Miss Darlington immediately noticed. “Cecilia,” she snapped. “You are becoming quite hysterical. I believe when we return to London we shall have to employ a doctor for you. A brisk pelvic massage will be the very thing to restore your nerves to tranquility.”

“Thank you, Aunty,” Cecilia said. “I am but a little tired.” As the house shook again and someone hollered “Score!” she retreated into poetry.

“‘The mightiest of Magicians—’”

A knock sounded on the front door.

Miss Darlington ejected a forceful sigh. Cecilia shut the book with an audible clap.

“We are not home,” Miss Darlington told Pleasance.

“Yes, miss,” the maid said, and hurried to convey this message to the caller. A moment later she returned, pale-faced and tremulous.

“It—it—it—your—”

“Tsk,” Miss Darlington said.

“Tsk,” a new voice said.

The ladies turned to see Queen Victoria bustle into the room.

Pleasance, who had survived ghostly encounters, pirate ladies, and enough internal demons to populate a circle of hell, threw her apron over her head and hid behind a chair.

Cecilia looked past the Queen to Ned loitering behind. As their eyes met, she felt a rush of love and longing, and it was all she could do to not leap up and run to his side. He smiled at her and then looked away, his expression becoming opaque.

“We are minded to meet the lady of whom everyone speaks so warmly,” Queen Victoria intoned as if there was a crowd of parliamentarians before her, not two exhausted pirates and a chair concealing a housemaid.

“Warmly, hey?” Miss Darlington was unimpressed. “I can’t say I wouldn’t prefer anxiously, or respectfully, or with a fearful glance over their shoulder.”

“That certainly is more satisfying,” the Queen agreed.

“Have a seat, if you please,” Miss Darlington invited.

Cecilia rose to offer hers to the Queen. Victoria sat, the vast billows of her dress overflowing the chair. Her dolorous visage did not alter as she contemplated the elegantly crammed sitting room—until all at once her eyes widened, flaring with excitement. “I say, is that Spanish sherry?”

Cecilia poured her a glass. While she was doing so, Queen Victoria and Miss Darlington shared a cool, professional stare.

“We have heard your son stabbed you,” the Queen remarked.

“We have heard your son gambles and squanders his days and keeps mistresses,” Miss Darlington replied.

The sherry glass shook as Cecilia handed it to the Queen.

Victoria gave Cecilia a penetrating look and then shrugged and smiled ruefully, as if having won a silent argument with herself. “Major Candent left an item of some personal value in your cockpit,” she said. “I presume he has your permission to retrieve it?”

“Of course,” Miss Darlington agreed. “Major Candent, hey?”

Ned bowed.

She regarded him keenly for a moment and then sighed, as if having lost her own inner argument. “He may not go alone,” she stipulated. “After the day I’ve had, I do not wish to be burgled as well.”

“I wouldn’t burgle you,” Ned said, but everyone ignored him.