“Also known as Bloodhound Bess,” Mrs. Kew said. “Both of her husbands were found floating in the Thames with pillowcases over their heads.”
“That doesn’t seem like a very safe way to swim,” Alice remarked.
Daniel choked on a mouthful of tea. Mrs. Kew raised one eyebrow. “They were less swimming and more sleeping with the fishes, dear,” the Chief Servant said.
Alice frowned. “How—”
“Dead,” Daniel told her. “They were dead.”
“Oh.”
“This portrait is somewhat outdated,” Mrs. Kew continued. She waved her finger again, and the man holding the painting took out a pen knife and slashed Bess’s face. “That’s better. She was scarredduring a vicious skirmish with the chairwoman of the East Anglia Potted Flower Club. Very passionate about her oleanders, is Bess. Next, we have Verisimilitude Jones.”
“Millie the Monster,” Alice and Daniel said in dire tones as a third portrait was brought forth.
“You know of her?” Mrs. Kew inquired.
Alice looked at the painting of the tiny, eye-patched woman. “Only one pirate lady has a more alarming reputation than Millie.”
“Funny you should say that,” Mrs. Kew murmured. The fourth clerk stepped up with a portrait that trembled slightly in his hands as he lifted it for view. Represented there in oils was an elegant older woman wearing a fur coat, scarf, and gloves and holding a sun parasol. In her free hand she aimed a pistol at a thin, red-gowned lady whose hair stood erect like a fan and whose actual fan bristled with iron spikes.
“Miss Darlington,” Daniel said, his voice so dire this time it ought to have been surrounded by yellow tape and skull-and-crossbones signs.
“Indeed,” Mrs. Kew confirmed. “Seen here in conversation with her old chum, Lady Armitage, whose recent fall from grace made quite the splash.”
Alice frowned again. “Lady Armitage toppled out of her house into the harbor and drowned.”
“Yes, dear, that’s what I said. With Armitage out of the picture—”
“She is right there,” Alice pointed out. “In the picture.”
“I mean, with Armitage dead—”
“Presumed dead,” Daniel corrected.
“Yes, dear,” Mrs. Kew said through gritted teeth. “With Armitage presumed dead from drowning and therefore being out of the picture,so to speak, Darlington is the most significant piratic threat. She is alsoFrederick Bassingthwaite’s great-aunt, and therefore has been invited to his house party.”
“Will Cecilia Bassingthwaite be attending too?” Daniel asked. At his question, one of the clerks set down his portrait and rummaged through a sheaf of unframed images before presenting a rather blurry watercolor of a young, red-haired woman that had been re-created at larger size from a locket portrait.
“That’s her,” Daniel said. “I know she’s not a Wisteria Society member, but she is an infamous pirate and the rightful owner of Starkthorn Castle.”
Mrs. Kew chuckled. “I don’t believe I’ve ever before heard the term ‘rightful owner’ used when referring to pirates. No, apparently Miss Bassingthwaite’s response upon receiving the invitation was, ‘Over Jane Fairweather’s dead body.’ I’m afraid her housemaid took this rather seriously, and we only just caught up to her half a mile from Starkthorn Castle with a crate of gunpowder. But Miss Bassingthwaite would not attend anyway, considering she has a new baby. The worst you’ll have to contend with is Miss Darlington.”
“Sounds simple,” Alice said.
“Not really,” Daniel argued. “Even Rotten O’Riley fears Jemima Darlington. If she doesn’t assassinate you directly, she will do you in with terror stories about scrofula and rabies.”
“Nevertheless,” Mrs. Kew said, “contend with her you must. You and Alice will be attending the party at Starkthorn Castle. We have several underservants already assigned, but for an assassination plot this serious we require our best agents on-site. Naturally I thought of you.”
Daniel leaned back, crossing one leg over the other and resting his arm against the rim of the sofa behind Alice in a pose that plainly said, “A.U.N.T.’s best agent, at your service.” Alice went taut—but since shewas already so taut one could have safely balanced a full teapot on her head, nobody noticed.
“I will need a new set of correct butler attire,” Daniel informed Mrs. Kew. “A goat ate mine.”
“A goat?” Mrs. Kew’s eyes widened with astonishment.
“O’Riley’s household was an interesting place. On another occasion a woman ate my—actually, never mind.”
Alice was fascinated to see a blush stain Mrs. Kew’s face. Why would a culinary anecdote embarrass the Chief Servant?
