Page 24 of Confounding Oaths
“Well, I think thatveryclosed-minded of you,” Miss Bickle replied. Not that any of her companions would listen to her because they, like all mortals, were utter fools.
Miss Mitchelmore looked sceptical. Mr. Caesar had collected her first, in order that he might have an ally in the inevitable fairy conversation. “I’m not sureclosed-mindedis quite the right term,” she said. “I thinkjustifiably uncertainmight be better.”
With a defiant spirit that continued to do her credit, Miss Bickle stuck out her chin. “Then what alternative theories do you have? Either of you.”
“Anything but fairies,” suggested Miss Mitchelmore, quite incorrectly. “She may simply have run away.”
“Or been taken by ruffians,” added Mr. Caesar. And then, notable to stop his mind escalating matters unnecessarily, he added, “Or run away andthenbeen taken by ruffians.”
Miss Bickle was pacing also—like Mr. Caesar she had an excess of energy, but unlike him she tended to find amusing uses for it. “Mary is young, and has had one or two upsets recently, but I don’t think she’s the kind to run away from home.”
“You ran away from home when you were her age,” Miss Mitchelmore pointed out. “Twice.”
“Exactly.” Miss Bickle enjoyed looking triumphant, and did so at the slightest opportunity. This was one such. “So I should know very well if Mary is the kind of girl to do the same, and she is not. As for ruffians, was there any sign of struggle?”
Mr. Caesar considered this. “Father didn’t say. But I’m sure he would have if there had been. At least if there had been anything obvious.”
“So she has simply vanished,” concluded Miss Bickle.
“It seems so.” Mr. Caesar did not like the direction this conversation was going.
“Into thin air.”
“Yes.” Hedefinitelydid not like the direction this conversation was going.
Another opportunity presented itself, and Miss Bickle looked triumphant once more. “As if, one might almost say,by magic.”
Miss Mitchelmore, the only one of the three whose response to a stressful situation was to remain seated and spare the carpets, looked up. “I hate to say it, John, but I fear she might be making sense.”
“There! Maelys agrees with me.”
On the verge of being right, Miss Mitchelmore did as your kind so often do and corrected herself at the last moment. “Agreesis astrong word, but perhaps we should—I mean—it would do no harm to rule it out.”
Mr. Caesar momentarily stopped pacing in order to glare. He tended to do this, which sometimes led me to wonder if perhaps his eyes and legs were connected to some intricate gear system that permitted only one or the other to function. “Which we would do how, precisely?”
“I could speak with Mother Mason,” suggested Miss Mitchelmore. “Although she lives some days away. Or perhaps Tabitha—I understand the Galli are sometimes called to London to consult with the Undersecretary of State for Oracular Affairs.”
A wayward and only partially unwelcome thought crept into Mr. Caesar’s mind. “Idoknow of another mystically sensitive individual. Although he’s a little rough around the edges.”
“How rough?” asked Miss Bickle with wholly appropriate glee.
“He’s from Newcastle.”
“Oh, I say.” Miss Bickle put a hand to her chest. “That may be a littletoorough.”
“And where did you meet this … mystically sensitive pitman?” asked Miss Mitchelmore.
“He isn’t a pitman, he’s a soldier,” explained Mr. Caesar. “And I met him last night while Captain James was instructing me in swordplay.”
Mr. Caesar remembered, a little too late, that this was the other hazard of bringing Miss Bickle into their circle. She had not hitherto known of the duel and he would, on balance, have preferred that she go on not knowing.
“Why were you being instructed in swordplay?” she asked, her expression that of a woman who was concocting a hundred theories, each more scandalous than the last. “Have you taken a commission? Have you been press-ganged? Are you to fight a duel of honour?”
Mr. Caesar nodded.
“You’ve been press-ganged?” Miss Bickle looked sorrowful. “How beastly. I really feel we should abolish the practice.”
Mr. Caesar pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am to fight a duel of honour.”
