Reticence

by Gail Carriger

  Arsenic retrieved the lid and sat back down, glowing with their approval.

  “It was only a little explosion.” Professor Tunstell seemed a touch annoyed by his sister’s praise.

  “For show?” suggested Arsenic.

  The captain laughed. “How did you know?”

  “My family has interests that are occasionally subversive.”

  “They like tricky little devices, eh?”

  “My mother’s usually explode with greater purpose,” Arsenic said without really thinking about it. Oops.

  Lady Akeldama became momentarily serious. “Your mother doesn’t know my mother, does she?”

  “Who’s your mother?”

  “Lady Maccon.”

  “I dinna think so.” The name rang some faint bells but not in connection with Preshea Ruthven. Lady Maccon was something else… political? Or scandalous? Perhaps both? Arsenic rarely paid attention to London gossip. She grew up in Scotland, never had a London season, and then promptly left in pursuit of an education.

  “If her interest is in devices, she’s more likely to know Quesnel’s mother,” said Miss Tunstell.

  “Who’s that?” wondered Arsenic.

  “Madame Lefoux.”

  That was a name Arsenic knew. “Aye, of course. But that hardly makes a difference, everyone orders from Lefoux.”

  “True, true.” The captain, for some reason, preened at this. Apparently, Arsenic had said something bang on. Really this was the oddest interview.

  “Quesnel is the inventor’s son, then?” Arsenic wondered what connection he had to the ship.

  “Could we get through one afternoon without talking about that man?” Professor Tunstell had a pained expression on his face.

  “Never!” Lady Akeldama grinned.

  The professor made an exasperated noise. Then glanced at Arsenic and went red about the ears. He stared hurriedly back down at her accreditation papers, which he’d been fiddling with restlessly.

  Arsenic reached over and extracted them from him.

  “Righto, yes.” He frowned at her gloveless hands.

  Arsenic wondered what he found so continually objectionable about her. He’d barely looked at her the entire interview. And now the absence of gloves offended? She couldn’t very well stitch up a wound wearing fancy-wear, now could she?

  Another knock sounded, and since he was still there, no doubt collecting gossip for the decklings, Virgil opened the door.

  An extremely handsome swarthy gentleman stuck his head in.

  Arsenic’s mother was one of the most beautiful humans on the planet, which had taught Arsenic to be wary of anyone gorgeous. Not those like Professor Tunstell, who was awkwardly unaware of his allure, but those like this man. Whoever he was, he knew what he looked like. His gaze was self-assured and direct.

  Predator, thought Arsenic, noting the way he moved, how he occupied the doorway – barring it but also watching the hallway with his peripheral vision. Trained. He was admirably fit, too. The way he stood, so balanced. She assessed his stance. Not fencing, something rougher, closer… Knives, perhaps?

  He looked away from her and at the captain. There was a passing physical resemblance between them, although the eyes were different. His were dark and fierce.

  “Little cousin,” he said, which answered that question, “we must make with going.” He had a strong Italian accent.

  Lady Akeldama introduced him to Arsenic in a matter-of-fact tone. “Dr Ruthven, this is Mr Tarabotti, my cousin. Charming man, he once tried to kill me.”

  The Italian made a clucking noise. “Not personal. And that time has gone.”

  The captain’s face was inscrutable. “You shot and killed my mother’s butler.”

  Arsenic was fascinated. What an interesting dynamic these two had.

  “No no, little cousin, that was one of my men, not me. Sì, if I had known who he was and how important, I would no see him dead. But he is still here. Did you want him to see this?” He gestured at Arsenic imperiously. “I could tell him. Sì?”

  “What am I going to do with you?” was the captain’s almost affectionate response.

  Really, was everyone aboard this ship slightly mad? Much of Arsenic’s initial conversation with the decklings was beginning to make sense. All the crew seemed, in a word, eccentric.

  Mr Tarabotti smiled. “Too late, little cousin. I stay here. You done almost? You maybe do not wish late, no? Your father, he will throw a fop.”

  Miss Tunstell said, “Throw a fit, I think you mean, Rodrigo.”

  “Sì?”

  “Yes. He is a fop but he throws a fit.”

  The captain interrupted, “Yes yes. Soon. But this is more important.”

  “Sì?” Mr Tarabotti shrugged and left. He said something in Italian to someone waiting in the hallway as he closed the door.

  Arsenic turned to look curiously at the cheerful captain. “He tried to kill you?”

  “Obviously he wasn’t successful.”

  Arsenic nodded. Obviously. “My mother would say that shows a lack of follow-through.”

  The captain grinned. “Your mother sounds logical.”

  Miss Tunstell added, although not critically, “And a little bloodthirsty.”

  It was a fair assessment. “You’ve no idea,” replied Arsenic, because it seemed they really didn’t.

  The captain wrinkled her nose. “Old Cousin Roddy there is not so bad. He’s been reformed through excessive reading. Percy was in charge of extensive literary recuperation efforts.”

  Arsenic smiled at Professor Tunstell, not quite sure what to make of this explanation, but knowing that books could be good medicine.

  The man dipped his head and blushed.

  The two ladies looked at him as if he’d done the most unusual thing ever.

  Miss Tunstell’s voice was choked in horror or amusement. “Brother dear, are you well? We do currently have a doctor aboard.”

  Professor Tunstell said, “Shove off, Tiddles,” and looked at Arsenic from under his lashes.

  Arsenic tried smiling at him again. This only seemed to make matters worse. He got redder, stopped looking at her, and took great interest in the tabletop.

  Lady Akeldama resumed the interview. Or, more precisely, concluded it. “Well, there is only one more thing to ask, Doctor.”

  “Aye?” Arsenic held her breath.

  “How do you feel about cats?”

  “Oh! I love them.”

  “You do, how much?” Miss Tunstell was suspicious.

  “Weel, I have yours on my lap at the moment. He’s lovely.”

  “What?” Professor Tunstell stood in shock.

  Arsenic pushed her chair back slightly so they could see the handsome black-and-white tom curled happily on her.

  “Oh good, Footnote.” The captain beamed. “There’s no greater mark of approval. Are we in agreement?”

  “Yes,” said Miss Tunstell, promptly, “although there is remuneration to discuss. Leave that to me while you finish getting spiffed?”

  “I’ll be fine, stop fussing. Sun hasn’t even set yet. Percy?”

  “What?”

  “Do you approve of Dr Ruthven for the position?”

  Professor Tunstell went wide-eyed. “What position?”

  “Of ship’s doctor. Do pay attention.”

  “Oh yes, that. Certainly. She seems perfectly capable and overly qualified. That is to say, I can’t think of any reason why not… Not publish? It is, of course, unconscionable, but shouldn’t impact her surgical abilities, should it? Implies a certain lack of ego. Or lack of confidence in her abilities? I’m not sure… Not to publish…”

  “I dinna need the world’s approval, I only need to heal it.”

  Professor Tunstell gave her a sceptical look. “If you say so.”

  There was yet another knock on the door.

  Arsenic might have been annoyed by the constant interruptions, but really each one was more interesting than the last. She swivelled about in her
chair eager for whatever happened next, but careful not to disturb the cat, Footnote. Such a charming name.

  A tall woman of Eastern extraction stuck her head in. Perfect skeletal structure, clear complexion, glossy hair – healthy. A little too healthy? Supernatural, perhaps? Arsenic had always thought her mother stunning. Preshea Ruthven was all English rose and porcelain doll. But this lady was desert sands and ancient sculptures, expensive silks and spices. Preshea was power in the shadows, manipulation and subversion. This woman was sunlight and command – people once knelt at her feet, unashamed.

  Actress, maybe? Famous dancer or singer?

  “Tash.” Miss Tunstell’s voice was warm and buttery. “Darling, you’re awake.”

  The woman’s liquid almond eyes swept over Arsenic, assessing, and then moved beyond her to the others. “Yes, little one, and we all know what that means?”

  “Oh heavens, it’s after dark! We must prepare to depart at once! We have a wedding to attend!”

  That explained everyone’s excessively elaborate attire.

  Arsenic decided it was worth disturbing Footnote. She tipped the cat off her lap and stood. “Oh, I dinna mean to keep you. Who’s getting married?”

  The captain was now standing. “Me, unfortunately.” Her lovely ivory gown revealed itself to be a wedding dress.

  TWO

  Drama Dama Damp

  These people are insane and I adore them.

  Arsenic hurried to shut her medical kit. “Weel, I’ll make myself scarce then.” It hissed as it folded and spiralled down. “When will you be notifying us all about the position?”

  Lady Akeldama was making her way around the table in a cautious lumbering manner. Arsenic’s physician’s eye was caught by her movements. Perhaps her roundness was not dietarily dictated. A bairn, then.

  She waddled up to Arsenic. “Don’t be silly. It’s filled.”

  “Oh aye?” Arsenic was crushed. Then why have I been sitting here all this time?

  “By you, of course!” The captain grinned at her. “Floote approves, don’t you, Floote?”

  Much to Arsenic’s shock, a ghost was floating next to her. He was a dour-looking gentleman in clothing from the 1840s. A ghost tethered to a dirigible, who’d have thought?

  “Formerly Floote, this is our new doctor, Arsenic Ruthven. Will she do? Yours is the last vote of import.”

  The ghost, who seemed a little worse for wear – Arsenic would guess he was edging into poltergeist stage – gave her a regal nod of approval.

  Arsenic nodded back.

  The captain twirled in a cautious circle. “Do I look like a proper bride, Floote?”

  The ghost nodded again. His expression was amorphous but possibly near to sentiment.

  He drifted down through the floor.

  “Old family retainer,” explained the captain, “my grandfather’s valet and then my mother’s butler. He’s very wise, and possibly an evil mastermind, although he’d never admit to it, even after death.”

  “How is he here?” Arsenic couldn’t help her curiosity, it was medical in origin.

  “We have a preservation tank.”

  Arsenic could feel her skin prickle. “You are equipped to transport supernatural creatures by air?”

  “It’s only for Floote, although we have used… That’s a long story.”

  Arsenic was disposed to be open to new ideas, even extraordinary ones involving the ghosts of butlers.

  “Now, would you like to come along to my bally wedding or not?”

  Arsenic was both touched and surprised. She gestured down at herself. “I’m na dressed for it.”

  “My dear,” said Lady Akeldama with a grin, “at my wedding we are lucky if half the company stays dressed at all.”

  Miss Tunstell added, by way of explanation, “Half the family is werewolves.”

  Professor Tunstell snorted. “And the other half is vampires.” He gestured to his stunning cravat. “So the rest of us must be overdressed. I have to wear a top hat.”

  Arsenic shuddered at the thought. Top hats were absurd affectations. She’d had to wear one back in her I’m na a woman, I’m a doctor phase of training. “Ridiculous things.”

  The professor lost a little of his awkwardness at that. “Exactly! They wobble. Virgil has me in a stovepipe for this evening. A stovepipe!”

  Arsenic gave him a sympathetic smile. He promptly became once more reticent. Perhaps he had taken against her, or was simply painfully shy. Pity, he was rather adorable.

  Arsenic turned her attention back to the ladies, who were making their way into the hallway. The tall goddess awaited, wearing an elaborate silk robe over a long satin skirt. Her hair was down and she wore no hat and little jewellery. Arsenic didn’t feel so bad about her golfing outfit if that was allowed at the wedding.

  “If you and Prim can come to favourable terms, you’re very welcome to stay aboard The Spotted Custard immediately, Dr Ruthven.”

  I really have the position! I’m employed at last.

  Arsenic wanted to hug her new captain. “Oh, thank you! I’m sure we can come to terms.” I’m na disposed to be picky.

  Lady Akeldama smiled. “Good! Then Prim will show you to your quarters, get you settled and spruced up. Unless you don’t want to come along and see the pomp and circus? For which, of course, I wouldn’t blame you. I wouldn’t attend myself, except that’s rather the point.”

  “Who are you marrying?”

  “Oh, it’s only Quesnel.”

  “Quesnel?” That name again.

  “Yes. He’s chief engineer aboard ship, and rather a pip with devices and machines. Takes after his mother. Doesn’t look like her, though. He’s got this cute little button nose and blond hair and he’s charming and suave. He’s French, so of course he’s suave. Flirts like anything. I rather adore him, you see? Well, love him, really. And since there’s coal in the boiler, everyone is determined that we better had.”

  Arsenic arched both brows. “Seems logical.”

  “That’s what Quesnel said.”

  “Are you na happy about it?”

  “I think I will be, after the wedding. Right now it seems rather a fuss and bother.”

  Arsenic nodded. She’d seen many a wedding over the years devolve into crisis. Her extended mess of sisters and cousins was a mixed bag. They tended towards the dramatic when gathered together for any length of time. There was a distinct possibility she’d escaped to Africa to get away from having to attend any more family weddings. Lady Akeldama’s, however, was someone else’s family. Much easier on the nerves.

  “We’ll discuss your condition soon?”

  “If we must. Everyone is insisting it might be complicated. It’s certainly awkward.” The captain patted her rounded belly, but her face showed no genuine annoyance. Then she turned away to yell, “Primrose!”

  Arsenic suspected that she’d need to become accustomed to fast changes in topic and attention.

  “Prim, do stop nuzzling. You’re being unduly romantic. There’s a wedding about to happen, romance has no place here! You must settle Dr Ruthven. Indenture isn’t necessary but I want a nice tidy contract. That way no one can poach her.”

  Arsenic warmed to the captain further. She also tried not to stare at the way staid Miss Primrose Tunstell was wrapped in the arms of the silk-robed goddess who was licking her neck by way of greeting. Licking!

  Miss Tunstell recollected the staid part of her personality and pulled away, although not far.

  “Tash, stop. Later, darling. Now, Doctor, let me show you to the room we’ve set aside for your treatments. It’s directly across the hallway from a small bedroom, we thought that might work best. You could leave both doors open when necessary. If you have an overnight patient or whatnot. You can check them both over, and if you approve, we’ll discuss salary? Quickly as possible, please, the ceremony is supposed to start in an hour.”

  Behind her, Arsenic heard the professor say, in an injured tone, “A stovepipe, Rue, must I?” />
  “Virgil knows best.” The captain was unmoved by his pleas.

  “Virgil is a snob.”

  “My vampire father extraordinaire will be there, you do realize?”

  “Yes but…”

  “And Lord Falmouth. You know how Biffy feels about hats.”

  “Yes, but he doesn’t care about me. He only cares about—”

  “And your mother’s drones, reporting back to her on every little detail.”

  A long sigh. “Oh very well, if you really wish it.”

  Arsenic turned in time to see him subtly assist the captain to walk down the hall. He might complain a treat, but he clearly had a good heart.

  “Do I need a hat?” fretted Arsenic.

  Miss Tunstell smiled at her. “Oh, that’s easily sorted, I’ve plenty to spare. Have you met my Tash? Tasherit Sekhmet, this is our new doctor, Arsenic Ruthven. We’re rather excited about her. She’s splendid.”

  The stunning goddess said, without really taking her eyes off Miss Tunstell, “Splendid. Arsenic, is it? After the toxic chemical?”

  “Sekhmet, is it? After the angry goddess?” Arsenic replied pertly. Not wanting to explain her mother’s questionable sense of humour in naming all four of her daughters after deadly poisons.

  Liquid brown eyes glanced at Arsenic and the regal head tilted.

  “Tash is our resident werelioness, so you won’t be treating her much,” explained Miss Tunstell as if a female werecat were an ordinary run-of-the-mill kind of thing.

  “Your what?”

  But the werelioness was focused on Miss Tunstell again. “Why aren’t you wearing that dress I love with the lovely ball fringe all over?”

  “Because you always bat at it.”

  Arsenic decided to hope that everything would become clear once she learned more about her new position. She was determined to like it aboard The Spotted Custard. It was an awfully confusing place thus far. But, if nothing else, it looked to be an amusing situation.

  Percy abhorred parties. He detested balls and shunned gatherings. He hated card games and gambling dens. He avoided everything from intimate dinner conclaves to sporting events. Anything, in fact, where one was forced into regrettably uncomfortable clothing, assembling in numbers greater than six, and making a show of being entertained by other people.