“I’m sorry for mocking you,” he said. “I shouldn’t have been so unkind. You did a good job rescuing us from Captain Blacktooth on Gunpowder Island. And, er, your gown looks very nice.”
Claire flushed. Then she took his hand and shook it. “I’m sorry, too,” she said, “for calling you silly, and for saying you’d never be the Scourge of the Northlands. I didn’t mean those things, not really. And I’m pleased that you’re back, since it means we’ve got a good sword fighter to help us rescue Miss Pimm.”
“Oh, is that what we’re doing?” Jasper asked. “That sounds delightful. Would you mind very much, Hilary, if I joined in?”
Hilary thought for a moment. “Captain Blacktooth will probably scorn me for it,” she said, “but I don’t believe I care much for his opinion at the moment, and I’d be grateful for your assistance if you’d like to give it.” She looked from Jasper to Charlie and back again. “I’m afraid, though, that you’ll both have to change your clothes—and I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to keep you safe from waltzing.”
“I can see,” said Jasper, “that I’ve got a good deal of catching up to do. All right, Pirate Westfield. You’d better tell us what you’ve got planned, and then Charlie and I shall make ourselves presentable.”
AT EIGHT O’CLOCK precisely, the gates to Tilbury Park were opened. A long line of carriages squeaked up the drive, and the elegant ladies and gentlemen who had arrived by sea made their way up the lantern-lit path from the docks to the mansion’s front entrance. The buzz of High Society chatter tangled with the strains of a string quartet performing from a balcony, and fireflies dotted the lawn. It was an unusual setting for a bold and daring feat of piracy, Hilary thought, but it would have to do. She tied up the dinghy and looked over her shoulder at the cove where the Pigeon was hidden. With any luck, the Mutineers wouldn’t discover it—and even if they did, they would discover Marrow, Slaughter, and Stanley as well. At least that was one part of her plan that wasn’t likely to go wrong.
“Blast it all, Jasper,” said Charlie as they walked toward the mansion, “you’ve made my trousers too long again.” Jasper had managed to convince Mrs. Westfield that he and Charlie would be attending the ball in order to provide the Tilburys with additional security, and both of them were dressed in the peacock-blue guards’ uniforms he’d conjured up that afternoon. “Your magic piece must think I’m at least three inches taller than I actually am.”
“At least you don’t have to wear a suit,” Hilary said, “or a vicious ball gown.”
“True,” said Charlie, sounding considerably more cheerful. “And guards don’t have to dance.”
“It’s a shame,” said Jasper. “I was quite looking forward to the quadrille.”
Tilbury Park was still entirely surrounded by guards, but several of them now stood on both sides of the front entrance, examining each guest who passed through the door. Hilary let a few waves of hair fall over her face, feeling almost grateful that her mother had insisted on loosing it from its usual braid, and she rested her hand on the lump the gargoyle made in her purse.
Mrs. Westfield presented her invitation at the door and introduced Hilary, Claire, and Miss Greyson as her guests. “Welcome, ladies, to Tilbury Park,” said one of the guards, bowing low and tipping his peacock-blue hat. Then he stood up and frowned at Charlie and Jasper. “Aren’t you two supposed to be on duty?”
“We’ve asked these gentlemen to escort us inside,” said Hilary. “They were reluctant to leave their posts, but we simply couldn’t bear to walk up the path alone. Just think how dreadful it would be if I tripped in the dark and tore my gown! I’m quite sure these guards are saving me and the Tilburys from a good deal of embarrassment.”
“Of course,” the guard said kindly. “Well, gentlemen, see that you return to your posts in short order. And remember to keep an eye out for pirates.”
Claire gasped. “Pirates? Surely there’s no danger of pirates attending the ball!”
“We hope not, miss,” said the guard, “but Mrs. Tilbury has asked us to watch for a small pirate called the Terror of the Southlands. There’s no reason to worry, though.” He smiled. “I hear she’s truly not much of a Terror at all.”
Hilary’s silk flounces rustled as she lifted her foot and stomped most deliberately upon the guard’s toes. “Oh dear,” she said. “You’ll have to excuse my clumsiness.”
“No matter, miss.” The guard winced in pain. “Enjoy the ball.”
They passed through the entrance and found themselves on a wide balcony overlooking a grand ballroom. Two sets of polished staircases led down to the ballroom, where gentlemen in tailcoats and ladies in bright dresses swirled and curtsied. Gilt-framed mirrors and tall arched windows lined the walls, and a crystal chandelier nearly as large as the Squeaker hung from the ceiling, but most impressive of all was the glass-paneled wooden cabinet, stuffed nearly to bursting with golden cutlery, golden candlesticks, golden pitchers, and golden platters. Hilary took one look at it and drew in her breath.
“Oh my,” said Claire, staring down at the cabinet. “Do you think that could all be magic?”
Miss Greyson nodded. “An impressive amount of it,” she said, “and not very tastefully arranged, if you ask me. I can’t imagine how the Tilburys could have gotten their hands on it all.”
“I can imagine it quite well,” said Hilary, lowering her voice so her mother wouldn’t overhear. “I’d bet you anything that it belongs to Father—or rather, to those High Society folks he stole it from last year. He told me those queen’s inspectors still haven’t managed to find his plunder”—she squirmed a bit at the memory—“but I’m sure they haven’t checked Tilbury Park. Father must be out of his wits if he thinks it’s wise to put that much magic anywhere near Philomena.”
At one end of the ballroom, Philomena sat resplendent in a gown the color of sunshine, looking nothing at all like a cabbage. She embraced the guests who came to greet her and occasionally whispered something to her mother, who stood as rigid as a naval officer on her right, or to Sir Nicholas Feathering, who nodded politely on her left.
“What if old Philodendron spots us?” Claire asked.
“She won’t,” said Hilary. “We’ll find Miss Pimm as quickly as possible and leave before anyone knows we’re here. Miss Greyson, are you ready?”
Miss Greyson nodded and pulled out her crochet hook. “I am indeed. I shall be back in an instant—and don’t forget your manners while I’m gone.” Then she whispered a few words to her crochet hook and flitted away across the balcony.
Mrs. Westfield excused herself to greet a friend she’d spotted across the ballroom, and Hilary scanned the whirling crowd below her. Alice Feathering sat against the wall looking utterly bored. Captain Blacktooth, dressed in a tailored suit, was dancing a jig with a surprising amount of gusto. Hilary supposed the suit was his idea of a disguise, for with the exception of the sword hanging from his belt, he looked far more like a High Society gentleman than a pirate. “Both Blacktooth and Mrs. Tilbury are distracted,” Hilary said quietly, “and it looks as though they’ve stationed most of their guards outside the house.”
“That’s pretty much perfect, isn’t it?” Charlie asked.
“Too perfect.” Hilary frowned. “I’m not sure I like it.”
Miss Greyson hurried elegantly back to Hilary’s side. “The crochet hook seemed quite certain that the Mutineers are keeping Miss Pimm somewhere down that hall.” She nodded to an arched doorway to Hilary’s right. “But I’m afraid there are two gentlemen standing guard. I tried to stroll right past them, but they say Mrs. Tilbury has ordered them not to let anyone through.”
“Two guards?” Hilary gave her cutlass a thoughtful sort of tap. “Charlie and Jasper should be able to take care of them without any trouble.”
“We certainly can,” said Jasper, “but don’t you think a sword fight might attract attention?”
“Well, you probably shouldn’t duel them,” said Hilary, “but I thought t
hat perhaps you could distract them.”
“Ah,” said Jasper. “That does sound more reasonable. Consider it done.” He strolled toward the arched doorway and signaled for the others to follow.
Hilary hurried along after him, tripping over the hem of her gown only twice, but just outside the doorway, she stopped short and grabbed Claire’s hand. “Blast!” she whispered. “It’s Mr. Twigget!”
He was wearing a guard’s uniform instead of his usual striped shirt, and his blue beret looked quite a bit sillier than his pirate hat had, but the guard who stood at the left-hand side of the archway was none other than Captain Blacktooth’s first mate. “There’s a chance he might not know Jasper,” Hilary whispered, “but he’s met Charlie, and he certainly knows me. He’ll alert the Mutineers for sure.” She sighed. “This would all have been quite a bit easier if Philomena had hosted a masked ball.”
Charlie must have recognized Mr. Twigget as well, for he had the good sense to stand behind Jasper and pull his hat low over his eyes. Jasper, however, marched directly up to Twigget and cleared his throat. “Mrs. Tilbury’s sent the two of us to relieve you and your partner,” he said. “Perhaps you’d like to nip downstairs for a glass of lemonade?”
Mr. Twigget looked Jasper up and down. “You look familiar,” he said after a moment. “Now, why is that? Are you that pirate who insulted Captain Blacktooth at the League banquet a few years back?”
Miss Greyson drew in her breath, and Hilary reached for her magic piece.
“Me, insult Captain Blacktooth?” cried Jasper. “Never!”
Mr. Twigget frowned. “Are you sure?”
“My dear fellow,” said Jasper, “I’m positive. You must be confusing me with my cousin, Jasper Fletcher. He’s a thoroughly useless scallywag, and I’m ashamed to be related to him—though they do say he’s the most handsome pirate on the High Seas.”
Charlie put a hand to his mouth to mask his grin.
“In any case,” said Jasper, “I really do recommend the lemonade.”
Mr. Twigget and his partner exchanged glances. “No one told me anything about switchin’ places,” Twigget said, “but I like lemonade well enough.” He pointed a finger at Jasper. “You’d better take care not to let anyone through this door while I’m gone, you hear, or the captain will have all our heads.”
“I assure you,” said Jasper, “your head will be safe with me.”
Jasper and Charlie took up their places on either side of the doorway, and Mr. Twigget followed his partner toward the staircase. Hilary looked down at her feet and tried her best to be unremarkable, but the blasted cabbage-colored dress must have caught Mr. Twigget’s attention, for his shuffling bootsteps slowed as they approached her, and then they stopped entirely.
“Hmm,” said Mr. Twigget. “Excuse me, miss.”
Hilary looked up to meet Mr. Twigget’s eyes. Then she dropped into a curtsy, as she hoped a High Society girl would do; it was rather crooked, but perhaps Mr. Twigget wouldn’t notice. She didn’t dare say a word, for not even a hideous ball gown could disguise her voice.
“Is something the matter?” Jasper called from the doorway.
Mr. Twigget scratched his chin. “No,” he said, “I were mistaken.” Then he looked directly at Hilary. “Remember what I said about not lettin’ anyone through.”
“We’ll remember, sir,” Charlie said quickly.
For a long moment, Mr. Twigget said nothing. Then he made a gruff harrumphing noise, nodded to Hilary, and stamped down the staircase after his partner.
Hilary didn’t say a word until Twigget was safely out of earshot. “I’m almost sure he recognized me,” she whispered. “Do you think he’s gone to get Captain Blacktooth?”
“If he has, you’d better hurry,” said Miss Greyson. “Have you got your cutlass? And your magic piece?”
“Of course, Miss Greyson.”
“And you’re quite sure you don’t need a chaperone?”
Miss Greyson looked so earnest that Hilary couldn’t help smiling. “I know it’s quite scandalous to run about rescuing Enchantresses without one’s governess,” she said, “but I’ll be perfectly fine on my own.”
“Ahem,” said a voice from the beaded purse.
“Well, nearly on my own. Besides, I need the rest of you to watch the Mutineers and warn me if they’re coming.”
“We’ll do precisely that.” Claire gave Hilary a quick hug. “Now run and snap up Miss Pimm before those guards come back with their lemonade.”
THE LONG WHITE hallway was lined with closed doors, and Hilary had no idea which one might be concealing an Enchantress. She found a library, a conservatory, and three washrooms, and she had just reached reluctantly for her magic piece when she turned a corner and found herself facing a dead end and a door fitted with padlocks. Beside the door stood the Tilburys’ second-best coachman, Lewis.
Hilary said “Blast!” at the very same moment that Lewis said “Oh dear!” and Hilary clapped her hand over Lewis’s mouth to keep him from saying anything more.
“That does it!” said the gargoyle as he pushed his way out of Hilary’s purse. “Enough is enough! This bag smells funny, and I’m tired of being quiet, and I want to see what’s going on.” He smiled at Lewis, showing all his teeth. “Oh, it’s you again. I hoped it would be someone more interesting.”
Hilary pulled her cutlass from her waistband and pressed the tip into Lewis’s shoulder, not hard enough to slice through his livery, but hard enough to show she meant business. “If you say a word,” she said, “I’ll let my sharp-toothed friend here nibble on your toes, and that’s just to start. Do you understand?”
Lewis nodded. Hilary removed her hand from his mouth and wiped her glove on her skirt. “Very well,” she said. “You’re Philomena’s coachman, aren’t you?”
Lewis trembled.
“I suppose that’s a yes,” said Hilary. “And I am the Terror of the Southlands. You might remember me from our meeting in Pemberton.”
“She wasn’t wearing a ball gown then,” the gargoyle said helpfully.
Confronting the Tilburys’ second-best coachman hadn’t been part of Hilary’s plan at all, but she suspected that Lewis was even more nervous than she was, and the thought comforted her a bit. “Now, Lewis,” she said, “if you’d be kind enough to assist me, perhaps I won’t run you through. Is Miss Pimm behind that door you’re guarding?”
Lewis’s eyes went wide. Then, very slowly, he nodded.
“Will you open the door for me? And will you stand perfectly still, without shouting for your mistress, until I’ve taken Miss Pimm far away from here?”
Lewis’s nose began to twitch. He looked down at Hilary’s cutlass, and he looked quite intently at the gargoyle’s teeth. Then he closed his eyes and shook his head.
“No, I supposed not. Well, at least you’re honest. That’s more than I can say for your fellow Mutineers.” Hilary sighed. “I suppose I really should run you through, blast it all. I don’t want all the scallywags in the pirate community gossiping about how the Terror of the Southlands doesn’t carry out her threats.” She pressed the point of her cutlass more firmly into Lewis’s shoulder, but he squirmed beneath it and her stomach lurched more unpleasantly than it ever had on the High Seas.
“Wait!” the gargoyle cried. “Lift me up!”
“What?” The cutlass felt slick in Hilary’s grip, and her hand shook as she pulled it away from Lewis’s shoulder.
The gargoyle nodded. “Trust me,” he said.
“All right,” said Hilary. Then she lifted her purse up above her head, and the gargoyle pulled the most terrifying face she’d ever seen. He leaned toward Lewis, baring his teeth, crossing his eyes, wiggling his ears, and flapping his wings so violently that Hilary worried he would fly right out of Tilbury Park. His snout touched Lewis’s nose, and he let out a great breath that filled the hall with the scent of damp stone and spiders.
“Arr!” cried the gargoyle, and Lewis crumpled to the floor.
; Hilary stared at the peacock-blue lump of coachman. Then she poked him with her boot. He was still breathing, to her relief, but he didn’t seem to be conscious. “I can’t believe it,” she said. “How did you know he’d faint?”
“He seemed like the sort who scares easily,” said the gargoyle with a grin. “And I didn’t want you to run him through.”
“It was very kind of you,” said Hilary. “He doesn’t seem all that awful, does he? I suppose it’s his bad luck to be employed by the Tilburys.” She pulled out her magic coin and wished for the door to come unlocked. It required more effort than she’d expected, but slowly, one by one, the padlocks sprang open.
Hilary looked down at the gargoyle. “My dear matey,” she said, “are you ready for a bit more boldness and daring?”
“Always,” said the gargoyle, and Hilary opened the door.
* * *
Dear Hilary,
I hope Fitzwilliam finds you with this note. Mr. Marrow, Mr. Slaughter, and I have just been approached by a gentleman calling himself Inspector Hastings. He struck me as rather foolish—but then, he managed to locate the Pigeon’s hiding place, so perhaps he is not so foolish after all.
In any regard, I fear the inspector and his men are looking for you. Not only do they believe that you have captured Miss Pimm, but they are sure you intend to capture Miss Philomena Tilbury as well. We urged them quite strongly to go away, and Inspector Hastings was most impressed by our cutlass blades. He and his men traveled toward Tilbury Park, however, and I suspect that if they find you, we will all end up in the Dungeons. I suggest, therefore, that you move quickly.
Yours truly,
Mr. Stanley
* * *
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
IN THE MIDDLE of a small bedroom, Miss Pimm sat in a most uncomfortable-looking wooden chair. Her wrists and ankles were bound with thick ropes, her eyes were closed, and she was snoring softly. Hilary had always assumed that Miss Pimm was far too prim and proper to snore—or even, really, to sleep—but there was hardly any time to wonder about such things. She hurried over to Miss Pimm and put a hand on her shoulder. “Miss Pimm?” she said softly into the Enchantress’s ear. “Can you hear me?”
The Terror of the Southlands Page 19
