Captain Niall saluted the other werewolf. “Sir!”
Sophronia closed her eyes involuntarily. Vulkasin was one of the nastiest-looking supernatural creatures she’d ever seen. What have I done, delivering poor Shrimpdittle into his clutches?
“Any challenge?” The dewan looked over at the crowd of Picklemen.
They murmured briefly among themselves.
“Bad form,” Sophronia heard one of them say, “confessing like that. Very bad form.”
Finally, the oldest of the lot tilted his hat politely at three of the most powerful supernaturals in England and said, “We will, of course, provide legal counsel, but we cannot object to the arrest. It is justified. He will be immediately removed from all teaching responsibilities.”
With that, Lord Woolsey and the dewan walked away. Lord Woolsey carried the frantic Professor Shrimpdittle under one arm like a rolled umbrella.
Sophronia glanced at Felix’s face. The boy was shocked, but he did not look over at her, so he must not suspect her involvement.
Pillover, on the other hand, was glaring at her. “He really was one of the better teachers. It isn’t fair! Take it back, Sophronia!” With that, he grabbed his sister, still in a deep faint, and stormed off to the airship—half carrying, half dragging Dimity.
Sophronia, still worried about their safety, gave Sidheag a lips-compressed head tilt of encouragement.
“What am I,” grumbled the Lady of Kingair, “the nanny?” But she trotted after the Plumleigh-Teignmotts. She might have been a grumpy old thing, but she liked Dimity and she trusted Sophronia’s instincts.
Vieve, on the other hand, glanced up at Sophronia with shining eyes and said very softly, “All this for me? You’re too kind.”
“Oh, yes,” replied Sophronia, riddled with guilt. “I ruined one man and by doing so nearly killed another, all so you could go to school. You had better earn the sacrifice.”
“I shall be brilliant,” said Vieve with confidence. “What happened up there?”
“The blasted guidance valve failed. Or the professor was too crazed to remember to trigger it. It was awful. It was as if he went mad. And when he fell it took our ship forever to respond.”
Vieve tried a smile. “Don’t worry, both the professors will be fine.” She had all the optimism of a child.
Captain Niall, supernatural hearing and all, stared down at Sophronia and Professor Lefoux’s niece with a suspicious look. Apparently unable to fathom why or how Sophronia might orchestrate the visiting teacher’s mad act, he simply sighed deeply and said, “Why did I get involved with this kind of finishing school? Espionage is not for werewolves.”
Vieve said, pertly, “Boredom, sir?”
Captain Niall cuffed her ear gently and wandered off.
Lady Linette began marshaling the girls back on board. “Some of you,” she reminded them, “have a ball to dress for!” That got them moving with much greater rapidity than anything else.
Sophronia, truth to tell, was having an internal crisis. She hadn’t meant to drive Shrimpdittle to such lengths, but it was her fault. She had convinced the poor man that Professor Braithwope had bitten him. She had driven him to sabotage the guidance valve in the aether-suit. If Professor Braithwope died, she was to blame. Are character assassinations always this awful? she wondered. Will I have to learn to live with such consequences all the time? Am I really cut out to be an intelligencer, if this is part of it?
She responded like a mechanical to Lady Linette’s instructions.
On board the ship, everything was forgotten in the excitement of a ball. Girls rushed between chambers, rendering gown judgment and borrowing accessories. Only Sophronia stayed worried about Professor Braithwope’s condition.
Vieve showed up in their parlor, damning and approving the state of hair fobs and follies with great authority for a girl who only wore boys’ clothing.
“No, Dimity, you should leave yours as loose as possible but still up in a ladylike manner. It’s a real scorcher, your hair. Best display it to maximum efficiency. Agatha, try curls. No, bigger curls. Bigger!”
Monique and Preshea emerged from their room, and everyone stopped and gasped appreciatively. The two girls looked truly charming. Monique was all tall blonde elegance, with Preshea the velvet night to her moon. Blast it, thought Sophronia, they look so good I’m coming over poetic. How humiliating.
“Gold brocade?” said Vieve’s little voice. “A bold choice for the first gown of the Season.”
That broke the spell, because Monique turned sharply, squeaking due to the tight bodice of that gorgeous gold gown, and threw her fan at the young girl.
Vieve laughed, batting it away. “Oh, very ladylike. Aren’t you all grown up?”
Sophronia was wearing her new sage dress with the evening bodice and the fancy overskirt. Her hair was up, though not very done, and her jewelry was minimal—paste pearls borrowed from Dimity. She looked lovely in her simplicity, or so Dimity insisted. “Like a fresh green sunflower sprout.”
“I look like a sprout?” Sophronia pretended offense and tried to join in the excitement. But she felt distant and alone. She kept seeing Professor Braithwope’s blank eyes and broken form.
Vieve came to stand next to her. “Aren’t they a sight?”
“Who?” Sophronia was a tad short with her friend.
“All of them. You’d think this ball the most exciting thing to ever happen ever.”
“When a few short moments ago a vampire fell from the sky?”
Vieve turned, tilted her cap back, and looked out from under it at Sophronia. “You may have arranged matters, but the actions of others are not your fault. You know that, yes?”
“How is he, Vieve?”
“We should talk in there.” Vieve gestured casually to Sophronia and Dimity’s room.
As soon as the door was closed, she said, “I overheard my aunt and Sister Mattie chatting with the potentate and Mr. Giffard. Despite Shrimpdittle’s tampering, they don’t think that was the cause of Prof B.’s condition. Giffard said the vampire went crazy the moment they entered the aetherosphere. One second he was standing there in his suit, the next he was gyrating around the deck as though on fire. It was as if he had an adverse reaction to the aether itself. Even if the guidance valve had been working, he was too insane to activate it. Professor Shrimpdittle’s sabotage was irrelevant. And now Professor Braithwope is a babbling madman, and they aren’t sure if it’s the result of aetherosphere exposure, the fall, or a snapped tether.”
“Are they confident that’s exactly what happened?” Sophronia held on to her guilt.
“They should have made the suit impermeable to aether, if that’s even possible, but they only thought to try to salvage his tether. If anyone should feel guilty, it’s the people who sent him up there in the first place. It’s been concluded that vampires can’t go into the aetherosphere, ever. A major scientific breakthrough, so at least he didn’t sacrifice himself for nothing.” Vieve dimpled at her hopefully.
“But if the school could have followed his fall faster? If Shrimpdittle hadn’t… if I hadn’t tricked Shrimpdittle into…”
“Stop being so hard on yourself, Sophronia.”
“Will he recover? Will he be mad forever? Will he die?”
“They don’t know. Matron has never heard of such an extreme case of tether snap, even without the added aether exposure. There is no precedent. He’ll be put under guard, but he may never regain his senses. Or he could expire within the hour.”
Sophronia did not feel any better. She thought she might rush to Professor Braithwope’s quarters and offer up her blood. She felt she should admit her guilt to Lady Linette. She wanted to do penance. Instead, numb with horror, she allowed herself to be shuffled along to a ball.
In no time whatsoever, those who had been invited to Monique’s ball, a select group of almost half the school and all the visiting Bunson’s boys, disembarked. A veritable herd of hansom cabs awaited them.
So
phronia, Sidheag, Agatha, Dimity, Pillover, and Lord Mersey crammed into one together. Felix arranged it so he could sit between Sophronia and the door.
“How are you this evening, Miss Temminnick?” He was looking quite handsome. His evening dress was impeccable—crisp whites and silken blacks.
Sophronia could hardly believe such a man as this held her in genuine regard. “Well enough, Lord Mersey,” she replied, uncomfortable with his proximity. She could feel the warmth of the length of his thigh against hers, even through all her skirts.
“Still upset, Ria, my sweet? Your gentle heart moved by this evening’s calamity?”
Sophronia studied him from under her eyelashes. “Yes, I must admit, I was shaken. To see a man fall like that.”
Felix patted her gloved hand. “Not a man, a vampire, and they are made of stern stuff. You must rise above it.”
Unfortunate choice of words, thought Sophronia. “Oh, yes, thank you for such kind thoughts.”
“To be sure, Ria, my dear. You lean on me if you are feeling unwell. Don’t tax yourself this evening. And I demand the dinner set and the last dance, in order to better see to your health.”
Dimity, on Sophronia’s other side, stiffened at this audacity.
Sophronia pretended to blush. She couldn’t blush on cue yet, but she could pretend. She lowered her eyelids and fanned herself with her free hand. “Lord Mersey. You already have the third. That would be three dances. I think not. As to the dinner, I said I would think about it.”
“Well?”
“I’m still thinking.”
Felix looked appropriately chastised.
Such games we play, thought Sophronia, rather tired of the whole thing. As if I didn’t have to hedge and speak in code most of the time, I must now do it as part of regular social interactions. No wonder Mademoiselle Geraldine’s has such success training the female aristocracy to be intelligencers. It’s most of our life already. For some inexplicable reason, in a horse-drawn carriage on the way to a ball, sitting in close proximity to another boy, Sophronia found herself thinking of Soap. He never plays any games with me.
Felix was pressed against her side, but she found herself thinking of Soap’s long arm about her waist. She crushed the upwelling of warmth ruthlessly. Soap is a friend. I don’t want to destroy that. I don’t want to change us. Some small traitorous part of her whispered back. Then what do you want?
They arrived, and Lord Mersey gallantly helped them all to descend from the carriage. Sophronia was first, so that by the time he had finished, she was already making her way into Walsingham House with Dimity. Felix was left to escort Agatha or drop the girl’s trembling hand and run after Sophronia in a most unseemly manner.
Walsingham House Hotel was beyond lavish, and the Frond Court Tea Room was particularly grand. Monique’s family must be very wealthy or very optimistic, for no expense was spared. The entire venue was decorated in a gold-and-cream tea theme. There were cream roses nested in large gold sugar bowls. The everyday chandelier had been replaced with one of lavish crystal in the shape of a massive teapot. No one but Monique had been permitted to wear gold, and she glided, in regal superiority, among the attendees in their muted pastels. A string quartet, sufficient but not boastfully large, sat in one corner near a raised dancing area. Long, lace-covered tables arrayed along one wall groaned under bowls of golden punch and cream-colored nibbles. The punch was served in teacups, the comestibles on saucers. All the food was made to look like tea cakes, whether sweet or savory. This got a mite confusing, but everything tasted delicious.
Sophronia did not want to be impressed, but she was. It made her sister Petunia’s coming-out ball seem provincial by comparison.
Several guests had already arrived—enough young men to make up the numbers, some elderly ladies to act as chaperones, and a full service of flaxen-haired, arrogant fops who could only be Monique’s relations. As the room began to fill, Sophronia noticed a bevy of dandies, slightly older and more refined than might be expected, take up position near the punch. The vampire Lord Ambrose lurked to one side. Captain Niall stood in the opposite corner. He saw Sophronia’s group enter, his top hat tilted in Sidheag’s direction like an arrow of inquisition. Sidheag nodded at him shyly.
Having played the appropriate ode to Her Majesty, the band struck up a waltz. Titters of shock permeated the room, excitement from young ladies and disapproval from chaperones. To have a small band was elegance; to commence a ball with a waltz was very daring indeed.
Nevertheless, Monique’s first partner, Lord Dingleproops, led her gamely out onto the floor, and after a stanza or two, others followed. Lord Mersey accosted Sophronia, who gave him her hand willingly, despite her earlier reticence. He was the best-looking boy in the room and probably the highest ranking. With Dimity swinging happily around on some dandy’s arm, a man almost as sparkly as she, and Pillover doing his duty by Agatha, Sophronia felt she might as well take to the floor. Besides, she was tolerably certain Felix wasn’t getting the dinner dance, so she might as well take advantage of his interest. Even Sidheag was whirling about in the arms of a boy taller and gawkier than she.
Felix was an excellent dancer, his hand warm and firm at the small of her back. His frame was a little tight, drawing her in close enough for disapproval, but there was such a crush the chaperones did not notice. Sophronia looked up into his eyes for long moment before lowering her gaze and allowing him time to recover. He did seem a little breathless for a waltz that was limited in aestheticism by the size of the venue and the number of dancers.
It was for him to open dialogue, which he did after they had learned each other’s rhythm. “You’re a wonderful dancer, Ria.”
“Mademoiselle Geraldine’s takes such things seriously.”
“Ah. And how many ways do you know to kill me, while we dance?”
“Only two, but give me time.”
“You have lovely eyes. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“What rot. They are a muddy green. What are you about, Lord Mersey?”
Felix sighed, looking genuinely perturbed. His air of ennui was shaken. “I am trying to court you. Truth be told, Miss Temminnick, you make it ruddy difficult!”
“Language, Lord Mersey.” Sophronia felt her heart flutter strangely. Am I ready to be courted?
“See!”
“Bunson’s and Geraldine’s don’t mix. We practice, but we don’t finish, not with each other.”
“It’s happened before.”
“You mean the Plumleigh-Teignmotts? Yes, but they both had to give it up.”
“Give what up?”
“Their training.”
“I’m not asking you to marry me, Ria. I’m asking you to let me court you.”
“To what end, exactly, if not marriage?”
Felix winced.
“I’m not willing to stop learning. Are you?” Despite her guilt over Professor Braithwope’s fall, as she said it Sophronia knew this was true. “As I understand it, we serve different masters.”
“Precisely why it might be fun.”
“I will not be used as some boyish excuse for rebellion.”
“You see what I mean? Difficult! I like it.”
“You’re a loon.”
“And you’re a silver swan sailing on liquid dreams.”
Sophronia giggled. “Stop that. This is getting us nowhere.”
“So may I court you?”
Sophronia looked over his shoulder, feeling dizzy. From the waltzing, of course. She stalled for time and then…
“Where’s Dimity?”
Felix was thrown by the sudden switch in topic.
“And Pillover! Where’s Pillover?”
Sophronia scanned the crowd frantically. There was the dandy who had been dancing with Dimity; he was now dancing with Agatha. The Plumleigh-Teignmott siblings were gone! Sophronia looked to the back of the crowd near the punch bowl. Lord Ambrose was also gone. Sidheag was still with her tall partner. Captain Niall lurked on the
sidelines, his eyes on Lady Kingair with an odd expression in them. With no time to analyze any of it, Sophronia broke away from Felix.
“Are you leaving me in the middle of a dance again?” She’d done exactly the same thing to him the night they danced at Petunia’s coming-out ball. He grabbed for her arm. “I’ll stop being silly. I promise.”
“This is not a cut, Felix. I must go fix something.”
“Why is it always your problem to fix, Ria?”
“Because I see that there is a problem when no one else does.”
With nothing more to say than that, Sophronia Angelina Temminnick did the rudest thing she had ever done in all her life: she left a high-ranking peer of the realm standing alone in the middle of a waltz. For the second time of their acquaintance. Oh, dear, she thought, he might never forgive me.
Sophronia was just in time. She saw the hem of Dimity’s gown, a strikingly bold peach-and-brown pattern not unlike a sun-bleached tiger, disappear inside a private carriage outside the hotel. She could also hear the sound of muffled yelling.
The driver struck up the horses but not before Sophronia hiked up her skirts, ran down after them, and leapt up to the back step, a place ordinarily occupied by footmen in livery. It was not a perch designed for a ball gown, nor were any meant to stand there when moving at speed, but Sophronia held on. No one is kidnapping my Dimity!
The carriage careened through the streets at a dangerous pace, slowing only when traffic demanded. After a relatively short distance, they drew to a halt on a quiet domestic avenue. Sophronia jumped down and to the side, turning her head away from the carriage and pretending to walk along the pavement as if out for a stroll. Alone. In a ball gown. The door to the carriage opened behind her. She could not turn without arousing suspicion, so she proceeded at an unhurried pace until she was around the far corner of the street. Once there, she inched up close to the last house and peeked back around, cursing a fashion that dictated young ladies wear pale colors and big puffed skirts. She was undeniably visible.
Curtsies & Conspiracies fs-2 Page 21
