He had thought this would not be difficult? It was bloody impossible.Shewas impossible—a little plum pudding of a woman who could out-scheme a hardened criminal. Somehow she’d turned the entire house upside down with her pigments and oils; he felt as though he spent three-quarters of each day attempting to anticipate her whereabouts and transport illegally acquired silks to new and more obscure hiding places. When they’d absconded with her bed linens, she’d had a fresh set procured in less than half a day. And when he’d put that damned seagull in the music room, she’d simply climbed a ladder, agile as a sailor on the ratlines, and chased it back outside with a fluttering lace glove.
He suspected if she had a mind for gambling, she could’ve coaxed fortunes out of half the rich sots in London, with her air of sweetness and that twisty, ruthless brain. She—
“Not Lady Ruby,” said Lamentation. “Lady Alice.”
Archer halted. “LadyAlice? Are you certain?”
“I have managed to divine the differences between them, yes. Lady Alice. The black-haired one, who looks like she’d run screaming at the sight of a hole in her stocking. She squealed in delight when she found the beetles in her chamber, started talking in Latin, and then told the other girls all about how, in the South Seas, shield bugs come in enormous sizes and display a maternal instinct heretofore unknown in the kingdom. Or phylum. Or something.”
“Also,” Gerry put in, “she says they’re not beetles. We got that bit wrong.”
“They’re not beetles,” Archer repeated.
“No. No chewing mouthparts.”
“No chewing—” Archer flung up his hands. “This is madness. Absolute, utter—‘no chewing mouthparts’? Are they ladies-in-waiting or natural philosophers?”
“I’ve never seen a lady-in-waiting,” Lamentation said. “Perhaps this is typical.”
“It isnottypical.”
Lamentation shook back his curls, and Archer saw a green bug flutter out from where it had been entrapped. One of the bloodhounds leapt eagerly to catch it.
Archer groaned, thrust his hands into his own hair, and then started to pace again.
“Cap,” Lamentation said, “I know you said—”
“No.”
“—not to bring this up except in the direst straits and—”
“No, Lamentation.”
“—I hate to say this, but I think things have grown dire.”
Gerry looked up from where he was using a handkerchief to polish the toe of his boot. “I agree. Never seen your eye twitch like that before, Cap. Not even at Grado.”
Archer squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them again, which regrettably did not still the tiny tic. He elected to pretend it was not happening. “No. We are not bringing out the Scourge of St. Petroc’s.”
Lamentation settled his hands on his hips. “I don’t see why not! I think it’s a good idea.”
“You think it’s a good idea because you invented it. There is no Scourge of St. Petroc’s.”
Archer had never heard those words put together in that order until Lamentation had brought them out in front of Lady Ruby. Lamentation’s powers of invention were, evidently, bolstered by bug-induced panic. And now that he’d planted the seeds for the creature’s existence, Lamentation was inclined to take the scheme to its natural, outrageous culmination.
Lamentation was frowning lightly. “I am aware that the creature is not real. That’s all the better. I’ve been saying it for days now, Cap:Wecan act the part of the Scourge. Clothe ourselves in sea wrack. Growl and moan outside their windows—”
“Their windows are about thirty feet in the air.”
Lamentation was undeterred by this threat of physics. “Lurk in the shadows and persuade them that the Scourge is here to devour their hearts. If we do it right, we take all the suspicion off Pomeroy House and put it on this mysterious foul beast.”
Archer stifled another groan for fear of hurting Lamentation’s feelings.
The trouble was, it wasnota good idea. They had resolved not to imprison the ladies-in-waiting in the manor—despite Lamentation’s enthusiastic suggestions to that effect—which meant that the trio visited the village regularly.
How was he to persuade them that there was a real and terrifying local legend known as the Scourge of St. Petroc’s if none of the St. Petroc’s residents had ever heard of such a thing?
Unfortunately, Archer was running out of good ideas. He had exhausted his own capacity for ingenuity with lions and marrow jelly and a bloody horde of insects. What would it take to frighten off these ladies-in-waiting if abiblical plaguedid not manage it?
