“What luck you’re still in evening dress,” she whispered to Alice. “This rig doesn’t allow for petticoats—though I’m tempted to add a number of layers of ruffles. They seem to come in handy rather regularly.” “It’s this place,” Alice whispered back. “Once we’re clear of assassins, our clothes ought to be fine.” “Speaking of assassins, were you able to speak to the count?” In the dim light, Alice looked stricken. “I forgot all about him,” she said in horror. Frederick Chalmers looked up from tightening the knots on his sling. “You what? You mean you didn’t warn him to lift?” “No, Pa, I was too busy trying to save your hide.” “But this is terrible! We must—” “We must do nothing but get you out of here before you’re recaptured and hanged,” Claire said briskly. “We’re not likely to get a second chance to spirit you out of a locked room. I will see to Count von Zeppelin.” “And I will get you all in the air without delay.” Alice’s gaze was as stony as the one her father leveled upon her.
