The madwoman bared her teeth.
“She is our resident Lunatic,” Frederick continued blithely. “One can hardly own a properly decent Gothic castle without keeping an Attic Lunatic. We also have a Mysterious Scar-Faced Man lurking in the cellar, and the famous medium Mrs. Zhu comes in quarterly to refresh our ghosts.”
Alice’s eyes narrowed as she attempted to process this information. “So this woman is—?”
The madwoman held out her free hand in the offer of a handshake. “Muriel Happely,” she introduced herself in a polished voice. “You may have seen me onstage in the Adelphi Theatre, playing Desdemona. Prince Edward himself called it ‘a tour de force of suffering,’ and it is generally agreed that he meant my performance, not the watching of it. I hope you have enjoyed your immersive experience of Evelina this evening.”
“Enjoyed,” Alice echoed with the hollowness of someone for whom all inner dictionaries have self-combusted in despair.
Ms. Happely withdrew her hand, which not only had gone ignored but hadn’t even encouraged the slightest lowering of guns. Her smile wavered slightly at its edges, but she’d clearly dealt with critics before. “Thank you for watching! Please do consider leaving a review in the guest book before you go home.”
Alice turned her head to look at Daniel. He met the stunned gaze with one of his own. If Mrs. Kew could have seen them at that moment, she’d have thrown away her sugar canister and just handed them a whole pot of black tea.
“Tremendous!” Frederick declared. “Kudos to you, Evelina, it was a master class in dramaturgy! That will be all for now.”
“Actually,” Ms. Happely said, “while I have you, Mr. Bassingthwaite, perhaps we might discuss the small matter of my outstanding wages, which—”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Frederick interrupted, dismissing the question with a wave of his hand. “The check is in the mail!”
“Arrrghh!”Ms. Happely gave the flaming torch one last maniacal shake, then turned and ran back along the corridor, hollering as she went. Slowly, the agents lowered their weapons. Alice smelledsomething acrid; noticing a scorch mark on her bodice, she brushed at it and—
Abruptly, Daniel caught her hand in his. “Mrs. Blakeney,” he said in a taut voice. “You have been harmed.”
“It’s nothing,” Alice assured him, but as she looked up her blood chilled at the sight of his expression, so still, his eyes gone silver with fury.
Oh dear, she thought.
“Starkthorn Castle is proud to offer the best, most authentic entertainment,” Frederick was saying cheerfully. “An elevated heart rate, a singed bodice, and as many thrills as you—eee!”
The butt of Daniel’s pistol slamming into his temple caused him to squeal for the short duration of his passage to the ground, a journey that ended in unconsciousness. The agents regarded his heaped form with cool distaste.
“I think you are supposed to say something pithy at this moment,” Alice advised.
Daniel frowned slightly. “Such as?”
“The jig is up,” came a voice behind them.
Turning, they saw Miss Darlington stride along the corridor with a vigor surprising in one so encumbered by lace, pleats, puffs, and pearls that the fact of her even remaining upright was remarkable. Her walking stick tapping against the floor sounded eerily like a matronlytsk-tsk. Behind her lumbered Jake Jacobsen, who might have been described as her shadow were it not for the considerable substance of his body. And behind him came Mrs. Rotunder, bringing up the rear with a dress whose bustle made her own rear seem enormous.
“Surely it would be more appropriate to say the jig is down,” Alice countered, “since Frederick is on the ground.”
Daniel lifted his hand with the gun in it and pressed the thumbknuckle against his brow, where a headache lurked menacingly. “I believe Miss Darlington is referring to our cover being blown,” he said.
“I am indeed,” the pirate lady confirmed. “You made a good effort, but to be proper, after rendering Frederick unconscious you should have immediately robbed him.”
“We were just about to,” Alice tried—but Miss Darlington shook her head pityingly.
“It’s no use, dear. There’s also the fact you did not join in the melee in the art gallery.”
“And you take your tea without sugar,” Mrs. Rotunder added.
“And you don’t stand like pirates.”
“Or know about the Great Peril.”
“Or have enough luggage.”
“Or ever tried to assassinate any of us.”
