“Yes, yes. Just come back next Wednesday, you know I can’t do the Times crossword without your help.”

Cecilia laughed. “I’ll see you then.”

And putting her hand in Ned’s, she left the ballroom.

“Is that it?” demanded the Queen, glaring at the crowd. “Anyone else want to attempt mass murder or elope with a rakish pirate? No? Then can we please get back to celebrating me?”

The crowd curtsied to her. “Your Majesty,” they murmured gratifyingly.

And the band began to play.

26

a woman’s liberation—beneath an aching moon—bookish—cecilia becomes a fallen woman—stripped naked—genrification—homecoming

And so Cecilia made her own way forward. Which is to say, holding Ned’s hand, and advised by ushers as to the correct exit from the castle, and followed by guards who seemed to think she might steal the royal treasures if they took their eye off her even for a moment—but independent in heart, where it really counted. They stepped out into the moonlight.

Not that the moonlight was apparent, considering all the gas lamps blazing in the courtyard and the lights shining through the windows of the palace; but Cecilia could sense the moon up there somewhere. It shone like the crooked grin of Cilla Bassingthwaite, the lost pirate queen, blowing wishes that freckled the sky and flared gently in Cecilia’s memory. She never had to look to sense her mother’s light.

“Do you think Cilla would approve of me?” Ned asked as if he’d known her thoughts.

“I approve of you,” she answered. “That’s all that matters.”

He smiled, and she looked at him instead of the high, bright horizon. His formal elegance was ruffled around the edges, and the wry, overconfident gleam in his eye had returned. She thought of the gun he had tucked in his waistband, and her blood warmed. Suddenly she wanted him out of that fine coat and into a broom closet.

“Well,” he said, “I hope you approve of this also.”

She followed the gesture of his hand and her eyes widened as a building sank to the ground before her. She heard guards’ footsteps come running, saw out of the corner of her eye Ned reassuring them with a wave. But she could not look away from the edifice.

“Do you like it?” Ned asked.

“Um,” Cecilia replied eloquently.

“It’s my gift to you.” He squeezed her hand gently, and she responded in kind—testing his balance, reassuring herself she could flip him onto his back any moment she needed to, before relaxing and letting him be there beside her in partnership.

The house he had brought her was a brown stone cottage with a steep roof and white-framed windows that shone lamplit in the darkness. Roses clambered over its frontage, framing the pirate-red door. Smoke wafted fragrantly from its chimney. Looking up at the gabled window set into the roof, Cecilia saw Pleasance draw aside a white lace curtain to wave to her. Dazed, she did not wave back. Instead, she lowered her gaze to the front door. Stepping toward it, drawing Ned with her, she read the plaque on the lintel.