“Write letters to the editors, describing Charlotte’s sweet and gentle disposition?” someone suggested.
“Provide an alibi for her?” someone else suggested.
Miss Plim frowned. “Incantate a series of natural disasters at the newspaper offices—fallen tree, exploded printing press, typhoon in the paper storage cupboard—so they cannot publish at all.”
This received an excited response. If there was something witches loved better than tidying, it was making a mess for other people to deal with. Several ladies raised their hands and were sent forth to do their worst.
“And now another group to locate Lady Armitage and retrieve from her our amulet.”
Ten hands were promptly sat upon or made busy stirring tea. But with cajoling (berating), encouraging (threatening), and cheer (just bloody well making people do it), Miss Plim put together a team and sent them on their way.
That left four in the room, a perfect number for the final task: tracking Charlotte anddragging her homerescuing her.
“I say,” Eugenia piped up, “just exactly why did Char choose to hijack Captain O’Riley’s decrepit cottage, considering all the possibilities parked outside the museum?”
That left three in the room.
Miss Plim glared at her sister and Mrs. Chuke. “Ladies, we must find Charlotte before my—before her reputation is completely ruined.”
“It should be easy,” Mrs. Pettifer said. “Lottie is such a kind, biddable girl.”
Miss Plim and Mrs. Chuke exchanged a glance.
“Of course she is, darling,” Mrs. Chuke said. “I might just have Dearlove bring along a gun and some handcuffs anyway. In case the pirate makes trouble,” she added hastily, upon seeing the horrified look on Mrs. Pettifer’s face. “Not that he will,” she added further, when the horrified look worsened. “But how shall we find them?”
“We already have,” Miss Plim said. “Delphine’s butler was contacted by a butler in Dagenham. He had information that Charlotte and Captain O’Riley spent the night in a public establishment there.”
“In a pub with a pirate?” Mrs. Chuke said, her eyes growing wide. “Oh dear.”
It was to be a sentiment murmured several more times that morning. The witches consulted the auguries, traveled by carriage to Dagenham, and located the Angler’s Retreat with efficient speed. They proved, alas, not to be in the nick of time, for Charlotte was well gone. Nor were they close to the nick of time, for any clues left behind had been either taken by the police or cleaned away by the chambermaid. In fact, they were so far from the nick of time that, when they arrived at the inn’s bedroom, they found Mrs. Rotunder, Ned, and Cecilia already there.
Three besoms flicked open to become daggers.
Three swords were drawn from pirates’ belts.
“What are you doing here?” everyone demanded in unison.
“Looking for the renegades,” everyone answered at once.
“My butler told us they were here,” Mrs. Rotunder explained. “But we arrived too late; they had already flown the coop. The bad news isthat they had policemen hunting them. The worse news is that the innkeeper said the room was rented by amarriedcouple.”
Her emphasis was not so much an innuendo as an out-and-out slur. But Miss Plim only shrugged.
“That is a standard ploy, claiming to be married in order to secure the last room in an inn. It means nothing. Besides, look—two beds!”
Mrs. Rotunder smirked. “Oh well, two beds, you’re quite right—that completely saves your girl’s reputation. Everyone knows two beds are the best deterrent there is to seduction.”
“Exactly,” Miss Plim said with a nod.
“I’m not sure, Judith,” Mrs. Chuke said worriedly. “A pirate can be unscrupulous.”
“But a witch can be deadly,” Miss Plim reminded her. “And remember, Charlotte has been raised by strong women who would never let a man dominate them.”
“That’s true,” Mrs. Pettifer said with a dreamy sigh. “I once mixed gunpowder in Claude Monet’s paints and swore I’d light a match if he did not paint me like one of his French girls.”
Everyone stared at her.
“Wasn’t that just before he ran off to join the army?” Mrs. Chuke asked.
