Alex made a noise that would have been a laugh had he been a reckless man. Daniel turned to frown at him, and the pirate bit his smile inan effort to appear innocent. But Alex O’Riley could not look innocent even if all his weapons were removed and a pink ribbon tied in his hair.
“I see you finally said hello to the pretty girl,” he remarked.
“I—I—” For the first time in years, Daniel found himself without words.
“What does he mean?” Alice asked.
“In Clacton,” Alex said cheerfully, oblivious to Daniel’s glare, “he saw you in a tavern but was too shy—”
“Too concerned with the brawl about to happen,” Daniel amended sternly.
Alex shrugged, his smile tilting with a comment he did not make aloud, perhaps out of respect for Daniel, or more likely noticing how Daniel’s hand was reaching again for a gun.
“Pretty girl,” Alice echoed with disapproval. But Daniel saw her fingerstap-tap-ing.
Charlotte saw it also. Her eyebrow went up again. “I notice, Miss Dearlove, that you are wearing a wedding ring to match Bixby’s.”
A whole gang of Wisteria Society ladies with swords drawn would not have been as terrifying as Lottie making a politely quiet comment. “I—I—” Alice answered.
Daniel instinctively came to the rescue. “She is my wife.”
Alex and Charlotte exchanged an astonished glance. And then they laughed.
Daniel bristled with disapproval. “Excuse me.”
“I am so sorry, Bixby dear,” Charlotte said, attempting to sober her countenance. “It is merely that I find it so unlikely you would be married in—”
“Sh!” Alex hissed suddenly. “Someone is at the door.”
Charlotte snatched his hand.“Aereo rapido,”she said, and the two of them levitated at speed toward the ceiling, where a gap in the woodenpaneling revealed how they had entered the locked room. They climbed through it, then Charlotte’s head appeared again at the opening.
“This conversation is not finished,” she warned before sliding the panel back in place, restoring the ceiling to its normal state.
Daniel and Alice looked at each other dumbly. Then the door rattled. At once, Daniel vaulted over a sofa to crouch behind it. Alice, walking sedately around that same sofa, joined him there in the dusty shadows.
“Ooh,” she said excitedly, picking up a small book that had seemingly been tossed to the ground, its pages bent. Glancing at the cover, she wrinkled her nose and set it down once more. Daniel looked a question; “Wordsworth,” she explained.
Just then, the door creaked open.
“Empty,” came a whispered voice. “Quick, Mr. Rotunder, and lock the door behind you.”
“Yes, Gertrude dear.”
“I’m sure it will be in here somewhere. Jane Fairweather has no imagination. You search beneath that clothed table. I’ll check in the writing desk.”
“What exactly does it look like, dear?”
“Heaven knows. Dangerous. Maybe some kind of gun?”
Daniel and Alice exchanged a speaking glance.
“There’s a box of chocolates under here. Could that—”
“Sh!” Mrs. Rotunder hissed suddenly. “Someone’s trying to unlock the door. Hide!”
The sofa began to shudder. Daniel and Alice looked up in time to see Mr. Rotunder climbing over it. His wooden leg whacked Daniel in the head; his other foot stepped on Alice’s back.
“Sorry,” he whispered. “Pardon me. My apologies. Could you make a little space?” The agents shuffled aside and Mr. Rotunder crouchedbetween them. “Thank goodness for hinges,” he whispered, patting his knee, as Daniel and Alice stared at him.
