with all the trepidation he was feeling. âWhat are you thinking?â she asked quietly.
Sally tossed her head, setting her earbobs bouncing. âItâs quite obvious. Someone has to go to Farley Castle. To keep the assignation!â
Chapter 5
O h, no,â said Mr. Fitzhugh to his sister. âOh, no, no. Donât even think it.â
Folding her arms across her chest, Miss Fitzhugh narrowed her eyes at her older brother. âSomeone has to go.â
âFor the good of the country!â chimed in Agnes, who clearly took her spies very, very seriously.
Neither of the Fitzhughs paid the slightest attention. They were too busy staring each other down.
They really did look remarkably alike, thought Arabella, especially now that they were sporting the same scowl. They were both above the average height, both possessed of the same bright gold hair, the same high cheekbones, the same cleanly cut Roman noses. Mr. Fitzhugh might be frequently likened to a vegetable, but there was no denying that he was an extremely attractive man. One could easily imagine him in a short white robe, about to slay the odd hydra or engage in a short concert on the lyre, while his sister would have made an excellent Athena, beautiful, imperious, and entirely aware of both those features.
âIf someone has to go, Iâll go,â said Mr. Fitzhugh, exhibiting admirable brotherly resolve in the face of a decidedly Medusa-like stare.
âHow would you know what you were looking for?â demanded his sister.
âHow would you?â
Outmaneuvered, Miss Fitzhugh said grudgingly, âFair enough. But you will report back.â
âYes, and take you for ices, too,â said Mr. Fitzhugh, generous in triumph.
The ices carried the day. Miss Fitzhugh dropped her arms to her sides. âAll right. But if anything interesting does happen, donât forget that it was my pudding!â
âWas that meant to be a good thing?â muttered Mr. Fitzhugh.
âRight now,â Arabella pointed out with amusement, âI doubt itâs anyoneâs pudding. Except maybe the ratsâ. We left the pudding part lying in the gutter.â
Lizzy Reid jumped up from her chair, clearly ready to go haring out into the street. âWhat if there was more inside it? Secret messages!â
âThere was a secret message,â said Arabella, neatly intercepting the younger girl before she could bolt for the door. This teaching job was certainly going to be no sinecure. Did they bar the school doors at night? She sincerely hoped so. âOn the muslin. Why go to the bother of writing another?â
âOh.â Working out the logic of that, Lizzy subsided. She looked more than a little disappointed, obviously having expected nothing short of codes and treasure maps, all buried within one small mix of fruit and suet. âTrue.â
âStill,â said Sally brightly, âit couldnât hurt just to be sure. . . .â
âYes, it could,â said Mr. Fitzhugh, snagging his sister before she could get past him. âThereâs no need. What nodcock would go about sticking messages inside a pudding? They would get all goopy that way.â
âWhat nodcock would put a message on a pudding?â Sally countered. âThe French are capable of anything.â
âIncluding, but not limited to, flaky pastries,â murmured Arabella.
Both Fitzhughs looked at her with identical expressions of confusion.
âWhat?â said Sally, as her brother chimed in with, âI say, what was that?â
âNothing,â said Arabella hastily. âNever mind.â Once they got on to pastries, there would be no going back. The girls would probably dismember every brioche in the place, looking for freakishly small spies.
âI mean it, Sal,â said Mr. Fitzhugh, looking severely at his sister, or as severely as his genial features would allow. âNo running about sneaking out
Gary Pullin Liisa Ladouceur
The Broken Wheel (v3.1)[htm]