“Cecilia!” chorused the other pirates in joy.
(“And Ned,” Captain Lightbourne called out, waving, but everyone ignored him.)
“You brought The Baby!” Mrs. Rotunder said delightedly.
Another scuffle broke out as ladies began to rush toward Evangeline with such babbled cries ofcoochy cooanditty bitty prettythat even the baby seemed aghast. Ned strode forward to take her before the suddenly pale-faced Alex could draw his sword in a wild,overprotective instinct. Evangeline reached for her father, nestling against his broad shoulder as he murmured soothing words.
“Stop!” Cecilia said in a clear, ringing voice. She raised her gun in both hands, and the ladies staggered to a shocked halt.
“It is so very lovely to see you all,” she said. “However, I require you to step back. Captain Lightbourne and I are here on business, and I will regretfully (but unhesitatingly) shoot anyone who gets in our way.”
“If you’ve come for the weapon,” Mrs. Rotunder said, “you should know this room has already been searched. It’s not in here.”
“Weapon?” Jane Fairweather’s tremulous, high-pitched voice rose from somewhere within the crowd. “Goodness me, what weapon, ha ha?”
Everyone in the room, including Alice and Daniel, rolled their eyes.
“Thank you, Mrs. Rotunder,” Cecilia said, “but I behold with perfect clarity the weapon of which you speak.”
The pirates looked around excitedly. Alice, however, kept her focus on Cecilia. The young pirate had lowered her gun and turned toward the left side of the room. Following her gaze, Alice saw only a wall of books, a purple velvet armchair, and a small round table upon which stood a marble bust of the poet Wordsworth, decorated with a black bow tie. Above it, snagging her vision, a black thread hung untidily from the join line between ceiling panels.
All at once, her thoughts rushed together with such speed they seemed to meet instantaneously. She remembered finding a volume of Wordsworth’s poetry that had been tossed behind the sofa in Jane’s sitting room... remembered the marble bust originally being in the storeroom from which Jane and Frederick had removed the weapon... and remembered the flattened cake that had so distressed the castle’s butler...
Cecilia stepped forward, reaching for the marble bust.
... And Alice saw again in her mind’s eye the incongruous smattering of crumbs on the kitchen ceiling above that flattened cake. Even before she understood the vision, she was moving in response to it. Ignoring shouts from others in the room, she bashed into Cecilia just as the young pirate placed a hand on Wordsworth’s noble head. Both women slammed to the floor.
Cra—!
Click.
Huddling protectively atop Cecilia, Alice felt a gentle shower of dust sprinkle onto her back. She tensed, but nothing further happened.
“No!”Jane cried out in anguish.
Tilting her head up, Alice noted one of the ceiling panels had cracked. Then she glanced at Wordsworth, tumbled on the floor. The dangling thread, on closer inspection actually a ribbon, now lay across his face, lending the poet a rumpled mustache that made him appear far more dashing than he’d ever have appreciated.
Bbbrrmmbbbrrmmbbbrrmmmm!!
She ducked her head again—but experienced nothing worse than the sound of Miss Darlington’s strident command: “Give the señor back his drum, Mrs. Ogden!”
“I just thought the moment required a drum roll,” Mrs. Ogden murmured contritely.
“Ahem,” came a soft, polite voice closer at hand.
Alice blinked down at Cecilia. “Oh. Sorry. I do beg your pardon for the inconvenience,” she said.
“It is quite all right,” the pirate replied amiably. “I have the same reaction myself to Wordsworth. But would you mind getting up now? There are several daggers and a baby’s bottle stored in my bustle, and they’re rather digging into me.”
“Of course.” Alice hastened to her feet and assisted Cecilia to standalso, guiding her away from the cracked panel at the same time. Then Ned arrived, touching his wife’s arm.
“All right?” he asked quietly.
“Yes,” Cecilia said, reaching out to stroke Evangeline’s hair before smoothing back a loose strand of her own. She glanced up, directing Ned’s gaze to the ceiling; he maintained a placid expression, but anger darkened his eyes.
“It’s fine,” Cecilia said, laying a hand against his chest. “Thanks to Miss Dearlove, I am well.”
“Miss Dearlove, hey?” Miss Darlington interjected, her eyes narrowing. She pointed her walking stick at Alice. “Just what is going on here, gel?”
