“ ‘And fast through the midnight dark and drear,’ ” he quoted, “ ‘Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept/Tow’rds the reef of Norman’s Woe.’ ”

“Naufragium sibi quisque facit,” Professor Peddick said.

Terence gazed out at the dark water. “She’s gone,” he said, exactly like Lady Astor had, and I stood up, suddenly remembering, and waded into the water, but it was no use. There was no sign of the boat.

An oar lay half on shore, and, out in the middle of the river, the professor’s kettle bobbed past, the only survivors of the shipwreck. There was no sign of the carpetbag anywhere.

“ ‘Down came the storm, and smote amain/The vessel in its strength,’ ” Terence quoted. “ ‘He cut a rope from a broken spar/And bound her to the mast.’ ”

Princess Arjumand hadn’t had a chance, wedged under the seat like that. If I’d let her out when she meowed, if I’d told Terence I’d found her, if I’d come through where I was supposed to and hadn’t been so time-lagged—

“ ‘At day-break, on the bleak sea-beach/A fisherman stood aghast,’ ” Terence recited. “ ‘To see the form of a maiden fair/Lashed close to a drifting mast,’ ” and I turned to tell him to shut up and saw, behind us, white in the starlight, the gazebo where I was to have returned the cat.

Well, I had returned her, all right, and finished the murder the butler had started. And this time Verity hadn’t been there to rescue her.

“ ‘The salt sea was frozen on her breast,’ ” Terence intoned, “ ‘the salt tears in her eyes.…’ ”

I gazed at the gazebo. Princess Arjumand, unbeknownst in her wicker basket, had nearly been run over by a train, been rolled into the Thames and been knocked in by Cyril and Professor Peddick, and had been rescued each time, only to drown here. Perhaps T.J. was right, and she had been meant to drown, and no matter how much Verity or I or anyone meddled, it was fated to end this way. History correcting itself.

Or perhaps she had simply run out of lives. I could count five of the nine she had used up in the last four days.

I hoped that was it, and not my complete incompetence. But I didn’t think so. And I didn’t think Verity would think so either. She had risked life and limb and Mr. Dunworthy’s wrath to rescue it. “I won’t let you drown it,” she’d said. I doubted very much she would accept the course of history as an excuse.

The last thing I wanted to do was face her, but there was nothing else for it. Cyril, in spite of shaking himself all over us, was drenched, and so was Professor Peddick, and Terence looked half-frozen.

“ ‘Such was the wreck of the Hesperus,’ ” he said, his teeth chattering so he could scarcely recite, “ ‘in the midnight and the snow.’ ”

We had to get dried off and out of these clothes, and there was no other house in sight besides Muchings End. We had to go wake up the household and ask for shelter, even though it meant facing Tossie and having her ask if we’d found her “precious darling Juju.” Even though it meant telling Verity.

“Come along,” I said, taking Terence’s arm. “Let’s go up to the house.”

He didn’t budge. “ ‘Christ, save us all from a death like this,’ ” he said, “ ‘on the reef of Norman’s Woe.’ Jabez is going to charge us fifty pounds?”

“We’ll worry about that later,” I said. “Come along. We’ll try the French doors first. There’s a line of light under them.”

“I can’t meet the family of the girl I love like this,” Terence said, shuddering. “I haven’t any coat.”

“Here,” I said, taking off my blazer and wringing it out. “You can have mine. They won’t care that we’re not dressed for dinner. Our boat sank.”

Professor Peddick came up, squelching as he walked. “I managed to save some of the luggage,” he said, and handed me the carpetbag. “None of my specimens, though, I’m afraid. Ah, my albino Ugubio fluviatilis.”

“I can’t go up to the house without any shoes,” Terence said. “I can’t be seen half-naked by the girl I love.”

“Here,” I said, struggling to untie my wet shoelaces with one hand. “Take mine. Professor Peddick, give him your socks,” and while they wrestled with the problem of getting wet socks off and on, I sprinted over behind the gazebo and opened the carpetbag.

Princess Arjumand, only slightly damp, glared up at me from its depths for a long minute and then swarmed up my leg and into my arms.

Cats were supposed to hate getting wet, but she settled into my sopping wet sleeves contentedly and closed her eyes.

“I’m not the one who saved your life,” I said. “It was Professor Peddick,” but she didn’t seem to care. She nestled deeper against my chest and, amazingly, began to purr.

“Oh, good, Princess Arjumand is here,” Terence said, straightening the blazer. It had apparently shrunk somewhat, too. “I was right. She was here all along.”

“I do not think it is proper for an Oxford don not to wear socks,” Professor Peddick said.

“Balderdash,” I said. “Professor Einstein never did.”

“Einstein?” he said. “I don’t believe I know of him.”

“You will,” I said, and set off up the sloping lawn.

Terence had apparently been right about their having drawn the drapes. As we made our way across the lawn, the drapes were pulled back, a faint, flickering light appeared, and we could hear voices.

“This is terribly exciting,” a man’s voice said. “What do we do first?”

“Join hands,” a voice that sounded like Verity’s said, “and concentrate.”

“Oh, Mama, do ask about Juju,” and that was definitely Tossie’s. “Ask them where she is.”

“Shh.”

There was a silence, during which we crossed the remainder of the lawn.

“Is there a spirit here?” a stentorian voice called out, and I nearly dropped Princess Arjumand. It sounded exactly like Lady Schrapnell, but it couldn’t be. It must be Tossie’s mother, Mrs. Mering.

“Oh, Spirit from the Other Side,” she said, and I had to fight the impulse to run, “speak to us here in the earthly plane.”

We maneuvered our way through an herbaceous border and onto the flagged pathway in front of the French doors.

“Tell us of our fate,” Mrs. Mering boomed, and Princess Arjumand climbed up my chest and dug her claws into my shoulder.

“Enter, O Spirit,” she intoned, “and bring us news of our missing loved ones.

Terence knocked on the doors.

There was another silence, and then Mrs. Mering called, in a somewhat fainter voice, “Enter!”

“Wait,” I said, but Terence had already pulled the doors open. The curtains billowed inward, and we stood blinking at the candlelit tableau before us.

Around a black-draped round table sat four people, their eyes closed, holding hands: Verity, wearing white, Tossie, wearing ruffles, a pale young man wearing a clerical collar and a rapt expression, and Mrs. Mering, who, thank goodness, did not look like Lady Schrapnell. She was much rounder, with an ample bosom and ampler chins.

“Enter, O Spirit from the Other Side,” she said, and Terence parted the curtains and stepped inside.

“I beg your pardon,” Terence said, and everyone opened their eyes and stared at us.

We must have made rather an interesting tableau ourselves, what with Terence’s bleeding stripes and my stockinged feet and our general drowned rat appearance, to say nothing of the dog, who was still coughing up river. Or the cat.

“We have come—” Terence began, and Mrs. Mering stood up and put her hand to the ample bosom.

“They have come!” she cried, and fainted dead away.