Someone else was creeping through the woods with a hesitancy that suggested stealth, although they were trampling fallen branches and leaves with a clumsiness that suggested a desire to be murdered by pirates. Ned and Cecilia looked at each other by faint moonlight. Ned pointed to Cecilia, raised his hand, then pointed beyond the tree. Cecilia nodded. Drawing the gun from his belt, Ned took a steadying breath, then leaped forth.

“Stop or I’ll shoot!” he warned the stranger.

Or at least he began thus. He was, however, interrupted by Cecilia also leaping from behind the tree, gun rising as she, too, warned the stranger to stop.

“Excuse me?” Ned turned to her impatiently.

“What?” she said, glancing at him.

“I told you to stay behind the tree.”

“No. You did this.” She repeated the gestures he’d used, her gun waving as she did so.

“Yes, which means ‘Stay behind the tree.’”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Something’s ridiculous,” the stranger agreed.

They turned, weapons straightening, and stared at the gray-haired man before them in the moonlight. He was armed with a rifle.

“Jokerson!” Cecilia exclaimed.

“Jacobsen,” he corrected through gritted teeth. “Drop your guns.”

“No,” Ned answered, and shot him.

Jacobsen screamed and flung backward, his rifle shooting at the sky. He smashed into the ground and lay abruptly silent.

Cecilia winced. “You didn’t have to kill him.”

Ned walked over to nudge a booted foot against the man. “He’s not dead. I only shot his shoulder. He must have hit his head when he fell.”

“Poor fellow.”

Ned looked up from retrieving Jacobsen’s rifle and stared at her incredulously. “He was going to kill us.”

“Even so.” She holstered her gun. “I don’t like violence.”

“Well, you’re in the wrong profession, then, sweetheart.” He emptied the rifle of its ammunition and threw bullets and gun in opposite directions. “We should probably return to the house. He might have killed Lady Armitage in his escape.”

“I doubt that.”

“Oh? Why?”

“Because he’s still alive,” answered a voice from the shadows.

Ned sighed.

“Aunty Army,” Cecilia said as if meeting the lady on a London street in the middle of the afternoon.

Lady Armitage moved into view, stepping loudly on a twig as she did.

“So that noise was you,” Ned said. “I thought it unlikely of Jacobsen. How are you even here? I gave you a sleeping potion.”

“I appreciate your candor, Signor,” Lady Armitage replied. “Strange quality for a pirate, but there you go. I, on the other hand, am not stupid enough to be honest. The potions in my cabinet are all mislabeled. You gave me something to cleanse my liver.”

Ned could only laugh. “Touché,” he said, bowing.

“But, Aunty,” Cecilia said, “you shouldn’t be out here. It’s dangerous.”

“I am a pirate terror, my dear.”

“Yes, but it’s also cold. You’ll catch pneumonia.”

“Nonsense. Pneumonia is only for young ladies whose aunts wish to repress them so that they never become independent and leave said aunts alone.”

Cecilia gasped. Behind her, Ned nodded in agreement, but when Cecilia turned to frown at him he shook his head instead, mouth hunched in firm disagreement.