I have never spoken with Her Majesty, but she seems nice enough, for a queen.”
“If you could assassinate her, how would you do it?”
The asparagus on Mrs. Etterly’s fork flopped to the plate. “I—er—goodness me. Shoot her, probably?”
“I see.”
“Er. Um.” Mrs. Etterly made an effort to rally. “I hear you are newly back from the Continent, Mrs. Blakeney. How do you find England these days?”
“Oh, I have an excellent map.”
The pirate lady appeared to choke, although she was not at that moment eating anything. “Well, that is certainly a helpful thing to have. If I may say so”—she leaned closer, whispering—“you also have an excellent-looking husband.”
“I do,” Alice agreed, and touched her cheek without thinking. She could still feel the little ache where he had kissed her. “According to science, Mr. Blakeney’s face has the kind of symmetry that is universally considered handsome.”
“Oh well, if you are going to speak scientifically,” Mrs. Etterly said with a smile, “I’m sure there are many chemistry terms that would be quite suitable.”
Alice considered this. “True. Mr. Blakeney is after all comprised of organic matter.”
“I meant the bond between you two.”
“Oh.” Alice glanced across the table to where Daniel appeared to be demonstrating a stabbing technique, much to the amusement of the lady beside him. In a flash, Alice remembered the way he’d felled the thief Merv, all smooth competence, not even breaking a sweat. And then she began wondering what he would look like if he had broken a sweat—if he’d pulled off his coat, jacket, and shirt, and thus bare-chested had wrestled with Merv, perspiration glinting on his swelling pectoral muscles, hair—
She felt a peculiar rushing through her body, and thought with alarm that perhaps the mushrooms had disagreed with her.
Essie Smith leaned over to join the conversation. “Were he my husband, I’d be applying bonds quite tightly, if you know what I mean.”
Her eyebrows bounced, and Mrs. Etterly responded with a laugh. Alice realized there was a silent conversation occurring alongside their words, one for which she possessed no dictionary.
“There, there.” Mrs. Etterly patted Alice’s shoulder (and stole her earring). “We’ve made poor Mrs. Blakeney blush. Alias! Er, I mean alas. I hope we didn’t spook you too much, dear.”
“Of course we didn’t,” Essie said with a grin. “Mrs. Blakeney may look young and sweet, but I suspect she has a secret wealth of intelligence behind those private eyes of hers, and is no doubt tapped in to our intentions. Aren’t you, dear?”
“I—” Alice began. She had no idea what the rest of her sentence might contain, but that did not matter, for Mrs. Etterly interrupted her before she needed to produce another word.
“Maybe, Essie, maybe. But I suspect she’s not as wicked as she could be. Talk to your handsome young husband about bedsteads and bonds, Mrs. Blakeney. Investigate it thoroughly with him. I’m sure together you will uncover interesting results.”
“Thank you for that advice,” Alice murmured, and hastily proceeded to eat an artichoke heart despite it having touched the creamed corn—anything to escape the torture of small talk.
Over her head, Mrs. Etterly and Essie smirked at each other.
The company separated after dinner, ladies returning to the drawing room to drink tea and discuss such feminine concerns as fashion (what exactly should a lady wear when robbing a bank?) and lip rouge (which shade was best for writing ransom notes?) and recipes (could one substitute belladonna for digitalis in poisoned wine?). The gentlemen remained at the table to trade risqué jokes and ideas for scrapbook layouts.
But Daniel waylaid Alice as she was heading for the drawing room. As he stepped up beside her, she smelled his now-familiar scent of quality soap, and inexplicably blushed. Perhaps the warm gas lighting in the hallway was to blame for this, or perhaps her sudden vision of Agent B seated in a bath, rubbing soap against his bare skin.
“Madam,” he said, “I perceive you are rather tired. It has been a long day; shall we retire early?”
Alice recognized the code for Shall we go upstairs and snoop around rooms in search of the secret hidden weapon?
“I am tired,” she agreed. “Thank you for the suggestion.”
“I spy our pretty young couple sneaking off,” Mrs. Etterly said as they went.
“Good luck achieving molecular combustion!” Essie called after them.
Arm in arm they walked upstairs until reaching the first floor, whereupon they immediately stepped away from each other, brushing nonexistent lint from their clothing.
“Jane’s sitting room is in the west wing,” Daniel said. “This way.”
They strode along the corridor. Anyone seeing them would have been impressed by their cool, authoritative aura, the sort that suggests guns are hidden in secret pockets and arrest warrants can be immediately produced if required. All that was missing was a slow-motion effect, rousing soundtrack, and recollection on their part that they were supposed to act like swaggering pirates. Coming to Jane’s sitting room, they found the door locked.
“I have one of Snodgrass’s lockpicks,” Daniel said, removing his tie pin. He inserted it into the lock, but immediately sparks began to ignite. As Daniel pulled back his scorched fingers, the pin shot out, exploding in midair before dropping to the floor, where it proceeded to burn a hole in the carpet.
Alice shook her head with displeasure. “Let’s hope that’s the only thing that is blown tonight.”
“Hm,” Daniel answered.
The noise of the explosion drew a chambermaid from a nearby room. “Is everything all right?” she asked.
“Just fine,” Daniel replied, placing his foot over the smoking lockpick.
“The eagle has eaten the frog,” Alice told her in code—i.e., The door won’t open, damn it, do you have a spare lockpick on you?
“Um,” said the maid, her eyes widening.
“I don’t think she knows your aunt,” Daniel murmured. He smiled at the maid. “All is well, my wife merely has had too much wine. I told you this was the wrong door, dear.”
“Thank you for that correction, dear,” Alice said in a voice so wifely, A.U.N.T. really needn’t have spent any money on the fake marriage certificate.
The maid, being used to piratic marriages, fled before swords were drawn. Alice and Daniel turned to frown at the locked door. “We could try the room upstairs,” Alice suggested. “If it is accessible, we could climb down from its window to that of the sitting room.”
“Good plan,” Daniel said. He stared into the middle distance for a moment, his eyes flickering as if reading something Alice could not see. “That room has been allocated to Olivia Etterly and her husband,” he said.
“You’ve memorized the castle map?” Alice was astonished.
He looked at her, and she suspected he was seeing angles against her skin, patterns, a network of bones. “A man does like to be adequate at his job, Miss Dearlove.”
Hastening upstairs, they found Mrs. Etterly’s door unlocked. “Hm,” Daniel murmured as it opened.
“Perhaps she thought locking it would be useless in a house full of thieves,” Alice said. Peering around the doorframe, she scanned the interior. “Clear.”
They entered, Daniel shutting the door behind them before crossing to open the window. Alice stood unmoving, her attention riveted on the wrought-iron bedstead and tangled sheets of the bed, which dominated the room. Instinctively she wanted to launder those sheets, remake the bed, lay a mint chocolate on the pillow. Her imagination, however, remembering Mrs. Etterly’s advice—“talk to your handsome young husband about bedsteads and bonds”—began to have other ideas.
“Dare . . . love . . .” The suggestion drifted through her awareness, and her imagination nodded in enthusiastic agreement.
“Dearlove. Miss Dearlove!”
“Huh?” Blinking, she yanked her attention away from the bed and found Daniel staring at her blankly.
“All clear outside,” he reported. “And the sitting room window below is ajar.”
“Right,” she said in a brisk voice that fairly shouted I am a professional woman.
Focusing sternly, she unhooked the fine braided cord that decorated her dress, looping it from elbow to hand several times. Then removing a clip from her coiffure, she unfolded its metal arms so they extended into a three-pronged anchor. To this she tied the end of the cord.
“Hopefully it’s long enough,” she said, attaching the anchor to the windowsill and letting the cord unfurl down the castle wall. It reached to just above the sitting room window.
“I’ll go first,” Daniel said. Without further discussion, he was up and out, proceeding easily via the cord down the wall.
“Typical man,” Alice muttered as she watched him go. “Always has to take the lead.”
“Hff,” came a sardonic comment from behind her.
Drawing her gun, she turned on a heel but saw nothing in the room. Clearly her nerves were still on edge after the long day spent in piratic company.
Really, Mrs. Kew ought not have assigned her to this mission. She may have mastered the Three Primary Rules for Normal Conversation and the Seven Standard Facial Expressions, but piratic behavior was a whole other kettle of fish. (Not that anyone had ever presented her with a kettle of fish—thankfully—but Alice had heard the phrase used before and suspected it was a lesser subclause of Normal Conversation that had been taught at the Academy one day when she’d been off sick.)
The Wisteria Society ladies had perfect manners—to assist them in committing perfect crimes. For instance, it was easy enough to understand a lady must always wear kid gloves in public, but it took a whole other angle of comprehension to see this was necessary so as to not leave fingerprints at a burglary scene. Alice knew she was entirely ill-equipped to learn the pirates’ backward kind of etiquette.
But if she did not do so, and quickly, the Queen would die. And Alice herself would likely die too. She was disinclined for that to happen.
“Drat it all,” she muttered.
“Hff,” came a whispered reply.
It must be a breeze through the open window, she thought. Looking out, she saw Daniel swing in through the window below. The line went slack. Returning her gun to its secret pocket, Alice began gathering up her skirts in preparation for rappelling.
“Grrr,” the mysterious voice rumbled behind her.
Turning again with a confused frown, she went abruptly still. Her pulse, on the other hand, began to race around her body in hysterics.
Well, this explained why Mrs. Etterly did not bother locking her door.
As if it knew what she was thinking, the tiger emerging from under the bed grinned.