Free A Very Selwick Christmas by Lauren Willig Page A

without fear.
    “She is a spy,” he said brusquely, giving Lady Jerard a little shake.
    “Both of them,” Amy contributed, gesturing with her pistol towards the huddled creature on the floor. The figure remained inert, although whether from necessity or policy remained unclear. Amy really hadn"t thought she had hit her that hard.
    Lady Uppington"s lips set in a thin line. “Spies? Again? They"re worse than moths, these spies! They get into everything. And on Christmas!”
    “I don"t think they"ve been chewing your draperies, Mother,” said Richard mildly, readjusting his hold on his captive. Amy was pleased to note that it was a readjustment that placed them in less intimate proximity.

    Lady Uppington looked sourly at her son. “Oh, ha, ha. But they"re far harder to dispose of.
    One can"t just swat the daughter of a neighbor. It would be too terribly awkward.” She looked sternly at Lady Jerard. “Does your mother know about this, young lady?”
    Somehow, through it all, Lady Jerard"s clusters of curls were still perfectly arranged. She looked arrogantly at her hostess. “No.”
    “Hmm,” said Lady Uppington. “Well, she"ll have to, you know,” she said, as if she were reporting some childish transgression, like jumping in the duck pond or eating all the plums out of the plum pudding. But she spoiled the illusion by adding, “And I suppose the proper authorities will have to be told. We can"t have you running about doing this sort of thing again.”
    “Out of curiosity,” said Richard, again in that mild, controlled voice, “just how long have you been doing this?”
    Lady Jerard"s countenance looked more than ever like porcelain, very fine porcelain, prone to cracks and jagged edges. “The first time was an accident,” she said in a brittle voice. With a grim little smile, she added sweetly, “But a widow has to eke out her jointure somehow.”
    “Stuff and nonsense!” Lady Uppington emitted one of her infamous harrumphs. “Save the affecting tales for when you"re not wearing your diamonds, my dear. If Jerard didn"t leave you with a thousand pounds a year, I"ll eat the Uppington emeralds.”
    Lady Uppington was spared making good on that culinary feat by the sound of something very large hitting the library door. It turned out to be Miles, who obviously had expected it to be locked. He barreled into the room shoulder first and kept on going. He was followed, more demurely, by a bright-eyed Henrietta, a glowering Miss Gwen, and a meek-looking Jane, all in their slippers and nightcaps.
    “Is something wrong?” Jane mumbled, swaying on her feet a bit as though befuddled by sleep. She rubbed her knuckles across her eyes. “The noise woke us up.”
    Oooh, well done, thought Amy. If either of the spies succeeded in escaping, they would never suspect a sleepy and confused young lady, ten minutes late to the scene, of having had anything to do with their detection and apprehension.
    “We all heard a racket,” seconded Miles, swirling a cricket bat in the air and narrowly missing decapitating a bust of Pliny.
    Assorted spies and revelations had left him unmoved, but…. “That"s my cricket bat!”
    protested Richard.
    “I couldn"t find mine,” said Miles, unrepentant, “and I didn"t want to come down unarmed.
    One never knows what one might find.”
    “Spies,” said Lady Uppington tartly, as Henrietta appropriated the bat, tucking it under her own arm for safekeeping. “Infesting the woodwork. Again.”

    “At least they look like small ones this time,” said Miles cheerfully. “Not the big, ugly variety.”
    “No, just the local, treacherous variety,” put in Amy.
    “Spyus Neighborus,” contributed Henrietta giddily. Looking at the woman standing in her brother"s grasp, she added smugly, “I knew I never liked you. And it wasn"t just all the awful poetry Richard was writing.”
    “I thought it was lovely poetry,” said Lady Jerard stiffly. Amy peered closely at her. She actually