The Very Nearly Honorable League of Pirates #1 (8 page)

“Hilary?” Miss Pimm sounded concerned. “You look a bit green. Are you feeling well?”

Hilary jumped. “Yes, Miss Pimm. I'm fine. Thank you.”

“You're welcome, my dear. As I was saying, you'll have every Wednesday afternoon and Saturday morning free to do as you like, though we ask that you stay in Pemberton. Some girls like to visit relatives during these free periods, but you must alert a teacher to your plans if you wish to leave town.”

Hilary leaned forward almost as far as Claire. “Excuse me, Miss Pimm. Does that mean our first free afternoon is this Wednesday?”

“It does, though I hope you're not already tired of school.”

“No, Miss Pimm. I'm just excited to explore Pemberton.” Wednesday was only four days away. Surely it was possible to survive four days at finishing school. Four days of bathing costumes and history lessons, and then—somehow—freedom.

“The city is a wonderful place,” said Miss Pimm, “and so is this school. I hope you'll learn a great deal during your time here. I look forward to handing you your golden crochet hook at the start of your second year as a symbol of all the progress you've made.”

“Violet never lets me touch her golden crochet hook,” Claire told Hilary. “It's a huge honor to switch from silver to gold.”

“It is indeed.” Miss Pimm smiled and handed them their schedules. “Please don't hesitate to stop by in the future if there's anything you need. Miss Dupree, Philomena should be waiting outside to show you back to your room. And Miss Westfield . . .” Miss Pimm turned her gaze toward Hilary. She didn't smile. “May I speak to you privately for a few moments?”

It was one of those questions that was really an order. Claire slipped Hilary a smile and left the room. Miss Pimm leaned across her desk, so close that Hilary could smell her rose-scented perfume.

“You are James Westfield's daughter, are you not?”

Hilary swallowed hard. “Yes. I am.”

“I'm quite fond of your family. The Westfields and I are old friends—but that's neither here nor there.” Miss Pimm settled back in her chair. “I have been trying to get in touch with your father for some time. Do you know where he is?”

“He's at home, Miss Pimm. At Westfield House. I'm sure you could schedule an appointment. If you wanted to see him, I mean.”

“No, I don't think that will be necessary.” Miss Pimm paused. “So he hasn't been away from home lately?”

“I think he goes into Queensport sometimes.” It probably wasn't very ladylike to lose track of one's own father. “To be honest, Miss Pimm, I don't see him much. He's usually in his study with the door shut.”

“I see. And do you know if he is planning any trips? Perhaps an errand for the queen?”

“I honestly have no idea.” Even when Admiral Westfield did have plans, he rarely shared them with Hilary. “We talked yesterday, and I think he did mention something about an important voyage. But I don't know if it's for the queen or not.”

“No matter,” said Miss Pimm. “I'm sure I'll manage to contact him somehow. But please do let me know if you have any news from him.”

Hilary almost laughed. “I'm sure he won't be writing me.”

“But if he does.”

“Yes, Miss Pimm. Of course.”

“Thank you.” Miss Pimm smiled. “You may return to your room, Miss Westfield. I look forward to getting to know you better.”

Miss Pimm sounded so earnest that Hilary almost felt sorry for her. After all, if she did not get to know Hilary better by Wednesday afternoon, there was a very good chance that Miss Pimm would never see her again.

From the Humble Pen of
E
LOISE
G
REYSON

Dear Hilary,

I hope you will forgive my eagerness to write, but I have just arrived back at Westfield House, and I feel rather at a loss without you. I am hurrying to collect my things, and I should like to move into my bookshop as soon as possible, because I'm afraid the atmosphere here has become quite tense. I have no doubt that your parents are devastated now that you are gone, but that is no excuse for their behavior.

Your father has been acting—please excuse my frankness—very strangely since he found himself burgled. I cannot blame him for stationing a fleet of guards at his office door, but your mother and I both feel that surrounding Westfield House with cannons is a bit much. One cannot come home from the market without feeling as if one is under siege, and the milk delivery boy is too terrified to come near our kitchen door. But I fear we shall have to go without milk for as long as Admiral Westfield's paranoia persists. To make matters worse, your mother has become convinced that another attack on Westfield House is imminent, and she refuses to leave her chambers. She is supposed to host a ball at the weekend, but I wonder what sort of ball it will be if the hostess has locked herself in her wardrobe.

In addition to this strangeness, I discovered upon my return that Admiral Westfield's favorite apprentice, young Lieutenant Sanderson, has been dismissed for no reason whatever. The household is shocked by this turn of events, and many of the naval officers now fear for their livelihoods. As I recall, you and Lieutenant Sanderson were not always the closest of acquaintances, so perhaps this
item of news will bring a smile to your face.

I hope you are enjoying Miss Pimm's, or at least finding it not quite as terrible as you anticipated. Have you met Miss Pimm herself? Have you been keeping up with all the newspapers? The ongoing thefts from High Society households have become quite a nuisance indeed. I trust you are being cautious and keeping ahealthy distance from all unscrupulous persons.

I look forward to hearing all about your adventures at Miss Pimm's. Until then, I remain

Your

Eloise Greyson

Postscript: Please give my love to the gargoyle.

B
Y
W
EDNESDAY AFTERNOON
, Hilary had embroidered six pot holders, broken two archer's bows, trodden deliberately on Philomena's foot seventeen times, and set the school record for treading water. At times she had nearly enjoyed herself, but not even the satisfaction of hearing Philomena shriek could keep Hilary at finishing school an instant longer than necessary. It was time to escape from Miss Pimm's.

But escape was proving to be more difficult than Hilary had expected. She'd intended to leave directly after Wednesday's fainting class, but Claire caught her arm on the way out of the classroom. “You'll come to lunch with me, won't you?” she said. “Oh, good; I knew you would. I can't stand walking into that horrid refectory alone. There are never any seats, and I'm sure we're already late. We practiced that simple swoon for
hours
.” Claire poked at her scraped elbow and winced. “Honestly, I don't believe young ladies of quality are supposed to have quite so many bruises.”

“Maybe not,” said Hilary as Claire dragged her toward the refectory, “but I hear bruises are awfully respectable in the pirate community. I'm sure that purple one on your knee would be the envy of the High Seas.”

By the time they reached the refectory, servants in starched white aprons were already walking along the rows of long tables, passing out plates of food. Claire pulled Hilary toward the last two empty chairs in the room, then stopped so suddenly that Hilary nearly crashed into her.

“Oh, drat,” Claire whispered. Just across from the empty chairs sat Philomena. “Perhaps no one will notice if we hide under the tablecloth.”

“Don't be silly,” said Hilary. “A good pirate doesn't run away from nefarious scoundrels—she confronts them.”

Claire protested that she was not a pirate of any sort, but Hilary marched up to the chair directly across from Philomena and sat down in a most unladylike fashion. Claire hesitated, and for a moment Hilary thought she really
would
dive under the tablecloth.

“Miss Dupree,” said Philomena, “please sit down. Or are you one of the serving girls today? I'm simply dying for some water. Would you fetch the pitcher for me?”

Claire flushed and slipped into the empty chair. Hilary smiled at her and turned back to Philomena. “I'd be happy to fetch that water for you,” she said, “but you must let me know where you'd prefer me to pour it. Down your back? Into your lap? Your schoolbooks are looking rather parched these days; perhaps they'd welcome a drink.”

Philomena sat up even straighter than she usually did. “If you don't mind, Miss Westfield,” she said, “I'd prefer to eat in silence.” Philomena unfolded her napkin and frowned at Claire, who slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles.

The luncheon plates arrived at the table, bringing with them a smell that reminded Hilary of Queensport Harbor. Some girls recoiled from their plates, and there was a great deal of handkerchief waving and nose holding all along the table.

“Fish sticks again? How loathsome.” Philomena poked at the breaded fish with her fork. “Surely we won't encounter fish sticks after we enter High Society.”

Claire shrugged. “I don't think they're all that horrid,” she said. She cut into her fish, took an experimental bite, and nodded. “They're very fresh, actually.”

Philomena's mouth twitched into something resembling a smile. “So you're a fish expert, Miss Dupree? How fascinating.”

“Well, I'm not exactly an
expert
,” said Claire, “but I grew up selling fish—my parents are fishmongers, you see—and it's easy to learn a bit about fish when you're around them every day. They're really not so bad once you get used to the smell.”

Philomena tapped her fork against her plate. “Your family sells fish? Isn't that a job for commoners?”

The other girls at the table stopped talking. Some of them stared down at their plates; others stared at Philomena. Claire had gone all rigid and pale, and Hilary dearly wished she had brought her sword to lunch. “Don't you dare speak to Claire that way,” she said. “She's done nothing to you, and she's the kindest girl here.”

Philomena sniffed. “Really, Miss Westfield,” she said, “I can't believe your parents would encourage you to associate with fishmongers' daughters.” She took a dainty sip of water. “I wonder whatever possessed Miss Pimm to let Miss Dupree enroll here. After all, this is a school for young ladies of quality, and it's clear she'll never be anything but a fishwife.”

Claire gasped and dropped the bit of fish stick she'd been holding.

Hilary leaned across the table and fixed her most fearsome stare on Philomena. “If you say another word,” she said, “I'll see to it that you're strapped to a ship's mast and sent off to a deserted island where you can't be cruel to anyone. I'll tie you up myself; don't think I won't.” Hilary looked over at Claire and smiled. “I hear that horrid girls on deserted islands don't often get invited to High Society balls.”

Claire bit her lip. Then she smiled back at Hilary. “Perhaps,” she said in a small voice, “if Philomena is very lucky, a fish might ask her for a waltz.”

For a moment, the entire table fell silent. Then, very quietly, the girl next to Claire began to laugh. Claire laughed, too. Even Philomena's glare wasn't strong enough to stop the laughter from spreading, and soon enough, all the girls at the table were giggling over their fish sticks.

Philomena, however, was perfectly silent. Her knuckles turned white around her fork. Then, to Hilary's amazement, she placed the fork primly on the tablecloth and smiled. She reached under her seat for her schoolbag and fumbled inside for a moment until she found a small, gleaming object, which she clasped in her fists so quickly that Hilary couldn't make out its shape. Then she murmured a few small words and looked up at Claire.

The fish sticks on Claire's plate started to wobble. They squirmed about until they were standing upright on the plate, and after a moment's hesitation, they formed a rather tidy line. Hilary stared at the regiment of fish sticks in horror as, one by one, they leaped off the plate and smacked themselves against Claire's forehead.

Claire shrieked and grabbed her knife, but the fish sticks dodged her swipes. Even when Hilary had gathered her senses enough to overturn the plate, the remaining fish sticks wriggled out from underneath it and dove into Claire's lap as fast as they could manage. By the time the assault reached its end, Claire was dripping with crumbs and smelling quite a bit like Queensport Harbor herself.

Hilary pushed back her chair and stood up. “I can't imagine,” she said to Philomena, “that Miss Pimm tolerates any sort of bullying at her school, let alone the magical kind. She'll have you expelled when I tell her what you've done.”

“Magic?” Philomena blinked at Hilary. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You know perfectly well that those fish sticks didn't leap about by themselves.”