they unhappy two—unexpected empathy—a solution pops up—pork pies—ned advises alex—clacton’s angels—creeve gets justice—no bechdel test for men—charlotte takes aim—the ultimate solution
Gentlewomen in England still a-bed would no doubt think themselves accurs’d they were not on the shore promenade of Clacton-on-Sea, and hold their womanhoods cheap whilst any spoke that watched the pirate battlehouses fight each other that morning. By the time Armitage House and Darlington House reached clear skies above the harbor in which to skirmish properly, more than half the town had gathered, flags were being flown, the constabulary had given up trying to get order, and several young fellows in red-and-white-striped jackets were going through the crowd selling pork pies and cheese-on-a-stick.
The fire in Armitage House having been extinguished by Miss Darlington’s water cannon, and Lady Armitage keeping her battlehouse aloft by what must have been sheer force of will (or being too insane to realize that she was now flying nothing more than an upper story and half a staircase), the two danced around each other, exchanging shouts.
“Shouldn’t they be exchanging shots instead?” asked one woman.Her question was voiced rhetorically but Alex happened to be nearby, so he answered.
“Miss Darlington and Lady Armitage have been trying to kill each other for decades. It would be strange if they startedactually doing sonow.”
The woman turned to acknowledge his reply and, seeing he was a pirate, nearly expired on the spot. Scurrying aside, she accidentally stepped on the foot of a blond fellow whose smile was as gleaming as a sword. (The woman felt confident in applying this metaphor due to the literal sword he was holding.) With a shriek, she fled through the crowd.
“Still charming the ladies, I see,” Alex drawled as Ned came to stand beside him.
“Still making a mess, I see,” Ned replied, eyeing Alex’s soot-stained hair and clothes.
“Why are you waving your sword around like that? You could put out someone’s eye.”
“There are four pirates and at least two witches in this crowd. I skirmished with Olivia Etterly just now and promised to meet Mr. Rotunder with pistols at dawn.”
“Will you?”
Behind them, a woman laughed. “I doubt Ned even knows what dawn looks like.”
Alex turned to grin at Cecilia, who gave him a cool look then nodded to Charlotte. “Miss Pettifer, how do you do?”
Alex watched Charlotte’s eyelashes swoop down then up again, the only sign on her otherwise calm visage that she was rapidly assessing how to behave in this unexpected moment. His heart did a little flip of worry for her, then a little flip back again with adoration. God, but he loved that she didn’t automatically know how to be normal. He longed to fly her away into a wild sky where she’d have the freedom to be as strange and sensual and indescribably wonderful as she wanted to be.
“I am well, thank you, Miss Bassingthwaite,” she said after a pause so tiny only Alex noticed it. She nodded with impeccable elegance. “And you?”
Cecilia sighed, fanning herself with a white-gloved hand. “To be frank, Miss Pettifer, I am overwhelmed. All this clamor and crowding exhausts my senses.”
Charlotte’s eyes grew wide in amazement, but she recovered quickly and gave Cecilia a polite smile, as if she herself was not on the point of doing something terrible, such as scowling, or perhaps even exhaling loudly in exasperation, due to her own overwhelm. Alex bit his lip to stop himself from grinning.
“Shall we take a short walk?” Cecilia suggested. “I would appreciate your company as I try to find a quieter location from which to view my aunt’s derring-do.”
“Aren’t we supposed to be getting to our house and chasing after the amulet?” Alex asked.
Charlotte hesitated. He could sense the conflict in her between duty and a new friendship. Instantly, he knew which one he valued more. Friendship meant nothing to him—nothing!—but he wanted with all his heart for her to have it for herself. And if the two women did become chums, then he would have anexcuseobligation to spend more time with Ned. Perhaps he and Charlotte, Ned and Cecilia, could even go so far as to have long conversations, travel together, and meet at dining establishments. He would do it for Charlotte’s sake. He would risk anything, even the perils of emotional intimacy, for her.
“Go,” he said. “We have no need to hurry.”
Charlotte looked at him doubtfully, and for a moment the whole world seemed to become still, awaiting her reply.
Then she smiled.
“It would be my pleasure,” she said to Cecilia, who smiled in return.But before she departed she took one more glance at Alex, as if to check again that he was still alive. It reached right into him and squeezed his heart. How long had it been since anyone had cared he was living?
In fact, had he only realized, it was the previous week, when Bixby saw him walk in the door after spending the night in a gambling house, bankrupting opium dealers; then six months before that, when he stood beside Ned at the altar, watching Cecilia glide toward them in a white and gold dress; and three months before that, when he flew an old woman’s house to a warmer climate so she suffered less from arthritis; and indeed the whole of 1884, when he smuggled enough flour and sugar into Ireland to keep three villages fed all year.
Ignorant of this, Alex gave Charlotte a look so full of love and gratitude that she frowned. Luckily, she turned away with Cecilia before she saw him sigh like a dreamy boy.
Ned, however, saw only too well. “You’re in love,” he chuckled, prodding Alex with his sword.
Without even blinking, Alex had his gun aimed directly between Ned’s eyes. This caused the other pirate to laugh even more. “Never mind, old chap,” he said, slapping Alex’s arm—a risky move, considering it was the arm with a loaded weapon at the end of it. “I have a book of poetry you can borrow.”
Charlotte and Cecilia strolled arm in arm through the crowd, a process made easier by the fact that most people recognized Cecilia as a pirate (the piquant little red hat was a clue, not to mention the two guns strapped to her waist) and hurried out of their way.
“Goodness, but it is close,” Cecilia said, bringing forth a handkerchief and waving it delicately in front of her face. Charlotte noticed that it was the one Captain Lightbourne had implored her to pass on,several days or a lifetime ago, in the British Museum. The glimpse of Asiatic lilies made her heart sigh. She too loved lilies, but Cecilia had even this.
