Behind her, Dimity felt Cris shift, as if ready to fight. This was something they must include in their first report. This was something they must investigate. Were the former Nottingham drones all dead? Surely BUR would have known that. The bodies. The smell.
Mr Theris resumed his poised dramatis personae. “Only I was strong enough to stay. Only I was good enough to remain to witness her shame. Only I! She shows only me her favor. I’m the only one allowed to see her anymore. Apart from her nibbles, of course.” He gestured at the door and the shepherdess now long gone.
“You don’t say? How fascinating. Only you? You are special, Mr Theris. I couldn’t see her, could I? I’m almost a shepherdess.” Dimity puffed up her chest and tried to look innocent and wholesome and countrified.
“Oh no, certainly not, Mrs Carefull. She’s very, very particular. And what do you mean, shepherdess? That was clearly a milkmaid.”
Dimity smiled again. “Oh well, perhaps someday. I do so long to meet a vampire queen. Shall we go in?”
The meal was not typical for vampires. Generally speaking, each member of a hive would sit at table with a human kneeling next to them. After the humans who were invited as guests to eat (and not be eaten) had begun their first course, the vampires would begin gently sipping.
Dimity had never attended such a supper party, but she had read about them.
In the Nottingham Hive, however, supper was somewhat different. As they entered the dining room, they were confronted by three seated vampires, with three empty chairs across from them. No kneeling humans at all.
Dimity wondered how all three would sip off Mr Theris at once. Would each stand, walk around the table, and take a bite, as if he were a buffet?
Clearly not. Instead, it appeared the vampires intended to simply sit on the other side of the table and stare at the three humans while they ate. It felt a little like they were specimens under observation. Dimity was grateful for her impeccable table manners.
Opposite them, Lord Finbar sat in the center. To his left was Lord Kirby. On his right was a veritable waif of a person. A frail brunette, with enormous dark eyes, a perfect heart-shaped face, and full Cupid’s bow lips.
“Justice,” said Lord Finbar, as if pronouncing it upon them. Had Dimity not read the file, she would never have realized it was the name of the waif.
Justice Wignall was the youngest member of the hive, only around fifty or so, and really quite lovely. Dimity had never seen a man so pretty before. Extraordinary. It was near impossible to tell if he was a man or a woman – instead, he occupied a liminal space between, like an underhill fae out of Irish folklore. Dimity only thought of him as male because the file told her to.
Justice was dressed to bridge the two as well. The only member of the hive Dimity had yet seen not wearing black, although he was still in velvet. Justice wore white – one of those soft billowing shirts commonly seen on operatic pirates. Presumably, there were britches or trousers as well, but the shirt was so dramatically oversized it was difficult to deduce more at table. It was loose about the neck so that it fell to one side, exposing one delicate white shoulder. Justice’s hair was long and flowing free, and unlike the other vampires, glossy and full. He was painfully slender about the face and throat, but he didn’t look hungry so much as sculpted.
Dimity swallowed down a little awe. Never had she thought to meet a man prettier than she. He also seemed, for lack of a better word, lost.
While Lord Kirby glowered at them and Lord Finbar slouched in gloom and (presumably) thought of poetry, Justice didn’t even seem to see them, instead getting distracted by the flickering shadows cast by the candles on the tablecloth. Occasionally, he floated a hand up to rest it on the tabletop, as if his wrist were pulled up on a string. Then that hand would slowly slide off while the other rose. It was hypnotic.
The food was served all in one by Mr Theris, the plates made up with a selection of meat pies and stewed fruit, simple fare from the local bakery. Clearly, the hive no longer had even a cook. Dimity passed half of hers to Sir Crispin, as he clearly required more fuel. Once they finished, no one came to whisk their plates away, and there seemed to be no pudding course in the offing. Truly, Mr Theris was the only one left. He simply sat, looking bored.
Lord Finbar cleared his throat and began what could only be a hive meeting.
Dimity thought it very mean that they’d not been served claret with supper or port to follow. The hive could more than afford libations. This one pretended to be run down, but she knew from BUR’s paperwork that there was money in the coffers. Vampires tended to invest well and thoughtfully, even the roves. There was no such thing as a poor vampire – not in England.
“As our guests appear seen to, we must get on with the evening’s activities. Mr and Mrs Carefull, you are most welcome to our humble home, and as you aren’t our drones, just yet,” Finbar intoned, “you must excuse our not entertaining you after dinner, as we must hunt.”
Dimity gave a little gasp. They were hunting, were they? Hunting the unwilling? That was strictly forbidden. They would need to report that fact to BUR immediately.
Justice – and somehow it was impossible to think of him by anything but his given name – mustered up a tiny smile. “Don’t looked so shocked, darlings. Nothing so dire as actual hunting, I assure you. What he means to say is we have pubs to visit and humans to court into offering their necks. It’s always consensual, I promise most faithfully.”
“Speak for yourself, larva. I intend to hunt like the true vampire I am!” grumbled Lord Kirby, eyeing Dimity’s neck covetously.
Lord Finbar coughed. “Speaking of, Cinjin, I need you to check our queen’s chambers when she takes her bath. One of the neighbors has gone missing. I thought we’d been supplying her highness steadily, but one never knows what trauma may flow from the perpetual lament and crystal tears of our great and grieving lady, does one?”
Dimity thought this might be a joke, but couldn’t be certain.
Mr Theris nodded and stood to leave. The others followed. Lord Finbar and Lord Kirby quit the room without acknowledging Dimity or Cris again. Only Justice gave them an absent smile before he drifted out.
They were left alone in the candlelight.
“Well, I say,” said Dimity.
“One couldn’t agree more,” replied Sir Crispin, in a sepulchral parody of Lord Finbar.
At one point in his life, Sir Crispin Bontwee might have experienced an odder meal or a more peculiar set of introductions, but he was hard pressed to remember it. Lacking any further social obligations, he and Dimity made their way back to their dilapidated room.
As they walked up the stairs Dimity said loudly, no doubt in the hope that they were overheard, “Well, husband, it seems our worst fears are realized. I’m going to need more French fashion papers, that’s certain. And probably an additional book of Latin verse. I’m thinking transcendentalism might be in order, too. Oh, and I’ll need more paints. I’m feeling inspired by cerulean at the moment. Can you feel it? Definitely cerulean.”
“Of course, my dear,” said Cris, equally loudly.
Dimity was providing reasons for them to leave the hive. Because she knew that what they must do next was contact the nearest BUR offices with their initial findings. They’d ascertained that the male vampires were hunting and the missing drones possibly all dead. On the bright side, the queen was eating full meals of milkmaids. On the down side, she might have killed a neighbor.
Dimity no doubt understood that the local BUR outpost should be alerted. If nothing else, a hive gone mad was quite a bit of paperwork. But Cris didn’t think she understood that BUR was likely to order Dimity and Cris out and a sundowner in to kill the whole hive. He didn’t like keeping her in the dark about it. Cris was a safety, not a secret keeper.
So in their room, before changing, he activated Dimity’s auditory disruptor and pulled her close to whisper in her ear. “Did Bertie warn you of the consequence of ou
r failing this mission?”
Dimity shook her head against him, breath quick. “No, what is it?”
“Sundowner.”
Dimity gasped. “You’re authorized?”
“No. You?”
“No. So they’ll bring in an outsider.”
Cris tried not to inhale a strand of her hair. “Lord Maccon, most likely.”
Dimity gave a tiny harrumph. “He’s reputed to be effective… but a werewolf. That’s not good. He’ll take out the queen? They think she’s that bad?”
Crispin didn’t want to tell her the whole – she had a soft heart and so far, none of the vampires they’d met deserved to die. They’d been grumpy, rude, and distracted, but that was no reason to kill a man. Mr Theris was another matter.
“No, they’ll kill all four of them.”
Dimity started. “The whole hive? Dead? Oh, but they don’t seem so bad. Why wasn’t I told?”
“Didn’t want you overwrought by the timeline and the consequences, I suspect.”
Dimity bristled. “I’ve worked under pressure before, but I suppose this is more dire than usual.” She paused, almost eagerly leaning against him now, forgetting their intimate embrace in her earnestness to both communicate and be as quiet as possible. “We must save them.”
Crispin hoped she’d say that. He’d hoped the threat would stiffen her resolve, not throw her into a panic. Of course his Sparkles was made of sterner stuff.
Indeed, her crafty mind was already working on a new approach. “I need a better plan. Even I am not a good enough seductress to save a hive from death using eyelash fluttering and late-night confessions. Besides, with the possible exception of Mr Theris, and you took him off the table, I don’t think any of them are particularly interested in my wiles. We need to concentrate on extracting the queen. I should—”
“Let’s talk about this later, Sparkles, at tea in town? Surely one of the teahouses in Nottingham keeps London hours.”
“Tea is a lovely idea. I really need tea. We haven’t been served it once since we arrived.”
Cris enjoyed the idea of getting out of this gloomy place and escorting Sparkles to a teahouse. She would get all bright and bubbly and delighted by the improved atmosphere, and he would be seen in public with her as his wife. It wasn’t real, of course, but the very idea puffed him up with pride.
Dimity frowned. “Perhaps we should not tell BUR of our initial findings? I don’t want them to panic and accelerate the schedule. I need time to figure all of this out. The last thing we want is a growling sundowner in the wings.”
“I agree, but the danger isn’t to be discounted. They are hunting, Sparkles. There is a good chance the drones are dead.” Cris was torn – his duty dictated that he get her out now that they knew how risky the situation, but then the hive would die. Or he could trust in his Sparkles and her abilities to fix this in two weeks. That left only him to keep her safe from possibly feral vampires. And he wasn’t trained for vampires.
Dimity moved away. “This definitely calls for tea.”
Budgy Hall was located close to the center of Nottingham, so fortunately they need not hire a carriage. Or worse, try to activate the hive’s. They could walk. The city was modern enough to have good, strong lamplight and clean cobbles for their late-night stroll.
Dimity wore a pale peach visiting dress that made her skin appear luminous. It had some sort of shiny stripe to it, a square neckline with big buttons down the front, and a matched bonnet. Around her neck she had clasped an elaborate gold and pearl necklace. She looked pure and fresh-faced, as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. When occupying a role, her steps were shorter and with more sway to the hips. When she wasn’t being Honey Bee, she was naturally a purposeful walker with a long stride. One of the first things Cris had ever noticed about her, after the hair, was that he didn’t outpace her. And he outpaced most people.
Because they’d said they would (in a manner that had likely been overheard), they did a little shopping around Nottingham first. It was after ten, but many of the best shops were still open. Fashionable hours, indeed. Fortunate, this, as Mr and Mrs Carefull needed to be noticed and known in the town. They didn’t buy much – paints (to keep up appearances) and some tea – but Cris noted the way Dimity’s eyes lingered on a pair of opal drop earrings set in gold filigree.
He’d read the reports on Dimity Plumleigh-Teignmott, AKA Honey Bee. He’d read them more times than was necessary, truth be told. Listed under her susceptibilities and weaknesses were expensive jewelry, baked meringues, and handsome men. Also noted was the fact that, while weaknesses, no one was quite certain whether these might be exploited, as she’d encountered a great deal of all three during her service to the Crown and to date had never lost her wits over any of them. But the file said it was a possibility.
Cris thought he’d like to try all three at once. And hoped he qualified as handsome enough for the Honey Bee.
She moved with confidence around this city she’d never visited before. He fell into a back guard position without meaning to – less lead and more escort. Without his even realizing it had happened, they were bypassing the local BUR offices and entering a teahouse.
Dimity started in with her new plan as soon as the tea arrived. Fortunately for them, the teahouse was mostly deserted. It might keep London hours, but it was clear not all that many in Nottingham did.
“I am thinking we need to lure the baroness back into society.” Dimity spoke in modified code, just in case, avoiding mention of their being vampires and pretending this was more a matter of aristocratic family dynamics. She was very good.
Cris nodded for her to continue.
She nibbled a bit of apple charlotte. “I must redecorate and meddle. If I cause enough fuss and ruckus, she might get curious.”
“Or territorial.” He liked the idea, admittedly mostly because it didn’t involve seduction.
“Hard to know for certain, since we don’t know why she withdrew in the first place. I’ll have to work on them for that information. But if I also make the place pretty, maybe once we get her back up, she’ll want to stay.”
Cris accepted a fresh cup of tea. “You’ll need to take over housekeeper duties. Theris isn’t going to like that. He seems to want them dependent on him.”
“Yes, I noticed that, too. I’ll be housekeeper if you’ll be steward.”
“Not butler?”
“Do you buttle then, husband?”
“Not at all well.”
Her grin was full of mischief and he adored it. “This is going to be fun, and if I can pull it off in two weeks, it’s also a good one to go out on.”
“Go out on, Sparkles? What do you mean?” Was she leaving the War Office? Was she leaving him? He felt a sudden sick dread. They didn’t always work together, but the possibility that his next mission might be with her was one of the reasons he kept doing missions at all.
She gave him an assessing look. “That’s not important. Not right now. I haven’t made my final decision yet. I’m waiting on someone, you see?”
Cris had no idea what she was on about. Clearly he was losing the code to her enigmatic nature. He decided he had enough to worry about.
They returned to Budgy Hall in the small hours clutching a few small packages and feeling a renewed sense of purpose. They were asleep shortly thereafter, and Crispin even let himself enjoy her soft body curled against his.
Vampires did not bestir themselves during the day, and after years of service, no doubt Mr Theris kept entirely nighttime hours. Therefore, Dimity felt it wise to get up the next morning when they might not be interfered with. Sir Crispin agreed.
First things first.
Dimity and Sir Crispin got hot cross buns from the bakery down the way and then went ’round to the local domestics agency to retain parlormaids. Three of them. Dimity enquired after a cook, scullery maid, footmen, and butler, but was told those positions would take longer to fill. Sir Cr
ispin did as well as he could pretending to be a new steward (really, the man was soldier-stiff sometimes and not a good actor) while she played housekeeper (with consummate aplomb) and no one even questioned their authority or their settling of Budgy Hall’s account. Few knew that the Hall was a hive house. It was considered nothing more than an upstanding residence of unprecedented eccentricity and pecuniary liquidity. In other words, one did not quibble with requests from staff representing weird wealthy aristocrats. Dimity and Crispin looked to be respectable folk, exactly the kind of couple eccentric toffs would hire to manage their earthly concerns.
The agency was an efficient one and shortly after the midday toll, three fresh-faced young lasses were on the stoop.
Dimity immediately put them to work. One dusting, one sweeping and beating out carpets, and the third washing whatever needed to be washed. Which was most anything washable.
Then she took measurements and sent lovely, tolerant Sir Crispin back out to order new curtains. For the entire house.
She began to draw up lists of means by which Budgy Hall might be modernized, what needed to be stocked, who else must be hired, and what tradesmen’s services should be contracted. They’d need the sweeps round to see to all the chimneys. She wanted the roof looked at because there was definitely a leak in the upstairs hallway, and of course she threw open every window sash she could, to air out the place. No one was awake to stop her. She explained to the new maids that the residents were very fashionable indeed, and did not bestir themselves until visiting hours that evening. They were to be left in their rooms upstairs, undisturbed. The girls found this entirely understandable. After all, had they been wealthy lords and ladies of leisure, they would have done the same.
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