Claire hadn’t spoken a word since they returned to the Pigeon, but now she sat up and pulled herself to the foot of her cot. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sure you’re furious with me, but I simply couldn’t keep quiet.” Her eyes went wide. “I don’t believe I’ve ever shouted like that before, you know. I usually quiver and sniffle and sob into my pillow—but perhaps I’m becoming a pirate after all.” She hesitated. “Or perhaps I’m becoming a cruel, awful High Society girl just like Charlie said.”
Hilary threw a pillow at her. “You’re nothing of the sort,” she said. Perhaps Claire had been rather cutting, but Charlie had hardly displayed good manners either, and Hilary felt sure that Miss Greyson was thoroughly disappointed in all three of them. “Besides,” she said, “I’m your captain. I’m supposed to keep the crew together, not blast it apart. Charlie’s been gloomy since we left Gunpowder Island, but I didn’t do a thing about it.” She sighed. “If he ever comes back, I won’t know whether to apologize or run him through.”
“He’ll come back,” the gargoyle said. “I’m sure he already misses me.”
But he didn’t come back. Hilary lay awake all night listening for footsteps on the deck, but the only ones she heard belonged first to Mr. Marrow on the late watch, and then to Miss Greyson, who had come to tell Hilary and Claire that it was time for breakfast. “And I won’t have any sulking,” she warned them as they shuffled across the deck in their nightgowns. “It’s entirely useless, and it ruins one’s complexion.”
Hilary didn’t care two bits about the state of her complexion, but she had no desire to disappoint Miss Greyson any further. “I suppose,” she said, digging into her grapefruit at the Pigeon’s long table, “that we’d better come up with a plan to rescue Miss Pimm from Tilbury Park.” It was what she’d set out to do in the first place, after all, and perhaps it would distract her from worrying about Charlie. “Has anyone got an idea?” she asked, looking down the table.
Mr. Marrow, Mr. Slaughter, and Mr. Stanley all gazed thoughtfully into their porridge bowls, as though perhaps a stray idea might be lurking inside.
“Our plan needs to be thrilling,” the gargoyle said, “so I can write about it in my memoirs.”
“And we’ll have to work hard not to be seen,” Mr. Slaughter added. “These waters are busier than I’ve seen ’em in ages, though I couldn’t tell you why.”
“Oh, but I could!” said Claire. “It’s because of the season—the High Society season, I mean. All the fine families in Augusta are traveling about from one ball to the next.” She speared a section of grapefruit. “And Philomena’s grand debut is this Saturday, of course, so I suppose everyone will be tromping in from across the kingdom.”
Hilary dropped her spoon. “And pouring into Tilbury Park,” she said. “Claire, I believe you’re a genius!”
Claire looked up from her grapefruit. “I am?”
“Yes, you are. And I hope you’ve all practiced your dancing steps recently. I certainly haven’t, but at least I’ve got a few days to polish up my waltz.”
In all her years as Hilary’s governess, Miss Greyson had never looked more startled. “Your waltz?” she said. “Are you planning to attend Philomena’s debut?”
“Don’t you see?” said Hilary. “It’s the perfect way to get into Tilbury Park! There will be hundreds of guests, and we’ll simply hide in the crowd. The guards won’t suspect us, and with any luck the Mutineers won’t notice us. When all the other guests are dancing and batting their eyes at Philomena, we can slip away and rescue Miss Pimm.”
Mr. Stanley consulted his porridge bowl. “It’s a good plan,” he said at last.
“A very good plan,” Mr. Marrow agreed.
“But we haven’t been invited,” Miss Greyson pointed out. “Surely the Tilburys won’t allow us in without an invitation.”
Claire nodded. “And we haven’t got anything to wear—other than pirate clothes, I mean.”
“That’s true,” said Hilary, “but I believe I know some people who can help us.” As she polished off the last bit of grapefruit, Hilary felt absolutely sure that she could rescue Miss Pimm—and if she could do that, whatever could stop her from finding Jasper, or from bringing Charlie back, or from crushing the blasted Mutineers? Everyone in Augusta would soon know precisely who was the boldest and most daring pirate on the High Seas.
The gargoyle, however, was sitting very still. “Hilary?” he said. “When we go to the ball, will I have to take off my hat?”
“Don’t worry, gargoyle,” said Hilary; “you look perfectly dashing just as you are. Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I’ve got to write to my mother—and while I’m at it, I believe I’ll send a quick note to Cannonball Jack.”
* * *
WESTFIELD HOUSE
QUEENSPORT, AUGUSTA
My darling daughter,
I have just received your letter, and it nearly caused me to sing out for joy. Bursting unexpectedly into song is hardly genteel behavior, especially when one lacks instrumental accompaniment, so it is fortunate that I was able to restrain myself. I hope the servants will not be too alarmed, however, if I hum a few bars as I compose this letter.
Dearest Hilary, I would be delighted to escort you and your companions to the ball at Tilbury Park! I knew this day would come, but I must admit I didn’t expect it to arrive so soon. Of course you will need the very finest gown. I have asked my maid to bring me the most suitable selections from your wardrobe; they will be last season’s styles, I’m afraid, but it is too late to do much more than shake our heads and hope for the best. I do hope you have taken care not to grow terribly much in the past year, Hilary. As I have impressed upon you dozens of times, sudden spurts of growth are most inconvenient for one’s dressmakers.
Now I must put down my pen, for I do not feel entirely well. We dined tonight on the turkey that was once Miss Elsie Carter’s headpiece, and I am afraid he tasted more of headpiece than of turkey. I plan to leave for Nordholm at dawn tomorrow, however, and I look forward to seeing you shortly on your quaint little pirate ship.
Your loving
Mother
* * *
* * *
A HEARTY BLAST
from Cannonball Jack
Dear Terror,
Aye, I’ll do as ye ask. An’ I’ll bring a few o’ me friends as well.
Yers,
C. J.
* * *
* * *
THE QUEEN’S INSPECTORS
KINGDOM OF AUGUSTA
DILIGENCE, LOGIC, DISCRETION
Report to H.R.H. Queen Adelaide regarding
THE DISAPPEARANCE OF MISS EUGENIA PIMM
Report No. 4
FIELD INSPECTOR: John Hastings
LOCATION: Pemberton, Augusta
CASE STATUS: Inexcusably Exhausting
Inspector’s Comments: Your Highness, an unusual development has recently occurred in our investigation of the Enchantress’s disappearance. As I have reported previously, the queen’s inspectors are pursuing two known villains: the pirate Hilary Westfield and the pirate Cannonball Jack. I am alarmed to say, Your Highness, that these villains appear to be coordinating a rendezvous. Hilary Westfield has dropped anchor near Tilbury Park in Nordholm, and one of my men has recently spotted Cannonball Jack sailing toward this part of the Northlands as well. Tilbury Park is, of course, the home of Miss Philomena Tilbury, who happens to be a witness in our case. I am deeply concerned for Miss Tilbury’s safety, for one does not need a high-quality magnifying glass to see that something sinister is afoot!
My men and I leave at once for Tilbury Park. We will protect our delicate witness, arrest both pirates, and escort them personally to the Royal Dungeons.
Signed
John Hastings
Captain, Queen’s Inspectors
* * *
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MRS. WESTFIELD CLAPPED her hands together and beamed. “Oh, Hilary,” she said, “you look absolutely marvelous.”
�
��I look,” said Hilary, “like a cabbage.”
“A very beautiful cabbage,” said Claire encouragingly.
Hilary groaned. “The Terror of the Southlands isn’t supposed to be beautiful; she’s supposed to be fearsome! How can I be fearsome if I can’t even see my feet?”
“Seeing one’s feet,” said Mrs. Westfield, “is quite beside the point, especially when one is wearing sailor’s boots under one’s gown.” She knelt down on the deck of the Pigeon to adjust the fluffy green layers of Hilary’s skirt. “Oh dear, is that a rip? Have you already trodden on your hem?”
Hilary glared at her.
“Well, never mind. We shall have a wonderful time this evening, and that’s all that matters. I’m truly honored that you girls have chosen me to be your guide as you venture away from a life of piracy and toward a life of elegance.” Mrs. Westfield kissed Hilary on the cheek and hurried across the deck to admire Miss Greyson, who had embellished one of her everyday dresses with some hurried embroidery and (Hilary suspected) a bit of magic.
“Perhaps she’s right,” Hilary said to Claire. “Rescuing Miss Pimm from peril sounds like a rather lovely way to pass the evening. I just hope the Tilburys’ cook doesn’t chop me into a salad.”
Claire laughed—but then, she could afford to, for she didn’t resemble any sort of vegetable. She was wearing one of Hilary’s old gowns, though it looked much finer on her than it ever had on Hilary, and waves of orange-gold silk rustled prettily around her feet whenever she moved. “Perhaps you should look on the bright side,” she said. “No one would ever think to search for the Terror of the Southlands inside all that silk. And those fluffs and ruffles hide your cutlass ever so well.”
Hilary patted the blade at her hip. “That’s true,” she said. “I don’t think Mother’s spotted it yet, and I’m quite sure it’s not on her list of acceptable accessories for young ladies.” She grinned. “I suppose I should warn the gargoyle that he’ll be traveling to the ball in Mother’s most spacious beaded purse.”
She crossed the deck to the Gargoyle’s Nest, where the gargoyle was looking out toward the mouth of the cove, watching colorful High Society barges float past on their way to Tilbury Park. “Well,” she said, “what do you think of my gown?”
The gargoyle looked her up and down. He hesitated. “It’s very green,” he said at last.
“Exactly,” said Hilary. “I believe you’d look less silly in this dress than I would.”
The gargoyle shuddered. “Let’s not find out.”
Hilary peeled off the long white gloves she’d already managed to stain and scratched the gargoyle behind the ears. “Have you seen anyone interesting sail by?”
“The Renegade went past a few hours ago,” the gargoyle said, “but I don’t think they saw us.”
“Good. I’d prefer it if Captain Blacktooth didn’t know we were here.”
“Oh, and the Featherings arrived in the Calamity. Other than that, there have been lots of gentlemen in tailcoats and ladies in lace, but they haven’t been very interesting.” The gargoyle rested his chin on the rim of the Nest. “Now that,” he said, “is an interesting boat.”
Hilary followed the gargoyle’s gaze out to the mouth of the cove, where a small, bedraggled fishing boat floated alongside the elegant barges. It rode low in the waves, as though it was taking on a lot of water, but it wobbled along determinedly toward Tilbury Park. Suddenly, quite without warning, it jerked to one side and sailed into the cove where the Pigeon was hiding.
Hilary reached for her cutlass. Then she saw that a makeshift Jolly Roger flew from the fishing boat’s mast, a parrot—no, a budgerigar—perched on its bowsprit, and two pirates huddled damply on the deck. The gargoyle began to hop up and down as well as he could in his Nest. “I know those scallywags!” he cried. “It’s Jasper and Charlie!”
“Thank goodness,” Hilary whispered. She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Ahoy, mateys!” she called. “You’re very welcome on the Pigeon if you’d like to come aboard.”
“Who’s there?” Miss Greyson hurried to the bow and gave a little shriek when she spotted the pirates. “For heaven’s sake, Jasper Fletcher, you’ve worried me half to death! Are you all right?”
“I’ve never been better,” said Jasper as the fishing boat sidled up to the Pigeon. “Blast it all, Eloise, it’s awfully good to see you. And is that the Terror next to you?” He squinted up at Hilary. “I don’t want to alarm you, Terror, but I believe you’re being attacked by a ball gown.”
Hilary tossed a rope down to the fishing boat, and Jasper began to pull himself aboard. “If I weren’t so happy to see you,” she said, “I’d send the ball gown after you next. It’s terribly vicious, you know.”
“I can see that,” said Jasper. He swung himself over the railing and wrapped Miss Greyson in an embrace that made Mrs. Westfield gasp behind her evening gloves. Then he hugged Hilary, bowed to Claire and Mrs. Westfield, gave Marrow, Slaughter, and Stanley each a hearty handshake, and bestowed a kiss upon the gargoyle’s snout. “It’s good to be home,” he said, peeling off his seawater-soaked coat, “and even better to be off that dratted boat. I had to use all my spare socks to plug its leaks.”
“But how did you escape from the Mutineers?” Miss Greyson reached for Jasper’s hands and gasped, for his arms were covered with scrapes and bruises, and the skin around his wrists was raw. “Did those villains do this to you?”
At the mention of villains, Mrs. Westfield put a hand to her forehead and hurried back to Hilary’s cabin to calm her nerves.
“It’s lucky they didn’t do more,” Jasper said. “When I reached the island where I’d been told the freelance pirates’ convention was taking place, two scallywags greeted me and promised they’d take good care of me. I thought it was odd that the three of us were the only pirates on the island—but it was even odder when they confiscated my sword, bound my wrists and ankles, and tied me to a rather uncomfortable palm tree. Fitzwilliam did his best to peck at the scoundrels, but I’m sorry to say he lost a few tail feathers in the process.”
Fitzwilliam, who had settled himself on the gargoyle’s head, ruffled his plumage self-consciously.
“The pirates kept me well fed, at least,” said Jasper, “though they weren’t gracious enough to share their grog. They told me their employer didn’t want me nosing about in his plans, so they’d been asked to keep me occupied. Then, a few days ago, they received orders to leave me on the island and report to the Northlands to assist this mysterious employer—so, naturally, I followed them.” He touched his wrist gingerly. “Fortunately for me, their knot-tying skills were a bit rusty.”
“And the pirates led you here?” Hilary asked.
“Nearly. I must admit I lost sight of them near Nordholm—but that, by a stroke of good fortune, is where I found Charlie.” Jasper turned around. “Where is Charlie?”
Hilary leaned over the ship’s railing and looked down at the fishing boat. Charlie was sitting with his back against the mast, looking both damp and miserable. His coat was torn, and his hat was soaked through. “I said you’re very welcome on the Pigeon,” she called down. “I didn’t only mean Jasper.”
Charlie looked up at her. “You’ve got no reason to welcome me.”
“Perhaps I don’t,” said Hilary, “but I’ll do it anyway.” She gathered up her fluffy green skirts and climbed down the rope to the fishing boat, which rocked from side to side as she made her way to Charlie. Before he could protest, she sat down next to him, hardly caring that her gown was getting damper by the second. “You gave us a lot of worry,” she said. “Wherever have you been?”
Charlie didn’t meet her eyes. “At my mam and pa’s old place,” he said quietly. “The house is long gone, but there’s a flattish rock that makes a decent bed. I was going to make a name for myself, sailing the High Seas all alone until I was even more dangerous than my pa ever got a chance to be.”
“But you didn’t,” said Hilary. “Did Jasper stop you?”
“No,” said Charlie. “It was my pa. I couldn’t shake his voice from my mind. ‘A pirate doesn’t abandon his mates,’ he kept saying, and the more he said it, the worse I felt.” He drew his knees up to his chest. “I shouldn’t have left; it was stupid of me. I won’t blame you if you can’t forgive me, but I’ll swab the deck, or pump out the bilge, or do anything else you want if it will prove to you that I’m a good pirate.”
Hilary considered this. “I ought to punish you,” she said. “The League has dozens of ways to deal with runaway crewmates, and none of them is pleasant, unless you enjoy having barnacles in your breeches.”
Charlie looked grim. Seawater dripped from his hat brim onto his nose.
“But I’m quite fed up with the League’s rules,” Hilary continued, “and I’m willing to forgive you on two conditions. First, you must swear you won’t storm off again.”
“I swear,” Charlie said at once. “What’s the second condition?”
“You’ve got to apologize to Claire.” Hilary held out the rope that led back to the ship. “And she’s got to apologize to you as well. I can’t have my mates being furious with each other.”
Charlie’s face tightened, but he nodded and took hold of the rope, and they climbed back onto the Pigeon.
“See?” said the gargoyle as Charlie pulled himself onto the deck. “I knew he’d miss me.”
Claire stood nearby, tugging her evening gloves and looking as though she’d rather be anywhere else in the kingdom. Charlie hesitated, and for a moment, Hilary worried he’d leap back over the side of the ship. But he took a long breath and held out his hand toward Claire.
The Terror of the Southlands Page 18
