Glancing back at the pointed sound, he realized he had forgotten his wife. She looked at him with a placid expression, but her eyes conveyed an urgent speech, complete with diagrams and flowcharts.
“I was thinking, Mr. Blakeney, that we might visit our room before meeting the company,” she said aloud.
“But, Mrs. Blakeney,” he replied, “we do not want to appear unfriendly.”
“We also don’t want to make a poor first impression, Mr. Blakeney,” Alice countered. “And I would like to point out that I am not exactly dressed for tea.”
“Oh?” As far as Daniel could see, she was thoroughly covered—although he did vaguely recollect that her skirt had been a different color before she exited the cottage. “Well then, you go off and get changed while I join the rest of the company.”
This sensible suggestion was met with audible inhalations from Frederick, Jane, Snodgrass, and whoever was spying on the company behind a portrait of Sir Francis Drake.
Alice herself merely blinked at him.
Daniel winced. “I beg your pardon. Allow me to escort you upstairs.”
(No one could ever fault him for being a slow learner.)
Alice smiled nicely. The witnesses exhaled. Daniel offered her his arm, she refused it, and they ascended the stairs, trailed by suitcase-lugging servants.
“That was badly done, Mr. Blakeney,” Alice whispered as they followed a housemaid along a lamplit corridor. She did not look at him, but he felt her attention poking his heart. “It is not pleasant for you to hear, I’m sure, although it is pleasant for me that I must tell you:badly done.”
“Oh?” he said, his own eyes focused straight ahead.
“You argued with me. It was inappropriate. Married couples never argue.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Of course I am sure,” Alice retorted. “The wife is always right.”
She marched ahead of him down the corridor, and suddenly Daniel began to feel very married indeed.
7
the usual number of beds—terrible toiletries— the plan comes together—things heat up—the rules of love—fun and games—they are put to the test
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man and woman in possession of a false marriage license must be in want of separate beds. Unfortunately, when Daniel and Alice entered their suite in Starkthorn Manor, they found only one—which quite frankly would not have come as a surprise had they read more exciting literature than was their habit. They eyed it disconcertedly as the housemaid went about lighting lamps and prodding the hearth fire.
“I will take the sofa,” Daniel said, removing his coat as if he was about to go to sleep that very moment.
“I would not ask you to do so,” Alice said.
“I don’t mind.”
“No, I mean it’s a bad idea. What if someone came in and saw you? It would not lend an impression of our being happily married.”
“Miss Dearlove is right, sir,” the maid interjected. Her name was Veronica Vale, and after sending away the footmen she had explained her designation was V-2: an A.U.N.T. agent fresh out of training andexcited to work with her two greatest role models oh my goodness such luck at this early stage of her career and would they be so very kind as to autograph her duster?! Even when they had just stared in cool, wordless reply, her eyes never ceased shining with admiration. “I’m afraid, sir, that any chambermaid could walk in willy-nilly. Servants in a fine house like this never knock.”
“Hm,” Daniel said, unconvinced.
“We are professionals,” Alice reminded him. “It will be fine. Just wear clothing and keep to your side—the left side, if you please—and don’t eat biscuits in bed or take possession of all the pillows, and sleep on your stomach so as to prevent snoring, also kindly refrain from wearing cologne, and—”
“You certainly sound married, Miss Dearlove,” Veronica remarked with a chuckle.
“Mrs. Blakeney,” Daniel corrected her sternly.
Veronica flushed. “I beg your pardon, sir. It slipped my mind, what with you both being such stars. A and B, I still can’t believe it!” She clutched her hands together against her heart. “Did you really shoot each other in Clacton last year?”
“No,” they said.
