resourceful.'
'Of that I have no doubt whatsoever.'
Her tongue flicked a tiny speck of tobacco off her lower lip. Their eyes met, and her look was far from discouraging. Doyle felt a sharp tug in his chest, as if caught in a strong gravitational field. Beauty is the promise of happiness, that phrase leapt in his mind from some long-forgotten source. He found himself leaning in to kiss her when multiple footsteps preceded the opening of the door. With a single sharp rap, Sparks entered the room. Doyle hastily pulled away and disposed of the biscuit wrapper. Larry and Barry took up stations on either side of the door.
'I've had a look at the other inn; we must move ourselves there at once,' said Sparks. 'It's a far less vulnerable structure. We will be able to protect ourselves for the night more efficiently there.'
'I hope that you're not organizing this defense around any presumed incapacity of mine,' said Eileen, rising energetically to her feet, 'because I'm quite capable of defending myself as well as if not a good deal better than any man could ever do.'
'Miss Temple, after the fate that's befallen your colleagues, surely you do comprehend that you are a target of considerable urgency and importance to our enemies,' said Sparks, with measured reasonableness.
'What I comprehend is that you, sir, have no comprehension whatsoever of my ability to aid and abet you in this matter,' said Eileen, not backing down an inch.
'This is not the time to—'
'And if you expect me to remain locked in a room like so much bait on a hook waiting for trouble to arrive while you men are free to come and go as you please, you, sir, are very much mistaken—'
'Miss Temple, please—'
'I will not be a party to it, nor will I honor your antiquated
notions of what a woman is or is not capable of: I begin to suspect that you would be equally disapproving of giving women the vote—'
'What on God's green earth has that to do with moving to the other inn?' Sparks protested. Doyle could not remember seeing Sparks so beleaguered. Barry and Larry were staring at their shoes, trying hard to keep the smiles off their faces.
'I have been an expert shot since the age of ten: A man-raises his hand against me at his own peril—I've shot a man before; I would not hesitate to do it again—'
'Don't be a fool—'
In a single, swift move, Eileen seized the shotgun from Doyle's hand, drew back the hammers, dexterously swung the gun around to draw a bead on the hat rack in the corner, pulled the trigger, and blew Stoker's bowler hat to kingdom come. Larry and Barry dropped to the floor. Stoker chose that unfortunate moment to appear in the doorway toting two full snifters of brandy; Eileen spotted movement in the corner of her eye and whipped around to train the second barrel on him. Stoker's hands flew up, and the snifters fell to the ground.
'Lord, no!' cried Stoker.
'How emphatically do you wish me to demonstrate my point, Mr. Sparks?' she asked calmly.
'Your point,' said Sparks, his face taut with rage, 'is made.'
Eileen lowered the gun. Other guests, curious about the loud report, appeared in the hallway.
'Everything's all right,' said Doyle to them, taking Stoker by the arm and pulling him into the room. 'Go on about your business. No trouble here.'
'What in great heaven's name is going on?' said Stoker shakily as Doyle closed the door behind them. 'Miss Temple, please, these are our friends.'
Eileen broke down the barrels, slipped out the remaining live round, and handed the gun back to Doyle. 'Mr. Stoker, I owe you a new hat.'
Larry and Barry sat up on the floor and tried unsuccessfully to keep from laughing out loud. Doyle was unable to resist joining them.
'I'm sure there's been some terrible misunderstanding.
Can't we discuss this reasonably?' said Stoker, retrieving the shredded corpse of his bowler.
'If a move to the other inn is no longer in order, Mr. Sparks, what is your alternate plan?' asked Eileen.
Sparks glowered at her, but she proudly stood her ground. When Doyle snorted, trying to stifle a laugh, Sparks shot him a venomous look.
'Sorry,' said Doyle, turning the laugh into a cough. 'Perhaps staying on here is not such a bad idea, Jack.'
'You will have your opportunity to contribute, Miss Temple,' said Sparks, ignoring Doyle entirely. 'Only with the understanding that I entirely absolve myself of further responsibility for your safety.'
'Understood,' she said, and thrust out a hand. Sparks stared at her hand for a moment as if it were a lobster claw and then shook it, once, hard.
'So what will we do then, Jack?' asked Doyle. 'The brothers have during the afternoon each made a most interesting discovery,' said Sparks, moving away to the window.
Both men had by now climbed back to their feet, hats in hand. Barry, Doyle noticed, had a good deal of difficulty removing his eyes from Eileen.
'Train pulled into the station, three o'clock sharp,' said Barry, turning on the charm. 'Webb Compound and one passenger car. Special from Balmoral. Royal seal.'
'Was there a royal on board?' asked Doyle, alarmed.
'Just the one: Prince Albert—'
'Young Eddy?' asked Stoker, aghast.
'Himself. He was met by carriage and driven off to the
southeast.'
'You'll recall that Sir Nigel Gull, former physician to the prince, is one of the List of Seven,' Sparks reminded Stoker.
'What could he be doing here? Do they plan to kill him?'
asked Stoker.
'There's the waste of a perfectly good bullet,' said Eileen.
'And are you acquainted with the prince personally, Miss Temple?' asked Sparks.
'As a matter of fact, I am,' she said, rolling another cigarette. 'I spent an evening in Eddy's company last year after he saw me perform Twelfth Night in Bristol.'
'One can't fault him his taste,' said Barry gallantly.
'The man's got the mind of a Guernsey,' said Eileen. 'Put a pint in him, and he sprouts more arms than an octopus—'
'Thank you for that edifying report,' said Sparks.
'Not at all,' said Eileen, and held up the finished cigarette. Both Barry and Larry rushed forward with lit matches before Doyle could even get one out of his vest.
'Larry, would you care to share with us what you've found out today?' said Sparks, with a disapproving schoolmaster's tone.
'Right, sir,' said Larry, blowing out his match as Barry had beaten him to Eileen. 'Goresthorpe Abbey is mysteriously deserted, no one about these three days past, as Mr. Stoker has so astutely sussed out. So how do we finds the Right Honorable Bishop Pillphrock and where he's got to? A grocer and his goods; that's the life's blood of any household. I spent the afternoon chatting up the dollies in the local shops—mind you, I'm no Barry, but I get by—and following outward along the lines of supply, I learn the Bishop has repaired to a secluded slice a' heaven down the coast where, judging by the considerable volume of provisions purchased and delivered, he must be, as we speak, playing the country squire to a goodly number of guests.'
'The Bishop's own estate?' asked Doyle.
'No, Sir John Chandros's,' said Sparks.
'Correct, sir, and as it happens, sharing the grounds of this same estate is a factory that produces—'
'Mother's Own Biscuits,' said Doyle.
'You're miles ahead of me, sir,' said Larry modestly.
'What is the name of the estate?' asked Doyle.
'They call it Ravenscar,' said Larry.
