Cousin Prudence had marshaled a vast array of Scripture explicitly designed to point out to Aurelia Amesley the error of her ways in regard to air flight and was waiting only for the opportune moment to launch her campaign. The Earl, having put his mind to the task at hand, had spent the previous day supervising the cleaning and refurbishing of an old shed and sending out messengers in sundry directions. And Aurelia and Phoebe, their quills busily scratching, had read and reread The Dark Stranger and were making lists and more lists. “So,” said Phoebe as Aurelia reclined on her bed after their late nuncheon. “The Plan is ready. Now all we have to do is put it in motion.” Aurelia nodded. Her previous anxieties had been forgotten in the furor of their preparations. Now she was committed, completely and irrevocably, to The Plan. They spoke of it that way—with capital letters and in hoarse whispers—as though to say the words aloud would immediately bring them to Ranfield’s ears.
