Etiquette & Espionage (Finishing School)

by Gail Carriger

  Monique said with confidence, “Yes, they most certainly can!”

  “Oh, come now, the poor sooties only require some social reform and a little charitable assistance with their wardrobes,” said Dimity staunchly, no doubt thinking she was supporting Sophronia’s unusually progressive social stance.

  Sophronia closed her eyes in horror at the very idea of Dimity trying to reform Soap. Or worse, taking him on as a charity case.

  A loud knock sounded on their door.

  Lady Linette’s voice said, “Gas out soon, ladies. You need your beauty rest. Well, most of you do, and there’s no cause to risk any of the others.”

  “Yes, Lady Linette,” replied all the girls in singsong unison.

  Lady Linette moved on without coming inside. It was school policy for the students not to be disturbed unduly during their spare time. Even children, Lady Linette said, must be allowed some time to conspire together.

  Dimity leaned in as close to Sophronia as possible and whispered, “Why are you defending sooties? How do you even know them with any intimacy?”

  “Information gathering, Dimity, remember? It’s what we do now.”

  “Yes, but sooties? They can hardly be of any use. They live in the boiler room.”

  Sophronia came up with her best excuse. “I need to feed Bumbersnoot, don’t I?”

  Dimity blinked at her in silence, the concept of befriending sooties as alien to her as having to choose between two necklaces. “If you say so. Come on, let’s go to bed.”

  But before they could leave the sitting room, another knock sounded, startling the girls. This was not part of their normal routine.

  A male voice said, through the door, “Miss Temminnick, a word, if you would be so kind, whot?”

  Preshea let out a little gasp and dove for her room, she being still in her underthings.

  Sophronia glanced about. “Agatha, pick your gloves up off the floor. Dimity, you aren’t wearing shoes.” Once the others were back in reasonable order, Sophronia opened the door.

  “How can I help you, Professor Braithwope?”

  The vampire was looking once more like his dandy self: no greatcoat. “Ah, good, you are not abed yet. Take a little walk with me, if you would, Miss Temminnick?”

  Sophronia curtsied and reached for her wrap from a nearby hat stand. The other girls watched in dumb silence. Sophronia gave them all a quelling look and followed the vampire.

  As she was in the company of a professor, none of the mechanicals were aggravated by Sophronia roaming the ship after hours. Professor Braithwope led her up and out onto a small balcony that bridged the gap between the middle and forward sections. They stood staring out at the clouds and the moon setting over the moor.

  Finally Sophronia said, “Sir?”

  “You understand, Miss Temminnick, that I am a vampire.”

  “Yes, sir, I had noticed the fangs.”

  “Don’t be pert, young lady.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Yet I am tethered to this roaming ship far from all meaningful society.”

  “Yes, sir. But you did go down to the ground to fight Captain Niall.”

  “I am not a vampire queen to have so short a tether as all that.”

  “I see, sir.” Although she didn’t. Why did that make him defensive?

  “Tonight when you came to my room…”

  Sophronia cocked her head, remembering what must have been blood around his mouth. “I didn’t hear or see anything. Although I have been wondering, sir, how you eat? Or should I say who?”

  The vampire said nothing.

  Have I revealed that I saw too much? Quietly Sophronia added, “And the soot on my dress, sir?”

  “I didn’t see anything.” Professor Braithwope smiled down at her, showing a small hint of fang.

  Sophronia grinned back. “I’m glad we understand each other, sir.”

  The vampire looked out into the night. “This is the right finishing school for you, isn’t it, whot?”

  “Yes, sir, I think it might very well be.”

  “A piece of advice, Miss Temminnick?”

  “Sir?”

  “It is a great skill to have friends in low places. They, too, have things to teach you.”

  “Now, sir, I thought you didn’t see any soot.”

  Professor Braithwope laughed. “Good night, Miss Temminnick. I trust you can make your own way back to your room without causing an alarm? It seems to be a particular skill of yours.”

  “Actually, sir, I could use your escort tonight.”

  “Whot, whot? Interesting.”

  “Even a vampire can be surprised on occasion?”

  “Miss Temminnick, why do you think I became a teacher?”

  They turned together and walked back toward the students’ residential section.

  Sophronia thought hard about what it must be like to live forever. I suppose one would get bored easily. That’s one thing about Mademoiselle Geraldine’s. So far, it’s not been remotely dull. What she said was, “It can’t be all that bad, being away from cities. You’re one of the few vampires who gets to travel.”

  “So long as we don’t go too high.”

  “Really?”

  “Whot, whot, there goes that curious mind of yours, Miss Temminnick. I think perhaps there has been enough of that, for the time being.”

  They arrived back at her door.

  “Good night, Miss Temminnick.”

  “Good night, Professor.”

  School life carried on course after that, as did the school itself, except that it did so in the gray, as Lady Linette called it. It turned out mail had been retrieved from Swiffle-on-Exe when they stopped over for the play. Sophronia’s loot was comprised of a package of clothing, including her winter cape, and one uninformative letter from her mother. They were told they could not send replies. Swiffle-on-Exe was already leagues behind them. The school’s deadline from the flywaymen had been exceeded and they were now on the run and in hiding.

  The great airship floated deep into the gray of the wild moor. The mists were more common and longer lasting now that autumn was upon them. Mademoiselle Geraldine’s Finishing Academy for Young Ladies of Quality did not go low; lessons with Captain Niall were canceled for the time being. They had enough fuel and supplies for a good, long stint away from civilization. So they floated, shrouded by cool, wet gray, hidden from friends and enemies alike—for three whole months.

  At about a month in, Sophronia overheard Monique complaining to Preshea about the ban on outside communication. Clearly the restrictions had finally gotten to her, and she hadn’t managed to get her message out on the night Sophronia, Soap, and Vieve had infiltrated Bunson’s.

  “I cannot believe they won’t let me—me!—send a message.”

  “They aren’t letting anyone, Monique. I heard Sophronia complaining about it only the other day.”

  “But mine is terribly important.”

  “Oh, really? Is it an order for next summer’s hats?”

  “Oh, yes, of course. Something like.” Monique neatly avoided Preshea’s interest. “Gloves and a few fans as well.”

  Sophronia discussed the conversation with Dimity later that evening.

  “I really do think that Monique was hoping to get information to someone about where she hid the prototype. Do you suppose the teachers actually imprisoned her on the evening of the theater jaunt in an effort to prevent this from happening? I mean to say, I saw neither hide nor hair of her all evening.”

  Dimity’s round porcelain face scrunched up in suspicion. “That’s a terribly medieval approach. I can’t imagine they’d be that strict with her.”

  Sophronia lay back. “Dimity, we are missing something.”

  “On board? Decent cheese,” suggested Dimity.

  “No, I mean, if Monique hid it somewhere, why did we never see her do it? Is it still in the carriage, do you think? Were you ever separated from her during the beginning of the journey?”

  “On
ly when she went to interview you.”

  “Of course! Dimity, you’re brilliant!”

  “I am?”

  “While I was packing, she asked Mumsy if she might take a turn about the grounds. The prototype must be hidden at my house!”

  “Goodness gracious, I suppose you’re right. Oh, Sophronia, what if the flywaymen figure that out? Or what if Monique is working for someone else even more sinister, and they figure that out?”

  Sophronia’s stomach twisted in panic. “Then my family might be in danger. I must get a message to them somehow!”

  Of course, Sophronia could no more send out a letter than Monique could. She and Dimity even made an abortive attempt at pigeon training. The pigeon was not interested. Sophronia began to see the appeal behind the transmission machine and the prototype. She tried to talk herself down. I am, after all, the only one who knows Monique was alone for that small space of time. And even if the flywaymen do figure it out, they will, hopefully, use nonviolent stealth to retrieve the prototype, and leave my parents and siblings alone.

  ON INTERMINGLING THE CLASSES

  Professor Braithwope took on some of their weapons training, giving them tips on how to wield a cane versus a parasol versus an umbrella, and the correct application of each to the skull or posterior as occasion demanded. Like Captain Niall, he seemed particularly pleased with Sidheag’s abilities in this arena.

  “Some slight advantage to being raised by soldiers.” After lessons, Sidheag was self-effacing about the extra attention.

  “So sad there don’t appear to be any other advantages.” Monique sniffed.

  Sidheag’s shoulders slumped.

  Sophronia and Dimity exchanged a look and caught up to the other girl, one on each side.

  “Don’t let Monique bother you. You know how she gets,” said Sophronia sympathetically.

  Dimity was more direct. “She’s a pollock.”

  Sidheag looked back and forth between the two of them. Then she shrugged. “I don’t intend to be here much longer, regardless. She may do as she pleases.”

  Sophronia decided at that juncture that she’d had enough of Sidheag’s recalcitrant nature. She’d put up with it for months. Preshea and Agatha were hopeless. But Sidheag had the makings of a decent friend if she would only open up a bit. Sophronia grabbed the taller girl by the arm and steered her out onto a balcony, rather than to their next lesson.

  “What are you—?” The Scotswoman was clearly startled.

  So was Dimity, who, with a little eep! noise, followed.

  Sophronia braced herself, put her hands on her hips, and faced Lady Kingair. Mademoiselle Geraldine’s did not encourage unequivocal confrontation under any circumstances. But Sophronia had a feeling that it was necessary with Sidheag.

  “You must stop being so afraid of us,” she said.

  Of all the things Sidheag had been expecting, this was clearly not one of them. The taller girl actually sputtered. Finally she managed, “Afraid? Afraid!”

  “Sophronia, what are you doing?” hissed Dimity, backing away from both girls.

  “Sidheag, whether you like it or not, you are stuck here for years. Slouching about like a grump won’t get you anywhere. You might as well learn what is being taught and attempt to get along with some of us.”

  “It’s all chattering behind one another’s backs. I dinna ken how females manage it.”

  Dimity said, timidly, “Like it or not, Sidheag, you are actually a girl.”

  “For my sins.”

  Sophronia had an idea. Perhaps Sidheag simply wants to be included in something. With a guilty look at Dimity, she asked, “How good are you at climbing, Lady Kingair?”

  Sidheag was startled by the change of topic. “Do ya ken that’s what I mean? Why ask me an obscure question? Why not tell me forthright what you think we should do and why it might help?”

  Sophronia wondered, what with Vieve skulking about, how she ended up at a finishing school surrounded by girls who would rather be boys. Well, except Dimity, of course.

  Dimity said, even though the conversation had already moved on, “What’s wrong with liking girly things? I like petticoats and dancing and perfume and hats and brooches and necklaces and—” Her eyes glazed over slightly as she contemplated sparkles.

  She seemed likely to continue in this vein for some time, so Sophronia interrupted her. “I have someone I think you should meet, Sidheag. By way of a coal supplier.”

  Dimity blinked. “How could coal possibly help, Sophronia? Are you cracked?”

  “Have faith, Dimity. Well, Sidheag, can you climb?”

  “Of course.”

  “Tonight, then?”

  Which was how Sophronia ended up introducing Lady Kingair to a group of sooties.

  “Good evening, miss!” Soap grinned at her as she climbed up through the hatch. She’d tried to visit once every other week ever since the school had gone to gray. Soap, as a result, was only becoming more and more familiar, and more and more captivating. Sophronia would rather she didn’t enjoy his company so much—he was so very dirty, and so very unsuitable, and so very boy, but there it was: liking him couldn’t be helped.

  “Good evening, Soap, how’s the boiler room treating you?”

  “Topping, miss, topping! You’ve brought a friend. You’ve never brought a friend afore now. I figured you didn’t have any. Save us, a’course.” He chuckled.

  “This here is Miss Maccon. Sidheag, this is Soap, and these are the sooties.” Sophronia made a wide gesture to include both the small collective hovering around Soap and the others scurrying back and forth behind him. She didn’t give out Sidheag’s title, afraid Soap and the others might be cowed by rank.

  Sidheag didn’t object to the demotion. She’d climbed up through the hatch and inside and was looking around with eyes as big as saucers. “What is this place?”

  “Boiler room, miss. Ain’t it grand? Lifeblood of the ship down ’ere. How-d’ye-do? I’m Phineas B. Crow. But most calls me Soap.”

  Sidheag grinned at him. A real grin, with no caution or stiffness to it. That’s more like it, thought Sophronia.

  While Soap pointed out the wonders of the boiler room to their new visitor with great pride, Sophronia turned to the other sooties. She emptied her pockets of the treats and nibbles she’d filched at high tea the day before, passing them out to the waiting group. It had taken her a few visits to realize the sooties were not, in fact, fed so well as the students, instead subsisting mainly on porridge, bread, and stew.

  She pretended to be fully absorbed in distributing tiny lemon tarts so that Soap could work his inexplicable charm on Sidheag. No one could help but like Soap. Anyone not immediately set against him for the color of his skin or his station in life was bound to enjoy his company. And Sidheag might be many things, but Sophronia didn’t think her particularly bigoted.

  The tarts were Dimity’s idea of reform. Sophronia had agreed to distribute them to the sooties so long as Dimity agreed not to try anything else altruistic. Nevertheless, Dimity had watched her creep out that night with an expression that was part fear and part jealousy. “Why take Sidheag, but not me?”

  “But Dimity, you can’t climb.”

  “I could try!”

  “And you don’t like getting dirty.”

  “I could wear my oldest dress.”

  “And you aren’t interested in boiler rooms.”

  “But they clearly need my help! If I am to be a proper lady I must practice charitable endeavors as soon as possible. I want to be good.”

  “Be sensible instead!”

  Dimity had only pouted.

  So Sophronia was stuck passing out lemon tarts. She was paying so little attention to Sidheag and Soap that when the scuffle started, it took her a moment to react. They were fighting! Oh, no, did I misjudge Sidheag?

  But a quick observation proved the fight was not with any real intent.

  Sidheag and Soap were squared off, fencing, each with a stoking pole and a fi
erce expression. They were almost matched to each other by height, and they were also causing a stir of excitement. The sooties about them began to place bets, wagering the lemon tarts Sophronia had taken such care to distribute fairly.

  “What are you two up to?”

  “This is brilliant, Sophronia. Did you know this boy knows proper streetside fisticuffs?” Sidheag’s dour face was animated with delight.

  “Does he?” Streetside, but he lives in the air?

  “Dirty fighting. It’s capital! Look at this!”

  Soap ducked in under Sidheag’s swing and kicked her ankle.

  Sophronia was shocked. One is not meant to ever kick during a fight! It isn’t gentlemanly, isn’t proper, isn’t done! “Soap, that’s unscrupulous!”

  Soap stopped and turned to grin at her. “Yes, miss, but it works.”

  While he was distracted, Sidheag poked him in the side with her pole.

  Soap let out a woof and doubled over.

  Sidheag came up next to him, and after he managed to straighten, threw a companionable arm around his soot-covered shoulders. She was more relaxed than Sophronia had ever seen her. “It makes sense. Why should we fight like gentlemen? After all, as you keep reminding me, Sophronia, we aren’t gentlemen. We aren’t even soldiers. We’re supposed to be intelligencers. We should learn to fight dirty. We should learn to fight any way we can.”

  Sophronia tried to put her doubts aside and be sensible. It was more difficult than she thought. “That’s reasonable, I suppose. But kicking?”

  “Well, miss, not to be rude, but you ladies aren’t sooties or soldiers. You don’t have much in the way of arm muscle. You ought to be kicking more; you’ve got more power in your legs, don’t ya? And you’re usually wearing them sharp-toed boots.”

  Sophronia nodded. “Good point. But we’re also wearing lots of skirts.”

  “Could get special boots made with metal reinforcements and attachments,” said Sidheag.

  “Sidheag Maccon, did I just hear you mention designing a fashion accessory?” Sophronia made her tone all-over appalled, but she was thinking, Vieve could do something along those lines.

  Sidheag grinned. Another one of those genuine smiles that made her look, if not pretty, at least less plain. It crinkled up her remarkable caramel eyes and softened her normally harsh features. Sophronia, at that moment, decided that the idea to bring Sidheag among the sooties was a resounding success.