Confused, Charlotte glanced at Alex.
“They gossip,” he translated.
Bixby bristled at this. “We participate in the sharing of resources and dub-dub-dub—” He paused, straightening his spectacles. “Excuse me. Dubbed copies of possible factoids.”
Again, Charlotte looked to Alex.
“Rumors,” he said.
If Bixby bristled any more, he risked exploding into sharp pieces. “I myself take the liberty of creating files, such as this one about Lady Armitage. A quick search for certain keywords enables me to suggest where the lady is heading.”
“Tilbury,” Alex guessed. “The Wisteria Society used to meet at the docks in the old days.”
“And that is no doubt why everyone is flying in that direction, even though Lady Armitage is now out of visual range,” Bixby said. “But I believe she is going to Clacton-on-Sea. Records show she has a friendship with the vicar there.”
“Why should that be significant?” Charlotte asked.
Alex snapped his fingers, then pointed one at Bixby. “Because the amulet isn’t the only thing she took—and perhaps not the most important to her. Right?”
“Indeed,” Bixby said. “When dealing with Isabella Armitage, one must always consider the possibility she is wanting to marry.”
“Poor Tom,” Alex murmured.
“Tom? The boy who stole my amulet?” Charlotte tried to find sympathy for him within herself, but failed. “Marriage to Lady Armitage is the least punishment he deserves.”
“Don’t let Constantinopla hear you say that,” Alex advised.
“Who?”
“Constantinopla Brown, generally known as Oply. Tom’s fiancée, feisty young pirate, and as she would have it, close personal friend of Her Majesty, Queen Victoria.”
“Oh.” Charlotte recollected the girl in the museum queue. “I am not afraid of a sixteen-year-old.”
“You should be,” Alex and Bixby chorused.
“She has refined spoiled brattishness to an art form,” Alex added. “What she wants, she gets, and woe betide anyone standing in her way.”
“So you’re saying she’s piratic?”
“No, she—”
“Wait, I think I understand. She’s a young female. Therefore her behavior, while typical for pirates, is, in her, mere brattishness.”
Alex opened his mouth to reply, but upon seeing Charlotte lift one eyebrow in anticipation, closed it again wordlessly.
Charlotte tried not to smirk. “In any case, Oply is not here. We still are, however—sitting on this rooftop when we ought to be pursuing Lady Armitage. The question is, do we aim for Tilbury or Clacton-on-Sea?”
“Clacton,” Alex said without hesitation. “Bixby is no twitter. His analytical ability is one of the reasons I employ him.”
“Thank you, sir,” Bixby chided.
Alex gave him a wry smile. “Set a course for Clacton. And, Miss Pettifer—”
“I’m coming too.”
He sighed, and rolled his eyes, then turned his smile on her. Charlotte saw it coming, but felt unconcerned. After all, she was a Plim, and nothing daunted a—
The smile struck her with the full force of its crooked charm.
