Alice’s nervous system began to smolder.
“For example,” Cecilia said, trailing her fingertips across a rack of blouses, “there is an interesting gentleman standing outside. Handsome and well-groomed, wearing a very dapper suit.”
“Ah, nothing beats a dapper suit,” Ned replied, picking up a decorative metal glove stand. The shop attendant gave him a wary stare, and Ned nodded amicably to the man.
Alice’s nervous system began sparking.
“I suspect nothing beats this gentleman,” Cecilia mused. “If they tried to, they might not live to regret it.” She removed a blouse from the rack and, stripping it from its wooden coat hanger, let it fall to the floor. The shop attendant gasped.
“Just standing outside the door, you say?” Ned tossed up the glove stand and caught it again.
“Yes, waiting in case any ladies need help crossing the street to the other side, where a cottage happens to be parked.” Cecilia spun the coat hanger around her hand effortlessly. “Charming little house, exactly the sort one would use if one wanted to get themselves a holiday away from town.”
“So, a getaway house?” Ned suggested.
“Dearlove!”Agapantha snapped, shaking the dress so its beaded trim clattered. “Are you listening to me?”
Alice turned back to the girl. “No, ma’am.”
“What? What?” Agapantha gaped at her. “That iscomplete—”
“The dress is hideous,” Alice interjected dispassionately. “It wearies the eye and suffocates the brain. Therefore I urge you to buy it, as it will suit you perfectly. Now, if you’ll please excuse me.” Swiveling on her heel, she threw the shoeboxes at Mr. Olliver.
“Ahh!” he shouted, arms flinging up in defense. Even before the shoes could tumble from their boxes to the floor, Alice introduced the heel of her own boot to Olliver’s midriff. He bent double just as she lifted her knee, causing a collision between it and his nose, immediatelywhereafter she elbowed him in the back of the neck. He collapsed atop the shoes, and for a pièce de résistance Cecilia whacked him with the wooden coat hanger.
“Thank—” Alice began, but was interrupted by the shop assistant vaulting the counter in a manner that suggested he’d trained less in ironing blouses and more in secret agenting. Unfortunately, however, he must have skipped class on the day “Dealing with Pirates” had been taught. He was still in midair when the metal glove stand, whizzing at speed across the room, smacked into his face. He joined Mr. Olliver in unconsciousness upon the floor.
“That’s what you get for selling such hideous orange dresses,” Ned said.
“Oh no!” Agapantha cried in horror. Everyone looked at her, fearing she’d been harmed. “It reallyishideous, isn’t it? What am I todo? Lady Mellard’s soiree istomorrow!”
Before an answer might be provided, two shopgirls appeared from the stock room, flicking tape measures like whips. “Goodness,” Cecilia murmured to Alice. “Your organization really does want to keep you.”
“Or kill me,” Alice answered with a shrug.
“Go on outside, dear. Ned and I will handle this.”
“It’ll be fun,” Ned added cheerfully. He snatched the orange dress from Agapantha, threw it at the shopgirls, then pointed to a peach-colored gown displayed on the other side of the room. “That one,” he told Agapantha, pushing her toward it.
“Thank—” Alice tried again to say, but Cecilia was already shooing her away. So she hurried to the door, reached for its handle—
And it opened from the outside.
“Ma’am.”
Alice glanced at the gentleman holding the door ajar for her. “Here at last, I see, Mr. Bixby,” she remarked, surveying his well-dressed form as she walked through the doorway. “Iwould have got here days earlier.”
He gave her a polite bow. “That is because you are far superior to me in every conceivable way.” Closing the door behind them, he moved to her side, placing his hand against the small of her back as they both scanned the street. At his firm touch, her nervous system ignited in white-hot flames.
“I do not need rescuing,” she informed him. “I was just on the verge of self-rescue when you arrived.”
“Of course.”
“I am leaving A.U.N.T.”
“Oh?”
“Yes,” she replied calmly, as if she was talking about sampling a new breakfast cereal rather than discarding the entire purpose of her life thus far. “They’re planning to destroy my books.”
