“As I was saying,” Miss Gloughenbury continued, patting her dog peevishly. “I was on my way to the haberdashers to steal a new ribbon for Barker here when my passage was diverted by a terrible traffic accident on King Street. Pumpkins broken all over the road.”
Mrs. Pettifer ejected from her chair in shock. “Egads, that is indeed terrible! Pumpkins? Are you certain?”
“I’m sure even Miss Gloughenbury can identify pumpkins,” Miss Plim said, although the compliment was so tinged with doubt as to make it clearly, but deniably, an insult.
Miss Gloughenbury deigned to ignore this. “I am afraid the news gets worse, Delphine. A rather formidable looking pirate chap could be seen nearby, talking to—”
Again Charlotte coughed. Woollery rushed across the room and, thanks to a nimble leap, caught a large ornamental wreath that was wheeling from the wall toward Miss Gloughenbury’s back.
“It seems you could do with a pastille, darling,” the lady murmured.
“Forgive me, Miss Gloughenbury,” Charlotte replied. “Won’t you sit down and have some tea? Perhaps tell us where you bought that lovely hat?”
“In a moment, dear, after I have finished sharing my news. Where was I?”
“I cannot recall,” Miss Plim said, “but I have a suggestion as to where you might go.”
Miss Gloughenbury’s smile tightened to such a degree there was some danger of her face snapping back in on itself. No doubt on the morrow several impoverished factory workers would have their rent paid for them and Miss Plim would be scrambling to devise an even more beneficent counterassault.
“A pirate was talking to...” Mrs. Pettifer prompted.
“Ah yes. Talking to a policeman, can you believe it? Apparently a bicycle had been stolen in the middle of the kerfuffle, and this pirate was being interviewed as a witness.”
“Was he arrested?” Charlotte asked casually.
“One can only hope, darling. But I have not yet told you the most shocking information of all! That bicycle took flight over the street, as seen by dozens of people, and being operated by none other than—”
Charlotte cleared her throat, and immediately Woollery leaped onto a sofa behind Miss Gloughenbury, arms outstretched, to catch a plummeting lightshade before it connected forcibly with her head.
“Really, Woollery,” Mrs. Pettifer murmured. “This is not the time to be doing housework. Please go at once to inform Cook about the ghastly pumpkin situation.”
“Yes, madam,” Woollery said. Casting a stern glance at Charlotte, he departed the drawing room.
“As I was saying,” the lady went on, “this aerobatic bicycle was ridden by none other than the notorious pirate Cecilia Bassingthwaite!”
“Really?” Charlotte said with astonishment.
“Why are you surprised?” Miss Plim asked. “I myself have not heard anything more believable lately. That woman is so scandalous, even the Wisteria Society fears her.”
“I heard she stole one of their houses and crashed it,” Mrs. Pettifer said.
“I heard she tried to kill the queen at the Jubilee Banquet,” Miss Gloughenbury added.
“Well, even pirates have their good moments,” Miss Plim said, nudging her sandwich with a fork. “But she is still a reprehensible scoundrel. Charlotte, I hope you take Miss Bassingthwaite as an example of what never to be!”
“Yes, Aunt Judith,” Charlotte said. Returning to the tea table, she sat down and smoothed the uncreased tablecloth. “I have never seen Miss Bassingthwaite before. What does she look like?”
“I believe she is a redhead,” Miss Gloughenbury said.
“That sounds typical for a pirate,” Miss Plim remarked. “No witch would possess such indecent hair.”
“Charlotte has red hair,” Mrs. Pettifer pointed out.
“Blonde,” Miss Plim corrected.
“Strawberry blonde,” Mrs. Pettifer persisted.
Miss Plim reached across the table to snatch the tumbled lock of Charlotte’s hair and hold it out, causing Charlotte to wince despite such a facial expression being uncouth.
