“That’s very bold of you!” Miss Darlington said.
Alice blinked. She was starting to realize no one had taught this woman the Three Primary Rules for Normal Conversation, let alone the several dozen secondary ones. For the first time in her life she seemed to be playing on an even discussion field—that is, a field full of potholes, prickles, and discarded rakes just waiting to be stepped on so they could fly up and smash someone in the face.
“Your house might have been shot down, after all,” Miss Darlington continued. “Struck by lightning. Exploded. Your husband’s body might have been flung into treetops, every bone shattered—or perhaps a bottomless lake, from whence he will never be recovered.”
Alice considered this. “True. The bottomless lake would be most convenient—no funeral costs.”
Miss Darlington regarded her for a long, cool moment, then smiled and passed her a dainty, wisteria-painted teacup. “I have not added any sugar. Terrible stuff, quite rots one’s gluteus maximus.”
“I think you mean teeth, dear,” Jake murmured.
Miss Darlington lifted her chin in much the same way another person might lift their battle-axe. “I have no teeth in my gluteus maximus,” she declared, and it was all Alice could do to retain her mouthful of tea. Miss Darlington gave her a sharp look.
“I can plainly see who you are, young lady!”
Alice swallowed the tea and set the cup onto its saucer without the slightest tremble.Eight steps to the balcony door, she thought calmly.It will be locked, so kick it open and climb onto the fencing, and then up to the roof if you can. Or jump, and hope the petticoat’s incantation will work a second time.“Oh yes?” she said in a neutral voice.
“If I asked you about ravens and writing desks, what would you answer?”
“I would say a raven should not be allowed anywhere near a writing desk. Think of the mess it would make. Not to mention the germs.”
She returned Miss Darlington’s bright gaze without blinking.
Jake held his breath. Competence, standing by the hallway door, held her breath. Even the sky outside seemed to hold its breath, the storm winds suddenly dying away. Alice watched firelight and shadow writhe over the pirate lady’s face.I’ll never make it to the balcony, she realized.I’ll be dead before I even get out of the chair.
Abruptly, Miss Darlington laughed. “Clever girl.” She waggled a crooked, bejeweled finger at Alice. “I was right, you are a scoundrel, no doubt about it. I wager you could talk the Queen herself into letting you steal her necklace.”
“The Queen, you say?” Alice’s instincts perked up.
“Yes, she is a close personal nemesis of mine, and I happen to know her neck—that is, her necklace—is ripe for the plucking if a girl has the moxie to try it. You certainly display moxie.”
Alice had no idea what moxie was. (Some kind of hairstyle perhaps? She excitedly anticipated consulting a dictionary later.) Nevertheless, she shifted her mouth into a mild smile, even while her mind hastily took out its list of suspects and circled Miss Darlington’s name, then drew stars and arrows around it. “How kind,” she said.
“In fact, you remind me a little of my niece, Cecilia. Such a dear young lass. Sweet temperament, beautiful manners, can kill a man with one swipe of a butter knife. You would like her, I’m sure. I tried to convince her to join us at the Bassingthwaite party, but she is currently—”
The lady paused to reach over and retrieve a piece of paper on the tea table. Raising a lorgnette that had been hanging on a gold chain about her neck, she read from the sheet.
“—in Windsor, making preparations to steal Princess Beatrice’sdiamond tiara... had luncheon at the Singing Wattlebird teahouse on Tuesday, wore a suitably warm jacket, ordered tea and cream cake... was seen pushing an infant’s perambulator through the park on Wednesday with her husband at her side but no regard for the twenty-five percent chance of rain showers...”
“Dear,” Jake murmured, easing the paper from his wife’s hand. “I am sure Mrs. Blakeney has no interest in the minute particulars of Cecilia’s life. And nor should you, really.”
“Well I never!” Miss Darlington huffed. “Is an aunty not allowed to care?”
“Care, yes,” Jake said, smiling. “Employ a private detective to stalk her niece’s every movement and report back to you, not so much.”
“But I haven’t seen her or the baby for ages!”
“Cecilia brought Evangeline to visit us five days ago. And we met Ned in the street after that bank heist last Friday.”
“Ned,” she spat in such a mother-in-law tone that Alice rather feared for said gentleman’s well-being. It seemed evident Jemima Darlington was the one woman Ned Lightbourne could not charm with his smile.
Suddenly the house shuddered as if expressing Miss Darlington’s antipathy toward the man who had stolen her niece for the nefarious purpose of a happy married life. Teacups rattled; the hearth fire sparked.
“We’re here, ma’am,” Competence announced.
Glancing out the window, Alice saw that they had indeed landed. The world outside was green and gold, shimmering with a lingering residue of rain.
Miss Darlington sighed. “I suppose this means we have to go say hello to that pompous Bassingthwaite boy. How tedious. And Gertrude Rotunder is bound to be there—insufferable woman, I will never forgive her for stealing back her diamond bracelet. It took me three weeks to set up that theft, and she just waltzes in and takes it backovernight! Some people have no shame. Just whose idea was it to attend this party anyway?”
