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The elder man peered at her over his spectacles. “What do you have in that basket?”

“Fruit, delivered from the country this morning,” Livie said, whisking the cloth from the basket, revealing apples and peaches from Wharton greenhouses.

“There isn’t a single file to be found!” Daisy put in.

The yeomen frowned at her.

“If we had an iron file, we could hide it amongst the fruit. Then my uncle could file the bars off the window, make a rope of his bedsheets, slide to the ground, and escape,” she explained. “That’s how Edmund Neville made his escape in the 1500s. He filed the bars from his window.”

“Daisy!” Livie hissed.

The younger man’s brow darkened. “We’ll be searching that basket, and your pockets as well.”

“We’ll be having a look at that fruit,” the other agreed, squinting at the basket.

In one practiced movement, the warders swept their battle-axes straight into the air, opening a path into the Tower. “Enter.”

Behind them, Margery squeaked. “We should return home!”

“That is no longer an option,” the elder yeoman said with magisterial emphasis.

“Oh, Daisy, what have you done?” Livie whispered.

“Gotten us into the Tower,” Daisy retorted, taking her hand.

They walked under the ancient battlements, despite Margery’s voluble protests, and were escorted into a small, damp office made of stone. The elder warder took the basket from Livie and slowly placed each piece of fruit on the wooden table before them.

“You should cut them in half,” Daisy suggested.

The two yeomen looked at her.

“Daisy!” Livie cried. “The fruit is for my father!”

“I am merely assisting these gentlemen with their duty,” Daisy said. “You can see how seriously they take their work. They may not have considered that had we pushed a file into one of these pieces of fruit, it wouldn’t be immediately visible upon inspection.”

Livie groaned.

Twenty minutes later, they had collectively discovered that the Tower’s battle-axes were not kept as sharp as they ought to be. Most of the fruit had been destroyed as the yeomen systematically squashed and splattered each piece under the blunt edges of their axes. The small room had taken on a sweet, floral smell, like an autumn orchard littered with fallen apples.

Margery was cowering against the farthest stone wall, squealing every time an ax thumped against the wood. “Just like them murdering Frenchmen a-cutting off people’s heads,” she cried, more than once.

By the time most of the fruit had been “inspected,” Livie was having to take deep breaths to control her irritation. A particularly juicy peach had splattered her pelisse and gloves; the ruffs at her wrists were spotted yellow.

Daisy, on the other hand, was having a marvelous time. “I truly admire how devoted His Majesty’s servants are to the safety of the realm!” she exclaimed, placing the last peach in the center of the table. “Stand back, Livie. This one is quite ripe.”

“What in God’s name is going on here?” a stern voice barked from the entrance.

They all turned. Lord Devin stood in the entryway, looking the very picture of the aristocracy in navy velvet with silver stitching.

“That’s all the zoo needs—a peacock!” Daisy muttered.

“The West Gate appears to be unguarded,” his lordship observed.

“Not for much longer,” Daisy told him. “We’ve checked almost the fruit for contraband, as you can see. These two excellent gentlemen have been most assiduous in pursuit of their duties.”

“As I said, the West Gate is unguarded,” Lord Devin repeated, his voice hard.

“We’ll be with you in a moment, your lordship,” the yeoman said. He slammed down his ax, smashing the last peach and spraying its gore around the room.