“Heavens, is that the time?” Mrs. Pettifer said, although there was no clock in the room for her to have consulted. She rose, shedding biscuit crumbs from her flounced skirt. “Excuse me, Mrs. Chuke, but I—er, I have to see a woman about a pumpkin.”
“Not at all,” Mrs. Chuke replied, backing from the room even as she spoke. “I only called in to share the information, and now must hurry along myself before, before...” She blinked at the window as if seeking inspiration. “Yes, before night falls.”
With a swish of skirts and a clatter of heels, the ladies departed, and a moment later could be seen hastening along the street behind Misses Gloughenbury and Plim toward Bloomsbury, where in addition to the British Museum there was no doubt a dentist, a pumpkin supplier, a hatter, and several more hours of daylight.
Charlotte sat for a moment in thoughtful stillness, then leaned back in her chair, propped her feet up on another chair, and selected a custard tart from the tea table.
“Will madam be staying at home this afternoon?” Woollery asked from the doorway.
They exchanged a look. Neither smiled, although only at the cost of some effort.
“I believe I might go out in a short while,” Charlotte said.
“Can I bring you anything for your purpose?”
“Yes, please. Tell Bagshot I need a new purse. And you might bring me my black embroidered boots, a parasol, three screwdrivers of assorted widths, and a gun.”
“Pistol or rifle, madam?”
“Pistol, please. I have a feeling things are going to become rather piratic.”
“How exciting, madam,” Woollery said without intonation.
“I hope so, Woollery, for I dearly love a laugh.” And taking a small bite of custard tart, Charlotte frowned pleasantly into the middle distance.
3
a ladies’ man—the effect of marriage on respiratory rates—best-laid plans—the witch is back—two foes meet—an unamusing destruction—the tools of witchcraft
Alex often thought that there was nothing so bad as meeting with one’s friends. He seemed so forlorn with them; especially lately, when they were happy to an almost sickening degree. Alex did not believe in happiness. He believed in temporary self-delusion and gin.
But as he entered the British Museum, he caught sight of Ned Lightbourne leaning against a wall on the west side of the entrance hall, looking bored, and his heart took him over to the man before his feet even knew what they were doing. That was how it was with him and Ned—that instinct for each other, despite everything. Alex didn’t like it, but apparently was doomed to an enduring fellowship, a brotherly kind of love, damn it.
As he traversed the hall, his boots smacking against the polished stone floor, he noticed several ladies watching him. Their heads turned beneath elegant hats as they tracked his calm, powerful stride. Their mouths edged into indiscreet smiles. He heard several whispers and felt hot gazes slide up and down his body. One woman even began toapproach, but Alex veered away, having no time for conversation despite her pretty golden curls. (As a matter of fact she was a museum employee, wanting to inform him that he needed a ticket to enter. But as she drew near, it became clear to her he was a pirate, and she wisely decided not to pursue both the entry fee and the scary man with a passel of weapons beneath his long black coat.)
Alex did not mind the attention. In fact, after a miserable youth being kicked around—and smashed around, and thrown various distances—he liked now being an object of desire. He was always happy to dance with a lady, or do a great deal more, even if her motive was just to scandalize society by being seen in his company. He would oblige any who wanted to play with fire. It was never heartfelt—after all, no one engaged with a dangerous pirate for the sake of his personality—and yet Alex had no complaints. Women were decidedly enjoyable.
But a good robbery was even better.
Any woman he came across today would be no more than an obstacle between him and his goal, the Black Beryl amulet. And Alex intended to obtain his goal. He could not lose, because he would not lose. He’d learned the hard way that attitude was everything.
“How ya?” he said as he approached Ned.
The blond man glanced up with an expression that seemed all the more deadly because he was attending to his fingernails with a serrated dagger. But Alex only grinned in response. It was hard to take Ned’s deadly looks seriously after having sat through his poetry-laden ramblings about the joys of love on the night before his wedding. Alex had been able to clean three guns and sharpen a sword before Ned was done recounting the qualities of his bride.
“Congratulations,” he said. “Four months married, and yet you’re still breathing.”
“I can assure you I’m rendered breathless a lot of the time,” Nedreplied. He sheathed the knife casually in a pocket of his embroidered black coat. Alex noticed that he was dressed piratically in tight trousers and a hideous waistcoat, and it pleased him that his oldest friend hadn’t been transformed, not even for the better, by wedlock.
“Where is your wife?” he asked, looking around for the woman who had become his newest friend, thus bringing the total to two.
Ned gestured vaguely at a doorway nearby. “In there.”
“Is that the Black Beryl exhibition? I assume she’s assessing how to steal the amulet?”
Ned gave a brief, facetious laugh. “No, she’s ogling all the old books.”
“And she made you stay here out of her way?” Alex tried not to smirk.
