“I’ll tell you later.”

After about fifteen minutes, the woods gave way to a bare field. The moon had passed behind a cloud, leaving the world heavy with darkness. They could see only the barest shapes of field, hedges, woods, and about five hundred feet away an innocent farmhouse hunched beside a few trees, light in one window, smoke rising from its chimney.

“No abbey,” Ned whispered.

“That’s strange,” Cecilia whispered in reply. “I was so sure it would be here.”

“Why?”

“Perhaps just wishful thinking. But Aunty Army did have me convinced.”

“Hmm.” He turned back to the old lady and stopped, suddenly cold.

“Shit.”

“Captain!” Cecilia scolded. “You should not speak like that in the presence of ladies.”

“Lady,” he corrected.

“What?”

“Lady. Your Aunty Army is gone.”

“Nonsense.” Cecilia turned also, and her breath caught. “Aunty?” she called, but there was no reply. Lady Armitage had vanished.

Ned drew his gun. “We’re in trouble.”

“She must have tripped.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Sir!”

“She’s set us up.”

“But there’s nothing here. Besides, Aunty Army wouldn’t betray me to Morvath. She must have got lost in the darkness.”

“Only if you’re speaking metaphorically.” He indicated skyward, and Cecilia looked up to see Armitage House flying rather lopsidedly toward the eastern horizon.

“How rude,” she said. “Never mind. We shall continue searching for the abbey.”

“No, we shall steal that farmhouse and get out of here fast.”

Cecilia frowned. “But—”

“Two of us on foot with only a pistol each will be no match for an entire abbey filled with cannons, armed servants, and a captive fleet of battlehouses.”

“I also have a razor-sharp hairpin.”

Ned laughed.

“I am not giving up on Aunt Darlington.”

His expression became instantly sober. “I know. Neither am I. But we have to be sensible. We’ve almost certainly walked into a trap. That farmhouse is our only hope.”

“But we can’t fly it without a wheel and sextant.”

“Have you never bodged a wheel together out of spoons and fencing wire? And we don’t need to navigate, just get away.” He grasped her hand and without further argument they ran across the field to the quiet, unsuspecting house. Darkness pressed heavily against them, as if rain was on the way. The air seemed to moan. Stumbling onto the rough mat of the farmhouse threshold, they caught their breath for a moment and then Ned knocked politely on the door.

“I’ve never stolen a house before,” Cecilia confessed. “What is the etiquette?”

“Less direct than with a coach, and it’s a little harder to get in. But once you do there’s usually tea and a comfortable sofa.”

The door opened and a man with profuse brown whiskers peered out suspiciously. “What?” he demanded.

“Good evening,” Ned answered, all languid charm and innocent eyes. “My name is Mr. Albert, and this is my wife, Victoria. We were on our way home from Bible study when we broke the wheel of our carriage. We’re hoping you might be able to point us in the direction of shelter for the night. We will happily pay for any advice you can offer. And perhaps, if you would be so kind, a drop of tea?”