“Oh.” She wracked her mind for a topic that would bore Sophia rigid so she would go away. “We were talking about suffrage for women. It’s a movement that is gaining momentum on the Chartism manifesto.”
“Really? I can’t see Declan caring in the least for that.” Sophia sniffed.
“Decanus,” Sangfroid corrected and slurped her afternoon tea. She looked irritated and distracted. Boredom oozed out of her every pore, and Millicent itched to kick her ankles to make her at least sit up straight, instead of listing in her seat like Pisan architecture.
“Major Sangfroid has the greatest interest in women’s suffrage,” Millicent said, bristling at Sophia’s impropriety. It was only last night she had been introduced to Sangfroid properly. Far too soon to assume first name terms, even if it was the wrong first name.
“Decanus,” Sangfroid corrected her, too.
“We agreed you were a major,” she whispered. “You cannot be a decanus here. It means nothing.”
“Maybe it’s an old family name from the Urals—ouch!” She broke off with a yelp. “You pinched me.” She examined a small red mark forming on the side of her wrist.
“You deserved it. We’ve had enough of your Urals,” Millicent said.
“What you bet this goes septic.” She rubbed her wrist. “And I die.”
“You really should be in an operetta,” Millicent said.
“You really should be on a death squad.”
“Enough of this ineffectual flirting,” Sophia said. “It should be curtailed to the front parlour chaise, where it belongs.”
Millicent’s face flamed.
Sophia sailed on heedless of her insensitivity. “I have been inadvertently eavesdropping at Hubert’s laboratory door for some time now,” she said. “And I think it reprehensible of you to not include me in your scientific discussions. I am a highly educated lady, easily a contemporary of Millicent, and yet I’m always left out.”
“How can one inadvertently eavesdrop?” Millicent was so astounded by this admission she let the fantastical nonsense about their intellectual parity pass.
“By arriving at a door, hearing voices, and not going away,” Sophia said. “You see I come from a large family, Mr. Decanus.” She turned to Sangfroid. “For all its size, it is impossible to acquire any information worth having unless one uses one’s ingenuity. Why, I was unaware of my eldest sister’s wedding until the week before. Factual advisement is in short supply, and the rest is all assumption. It’s so easy to be disabused in the Trenchant-Myre idyll.”
“I can’t imagine you being disabused at all,” Sangfroid said. “And it’s decanus, no need for the mister.”
“Oh, in my family, I am quite the scholarly wallflower.” She fluttered back and Millicent bristled. Sophia was being almost coquettish, and it jarred horribly with her usual brusque, blunt, and essentially humourless nature.
“Sophia, what exactly did you overhear at the door?” Millicent asked and leaned over to pour more tea, but with very stiff shoulders to convey her disapproval.
“That you are planning to travel. And very soon.” Sophia added two lumps of sugar with the silver tongs and stirred delicately. Sangfroid offered her cup for a refill. Millicent shuddered at the sight of her mother’s chinaware in the Neanderthal grasp.
“Something about Paradoxees and Quantumphysex.” Sophia took a sip of tea. “Which I am sure are in Africa. And I will not allow it.”
Millicent stilled and cast a look towards Sangfroid who looked back blandly. “I’m sure you misheard.” Millicent tried for a light laugh. Sangfroid did not join in, preferring to sulk.
“No, I did not.” Sophia brushed imaginary crumbs from her lap. “You are planning a journey with Hubert. And it is unfair not to tell me. I should know when the house is to be empty so I can keep an eye on the staff and ensure there is no scally-wagging or loitering. Staff always loll about when the master is away.”
Millicent frowned; it was a relief Sophia had no clue as to the true nature of their travels, but still worrisome she knew of it at all. The drawing room door opened, and Hubert finally joined them.
“How was the university, dearest?” Sophia asked with little interest.
“Busy, as usual. Ah ha, I thought I heard the tinkle of china,” Hubert said merrily looking the tea set. “Any scones?”
“Sophia is aware of your travel plans, Hubert.” Millicent sweetly laid the problem at his newly arrived feet. He paled a little but managed to accept a cup of tea and a buttered scone.
“Oh?” he said and then began to eat robustly as if chewing heartily would save him from adding further to the conversation.
“I should have no wish to travel abroad.” Sophia primly began her lecture. “I see no advantage in such an enterprise.” She regarded Millicent’s plaid fan-front day dress with a sly eye. It was much less stylish than Sophia’s three-piece, peacock blue silk, and both ladies were acutely aware of that fact. Millicent hated her frumpy old dress. Her frequent exploits to Sangfroid’s timeline had denuded her wardrobe of her more fashionable garments. She was now reduced to reaching into the nether regions of the armoire to find anything at all respectable to wear. A shopping expedition was looming, and that disheartened her greatly. Dress shopping was not her forte. Had Sophia proven a more agreeable companion, Millicent would have asked her to come with her and give advice. Sophia knew quality, had taste, and was well up on the latest fashions. But her overbearing nature was too much for Millicent and so she depended on the recommendations of shop girls and her own rather narrow palette of favoured colours.
“I mean, it’s not as if one brings back anything worthwhile, like news of the latest fashions,” Sophia continued. Her barely concealed barb at Millicent’s day dress hit its mark.
“Indeed.” Millicent simpered, trying to control her temper. “I declare you would not like it abroad, Sophia. Their language is atrocious. There were H words, and Fs, and on at least one occasion a B.” Her fingers tightened around her reticule where she had composed a list of all Sangfroid’s unsuitable language so it could be addressed later, if there ever was a later.
“A bee?” Sophia was curious.
“Yes, a B.”
“I do not like bees. I do not like any creatures. Not even cats and dogs.” Sophia was very firm on this. “Nor do I have time for horses.”
“Then I am certain you would not like abroad at all,” Millicent said, thinking of the giant squid upstairs.
“Rather,” Sophia continued as if no one had spoken, “it is more probable that you shall all return with some dreadful disease and die. It is very foolhardy of you, Hubert, to die before we are wed and you can make me a widow.”
Hubert choked on his scone.
“I so admire your thinking, Sophia,” Sangfroid told her. “I mean, who knows what strange souvenirs a man might return with?” She glared at Hubert and let her gaze drift down to his pockets.
“Yes,” Millicent agreed, seething at Sangfroid for siding with Sophia, so she, in turn, sided with Hubert. “There is always the worry of some organism following one home,” she said and glared blatantly at Sangfroid so there was no doubt as to which organism she referred to.
Hubert finished his scone, apparently unconcerned by all the glaring going on. “A very valid argument, my dear.” He smiled at Sophia who smiled demurely back.
“So we are in agreement, Hubert,” she said. “No more travel. I can’t have you haring off whenever I need you here to help with my societies. If you were to go away, I would be sure to need you, and you would have to return at once, which begs the question why go in the first place? It is all so fucking awkward.”
“Pardon?” Hubert started in his seat.
Millicent sat bolt upright. “Pardon?” she echoed. They all regarded Sophia in stunned silence. “Sophia,” she said, “I want you to think carefully about this. Have you be
en travelling yourself, recently?”
“Of course not. How ridiculous. I think I should buggering well know if I had done such a silly thing,” she answered. She gathered her gloves and stood. “Now, I must bid you all farewell. I have to call on the Misses Partridge and help them choose hymns for the church flower festival. It should be frigging fantastic this year.”
Millicent led Sophia out to the hall. “Sophia,” she said, taking her arm in hers. “It’s been wonderful to see you. I’ve been meaning for us to have tea and tell each other our news.”
Sophia regarded her with suspicion. They never swapped news.
“Perhaps you could advise me on purchasing a new dress?” Millicent continued to lay bait. “I do so admire this three-piece you are wearing. Is it a Charles Worth?” She squirmed under Sophia’s narrowed gaze. She hated deceitfulness, but this was for a necessary cause.
“It is a Worth,” Sophia replied slowly. “My sisters and I—”
“What fun,” Millicent interrupted. “You do have such an exciting life.” Sophia tensed and Millicent sensed she may have gone too far. She knew Sophia was sensitive to being the youngest, plainest, and probably the most boring female in her large family. Millicent tried to remedy the situation. “I mean has anything…new…happened recently?” She began to reel Sophia in.
“Well,” Sophia said. “I did have a purpose for my visit this afternoon, but I found it inappropriate to speak of it in front of the gentlemen.”
“Oh, and why would that be, dear?”
“It’s about your coal hole,” Sophia said in a conspiratorial voice.
“My coal hole?” Millicent repeated.
“Yes, I’ve been investigating your domestic arrangements regarding the delivery of coal, and I recommend you get the hatch from the street fixed. You can’t have people falling down there,” Sophia said. “And I may have found you a new footman, too.” She seemed very pleased with this.
“A new footman?” Millicent was lost. Did they even need a footman?
“Except he speaks Latin, not English. But he learns very quickly.” Sophia elaborated. Her colour heightened, putting an unnatural rosy glow onto her sallow cheeks.
Latin? Millicent tightened her hold on Sophia’s arm and eased her into the brocade settle in the hallway.
“You must tell all,” she said, trying to sound delightfully intrigued rather than heinously alarmed.
“Remember, I called earlier this morning, and as I said, Edna greeted me,” Sophia began, leaping at the chance to have Millicent’s ear. “I found her in a terrible state, yet far too fretful to disturb your elevenses, as I have also stated.” Her disapproval surfaced, but she soldiered on. “She was so relieved to see me, bless her. She needed guidance and advice, and really who better to turn to than her soon-to-be-mistress. Who else was there to take the helm while you were all ensconced in the laboratory?”
“What did she want?” Millicent tried to keep Sophia focused on the facts.
“It was most intriguing,” Sophia continued. “She said to me—”
“Oh, Miss.” Edna, clearly distressed, met Sophia at the door. “There’s something awful in the coal hole, and Cook is too busy straining soft fruits and says it’s none of her business what goes on in the coal hole and if Master Hubert hadn’t sacked the footman for diddling the port, then there’d be a man about the house to go down into coal holes and the like and see what’s what.” Then she sniffled tearfully into her apron and blinked moistly at Sophia.
“And until a new footman is employed, I assume it’s your chore to see ‘what’s what’?” Sophia asked as regally as she could muster, making a mental note to remind Hubert to hire a man as quickly as possible. Lord only knew how many ‘what’s what’ had been left to Edna’s slippery attention span.
Sophia sighed heavily. She had been hoping to forgo these sort of domestic situations until long after she was married. She was the fifth and last daughter out of nine children, and very far down the chain of command in the Trenchant-Myre household. From an early age, Sophia had to struggle for every soupçon of attention she could garner. Nor did it overly concern her parents that their youngest daughter’s education was cobbled together from her siblings’ scholastic leftovers. Tutors had been set up for the boys until they came of an age they could be jettisoned off to boarding school, only to return for weddings, funerals, and an occasional Christmas. The young Sophia relied on her brother’s cast-off books and purloined volumes from her father’s library in order to learn anything at all.
Her older sisters had been taught the rudiments of household management from their mother, including the literacy levels needed to keep the books and make sure one’s servants weren’t bleeding one dry. But in Sophia’s case, her blessed Mama delivered these lessons less frequently. With nine children behind her, and an age gap of ten years between her other daughters and Sophia, Mama was quite worn out by the time it was Sophia’s turn to learn womanly wiles. The result was Sophia had little knowledge of domestic economy. Her greatest shame, one of many, was that she came to Hubert totally unprepared to run his house and was secretly hoping Millicent would continue on in that capacity. Though she’d rather choke on her own tongue than ask.
“Where is Miss Millicent? Surely she should be taking an interest in the coal hole?” Sophia asked Edna.
“Miss Millicent and Master Hubert are currently indisposed,” Edna answered unhelpfully. “I went for Miss Millicent first, but she was not to be found. I think they are in the master’s laboratory taking tea and I am not allowed to ‘so much as knock on the door,’” she rhymed off by rote.
As much as she wanted Millicent to run the house, it still irked Sophia that she should take centre stage, especially when it came to Hubert. Sophia had never once set foot in the laboratory, yet Millicent swanned in and out as if it were Claridge’s. She filled the most important roles, leaving Sophia in the shadows. Sophia already had a multitude of siblings doing just that, and it was tiresome that the pattern continued into her new life. Why did everyone refer to Millicent in a crisis? Sophia decided that on this occasion she would take command. After all, in the absence of Millicent and Hubert, it was up to her to keep the house flag aloft. She may have little to give in the way of domestic advice, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t offer it anyway, if only for effect. She cleared her throat and launched into action. “What exactly is a coal hole, Edna?”
“It’s the cellar where we keep the coal, Miss.”
“And what is amiss with this cellar?” Sophia was losing interest already. Coal cellars sounded like disgusting places.
“I think someone’s in it, Miss.” Edna was wide eyed, and her hands trembled.
“Well, it’s obvious that they should not be. Have you asked them to remove themselves from the coal hole?”
“No, Miss. I ran away when I heard the moaning.”
“Moaning? Dear Lord, woman, they’re probably hurt. Maybe they fell in or something.” Sophia was unsure how people presented themselves to a coal hole, but if there was moaning then something was awry.
Edna turned chalk white, and it dawned on Sophia that she would have to go and call into this cellar herself to ensure this moaning ne’er do well got on his way. He had better not be a drunk. She had no sympathy for intoxication or merriment of any kind.
“Take me to the coal hole this instant.” Sophia warmed to the idea of solving a domestic dilemma and giving a scoundrel a good telling off at the same time. It would please her to inform everyone how she had taken charge while Millicent malingered over tea in the sacrosanct laboratory.
Pleased with her contribution to the crisis, she followed Edna to a small door adjacent to the steps that led to the kitchens. It was on the same level as the boot room, and the whole area had a strange, unfamiliar odour that Sophia could only put down to human industry. She pushed open the cellar door to reveal a flight of narrow ste
ps that descended into darkness as black as pitch. She was definitely not going down there. It was filthy!
“How on earth do you get the coal into such a place?” she asked.
“The coal man delivers into the hatch in the street, Miss. This is where I fill the buckets in the morning to set the fires.” Edna fidgeted with her apron, staring down the stairwell.
“How abhorrent. I can only assume someone has trespassed by falling in from the street. I hope the coal has not been damaged.”
“Cook says it’s haunted.”
“Nonsense. You are not allowed to believe in ghosts. Do you understand me, Edna?”
“Yes, Miss.”
From the bowels of the basement, a guttural moan swirled up at them. It was low and forlorn and as desolate as the wind in a winter graveyard. Edna squeaked and took flight, leaving Sophia rooted to the spot in blind panic.
The slither of avalanching coal told her something was moving down there. Then came the drag of footsteps; first one, then another, and another. Slowly they moved from the bottom of the stairs towards where she stood. She felt faint. The steps drew nearer, scraping on the stone stairway. Her knees weakened, horror clawed at her heart, and yet she couldn’t move. Below her a young man’s face surfaced from out of the gloom. He was dark haired and sooty skinned, and his eyes were a fierce angelic blue that pinned her in place in a spasm of Gloriana, rather than fright. He was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. His hair was blacker than the coal-strewn hell from which he ascended. He was tall, and noble, and gorgeous, and Sophia’s heart joined her sagging knees in a betrayal of all that was upright and moral. Lord Byron is in my coal hole!
The Tea Machine Page 13
