“So she should be. You stick to your jibs and leave the dirigible to me.”
“A man, mon petit chou, has only one jib.” Rue did sputter at that. “Now, what did you decide to call her?”
“The Spotted Custard.”
Quesnel couldn’t suppress his snort of derision. “Goodness, that sounds like a disease of the unmentionables.”
“You and your jib should know,” Rue shot back without thinking.
“Jealous of my experience, mon petit chou? You’ve only to ask and I’d be happy to teach you all the rigging.”
Rue tried not to be shocked or intrigued – after all she had rather asked for it. She was actually tempted to open negotiations on that very subject right then and there. She’d wager he could teach her a great deal, and she was quite curious. Instead she stuck her nose in the air. But it was a retreat and they both knew it.
Quesnel didn’t press the advantage, instead assessing propellers, belay lines, sail, and smoke stack. “N’importe quoi. Who cares about the name as long as she floats smoothly?”
Rue arched her brows at him. “Well, that would be your responsibility now, wouldn’t it, Mr Chief Engineer?”
“A responsibility at which I have no doubt I shall excel.” He became distracted by Prim gesticulating wildly at a deckhand. “Why is the Honourable Primrose Tunstell accompanying us? What purpose could she possibly serve? Is it a safe journey for a woman of her delicacy?” Quesnel seemed genuinely concerned.
Rue sniffed – he didn’t give a toot for her delicacy. “Don’t worry about Prim. All will become clear.”
They watched as Primrose flirted and parasolled her way through rank and file on the main deck, in a matter of moments organising the entire crew into a streamlined baggage transportation troop. Rue would have had to act like Paw and issue orders. Primrose simply manipulated everyone into doing what she wanted. It was impressive.
“That is the Honourable Primrose Tunstell’s purpose, as you so delicately put it,” said Rue.
As Quesnel’s own bags were already being unloaded and whisked up the gangplank under Prim’s expert guidance, the engineer could only say, “Remarkable. I stand corrected.”
“I believe you might want to become accustomed to the sensation.”
Quesnel turned twinkling violet eyes on her. “This is going to be such fun.”
Rue laughed. “Yes, yes, it is.” She spent a moment appreciating those eyes before Quesnel’s attention was once more caught by something on the ship.
A redhead appeared on the main deck, and it wasn’t Percy.
“Goodness,” said Rue. “What’s she doing outside the boiler room? She never leaves the inner sanctum.”
Aggie Phinkerlington waved a hand at Quesnel and yelled, “Thought those were your bits I saw loading in.”
Quesnel shouted back, “What would you know of my bits, you beastly woman?”
“More than I ever wanted to, you repulsive boffin. Come on up, see what they’ve done with all your original bits. I think you’ll like it.”
“I’d better – you know how seriously I take my bits.” Quesnel turned to Rue and doffed his hat. “Until later, chérie.” He began to stride towards the gangplank.
“Chief Lefoux?”
He paused gratifyingly quickly. “Yes, captain?”
“Staff meeting in the stateroom in one hour. I expect to see you there. Don’t let Greaser Phinkerlington and those bits distract you for too long.”
Quesnel gave a half-smile and another tip of his hat. “Of course not, captain.”
Primrose put her tea-cup down without a clatter, her big brown eyes delighted. “You didn’t lie about the tea, Rue. It is quite excellent. This is going to be a far more civilised journey than I initially thought.”
Rue huffed. “Goodness, I hope not. Life can be too civilised, don’t you think?”
Prim was genuinely shocked by such a statement from her Lady Captain – as the crew had taken to calling Rue.
Quesnel said by way of explanation, as though he were on far more intimate terms with Rue than her closest friend of twenty-odd years, “Now, Miss Tunstell, you know our girl here, raised by werewolves. Gives one a healthy scepticism of polite society. Not to mention a charmingly forthright nature.”
Percy grunted, either in agreement or disapproval – it was impossible to tell which. He was nibbling a biscuit and reading a book. At the table! However, Rue was pleased to see that the book addressed the complex subject of aetheric currents – so at least it was relevant to their trip. Of course, it seemed to be a treatise on the currents above the Mongolian Steppes but one couldn’t quibble.
In addition to Quesnel, Percy, and Primrose, a few of the staff were also present – the head steward, the purser, and the cook all stood uncomfortably at the back of the room, despite having been invited to join the aristocracy at table.
Rue turned to them first in order to alleviate any discomfort. After a brief hesitation, she settled on imitating her mother at her most docile. It was a challenging personality to wear – a modulated aggressive temperament mixed with eager interest. It required the eyes be widened slightly, the nose elevated but not too much, and a touch of a smile about the corners of the mouth. It bordered on arrogance, so Rue had to take great care with her wording. “If you’re certain you won’t take tea, shall we get on to business right away? I’ve called you here to introduce you to the Honourable Primrose Tunstell – she will have charge of the daily staff. She is, in effect, my clerk meets butler meets housekeeper meets batman.”
“My goodness,” muttered Percy. “How the mighty have fallen.”
“Do be quiet, Percy,” snapped his sister.
Rue continued, “I assure you Miss Tunstell will execute her duties efficiently and thoughtfully. She will settle all shipboard disputes that do not require official judgement. In these matters she speaks for me. Is that understood? My concern must be the floating of the ship and the safety of those on board, not to mention making our destination in good time. I do not wish to be bothered with trifles.” Rue hoped she didn’t sound too autocratic, but Paw always said that authority must be established from the beginning. Rue was afraid her concern over puff pastry and sunflowers might have initally come off as too domestic for a real captain. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help but add, “Except those trifles of the pudding variety.”
The three heads of staff nodded enthusiastically.
“Very well. Dismissed. Feel free to take your own tea in the mess. We shall remain here for the next half-hour.”
The staff hurried away, relieved.
Rue waited until they had gone and then dropped her act. “Was it wrong of me to invite them to sit?”
Prim said, “Give them time to get to know you, Rue. Staff is not accustomed, as you are, to thinking of everyone as pack.”
Rue nodded. “I take your point. If I am to be Alpha here, I must maintain some official distance?”
Prim sipped her tea. “Something like that.”
Rue turned to Quesnel. “Report on engineering, Chief Lefoux?”
“Looking good. Boilers are steaming, coal bunkers are full, water tanks are topped, sooties working hard. It’s a good crew and a well-stocked situation.”
“Your estimate of first-needed refuelling?”
“We should be fine for a week at least. More if we catch the right aether currents and can use the mainsail rather than the propeller.”
“Good. Cook’s stores estimate matches that – let’s try to keep it that way, shall we? Speaking of currents, Professor Tunstell, have you charted our course?”
Percy pulled out a rolled map and plopped it down on the table. He attempted to unroll it several times but it kept snapping shut. Rue signalled to the others and they all grabbed the edges on his fourth try, holding it open for him. Without a thank you, Percy bent over the image now displayed.
It was a peculiar-looking thing, a rough sketch of England, Europe, and the Mediterranean overlaid with arrowed
swirls and lines. “We’re making for the Maltese Tower,” said Percy, pointing. “If we can catch the Gibraltar Loop south and then the Mediterranean Shifter west, we could make it there in two days. That’s our ideal course. If we miss the transfer puff, we can take the European Flow here and shoot for the Constantinople Tower instead. It’s further away but we should make it in three days, four at most. It’s the current-hops we have to worry about.”
Quesnel interrupted, giving the navigator a critical look. “How’s your hop technique?”
Percy arched an eyebrow. “Perfect, of course. In theory. The ship had better handle smoothly.”
Quesnel could play that game. “Smoother than butter, as long as your probe points are accurate.”
“Of course they’re accurate! Are you accusing me of not researching the aetherosphere properly?”
“I’m accusing you of inexperience.”
“Oh, and you’ve floated a ship of this size and design regularly over long distances, have you?”
Rue banged her free hand down on the map-covered table top. “Gentlemen. Enough. None of us has done this before and all of us are likely to make mistakes. Including me. Well, except Primrose, of course. She’s perfect.”
Prim blushed. “Aw, Rue – too kind.”
Rue soldiered on. “The important thing is to act within the best of our knowledge and with confidence in front of the crew. We must look like we have done this before. And do try to get along in public.” She stood to emphasise her point. She hadn’t her mother’s figure but she wasn’t a delicate creature either. Rue knew how to get a gentlemen’s attention, and she wasn’t averse to using that skill in her capacity as captain. She drew a deep breath. Both Percy and Quesnel sat up straighter in their chairs and stopped glaring at each other to glare at her instead.
Rue continued, “We need only get along for this one mission. If everything goes smoothly, we should be home in less than a month. Then we can all go our separate ways. Agreed?”
They all looked at one another.
Primrose said quickly, “Agreed.”
Quesnel crossed his arms over his grey waistcoat and leaned back. “Agreed.”
They all turned to look at Percy. “Very well,” the redhead said reluctantly. Then he added, “I suggest we catch the morning current. The Gibraltar Loop should be over London at about nine.”
Rue and Prim looked at him, askance. Neither of them had ever been up before eight in the morning, except on those few occasions when they were viewing that untenable hour from the other side. Being raised by vampires and werewolves made one quite nocturnal.
“Not possible. Dama has a bon voyage party planned for after sunset. I think perhaps two hours or so after that is a superior departure time.”
“And I must make the rounds this afternoon, leave my card,” added Primrose.
“Why?” Percy asked, genuinely confused.
“Oh really, Percy. One cannot simply leave town without telling people. It’s not done.”
Percy shook his head at the ridiculous politeness of it all and consulted his maps and timetables. “That’s not ideal, but we could catch a lesser current and hook up with the loop over the mainland here.” He stopped talking and began calculating, completely ignoring them all.
Primrose put down her tea-cup. “Well, Rue, if there’s nothing else —?”
“Of course. Very well. Dismissed.”
Quesnel left with alacrity, doffing his hat and winking at Prim.
Percy didn’t look up.
Rue decided to leave him to it. She walked Primrose down the gangplank and saw her back into her carriage. There was something off about her friend’s attire. An under-used part of Rue’s brain, the part that belonged to Dama’s drones, was bothered by her friend’s outfit. But since Primrose never made mistakes in fashion, Rue ignored her inner drones and returned to ensuring all was shipshape.
Rue was at dinner in the stateroom at around midnight when Primrose returned to the ship. Footnote had found his way over from the library and graced her lap with a purr. This was most likely due to the delicious smells coming from her plate but Rue was disposed to be honoured by his presence. She had thought to return home to Dama’s that night but with so much to do, and a cat in her lap, it seemed easier to stay aboard and test out the facilities in a dry run. Kill two pigeons with one stone, as it were.
“Oh, Prim,” she said, looking up from her manifest, “I forgot you’d be back. Would you like some supper? Shall I ring for…?” She trailed off. “What on earth is the matter?”
Prim’s face was a picture of distress.
“Rue, it’s awful! My reputation… in tatters. I may never recover from the scandal.” She paced about in a veritable state. A lock of her hair might actually have fallen out of place.
“My dear, what’s wrong?” Rue bribed Footnote to the floor with a bit of chicken skin. Then she stood to console her friend with an arm about the waist.
Prim trembled in agitation. “I hardly dare speak of it.”
Rue lowered her voice. “Prim, were you caught in flagrante?” Rue could hardly suppose this to be true – Primrose was a horrible flirt but she wasn’t a hardened flirt. As far as Rue knew, Prim had never even entertained a gentleman in private. In this, Prim was the more circumspect of the two of them.
Prim resumed pacing, gesticulating, and talking – likely to knock some carefully placed decorative item over in her agitation. “I was making my calls, presenting parting compliments pour dire adieu, the rounds and such, as you do.”
“You didn’t use the wrong size card, did you?”
“The very idea! I am not absent of all sense of decorum. Of course, I used the larger format. But you see, oh, it’s just too bad…”
“Primrose Tunstell, what has happened?”
“I made near a dozen calls and it wasn’t until I got to the duchess’s that I realised. Oh, Rue, I can hard bear think – the shame of it all.”
“What is it?” Now Rue was getting annoyed. Primrose was drawing things out for dramatic suspense.
“I wore the wrong outfit.”
“Is that all?” Rue realised that was what her inner drones had been upset about that afternoon. Primrose had been wearing a travelling dress, not a visiting dress.
“Queen Mums will never forgive me. A travelling outfit for evening calls? Should she hear of this, should it get back to her, I’ll never live it down. And of course I returned home to the hive and her drones saw. I wondered what they were tittering about. Then I got to my room and looked in the glass and right there, on my head, a sun hat. At night! And a travelling gown. Oh, the shame of it. I went back down immediately and begged them not to tell. But they can’t hold their tongues, not for more than one night.”
“This is a serious business.” Rue schooled her expression into one of deep concern. It hardly mattered that she thought it ridiculous – Primrose was in distress and such perturbation must be honoured.
“Queen Mums practically invented the idea of specialty hats. And to pair one with an inappropriate dress? I might as well have worn my bicycling outfit to her dinner party.”
“Practically?” interjected Rue. “She did invent the idea.”
“Oh, Rue, what are we to do?”
“Issue a statement of apology to the popular press?”
“Please don’t be facetious at a time like this. No, there is only one thing for it – we must leave London at once.”
“What, early? Before the party?”
“Yes – early. Just as Percy suggested. The better current is tomorrow morning anyway. As if I could show my face at a party when word of this gets out.”
“But Dama would never forgive me.”
“Dama would forgive you anything.”
“Good point. Except possibly wearing a sun hat for evening calls.”
Primrose was too distressed for the joke. “Oh, goodness, what if he finds out too? Rue, we must leave! Immediately!”
“Agreed. The hat requ
ires it. Do be more careful from here on out though, please. I wouldn’t want my ship to get a reputation.”
Primrose nodded earnestly. “Not a hat will be left unturned. This I vow.”
Rue took a last bite of supper. “Well then, we will have to finish preparations tonight. Luckily most of us are still on board. Percy’s trapped in the library. Quesnel elected to stay overnight as well. I’ll make sure the rest of the crew is here, if you’ll check on the staff and the supplies?”
“Of course.”
Rue stood and addressed the cat. “Let’s find out what time that optimal morning current was. Coming, Footnote? I need to talk to your master. Prim, you’d better come too, help mollify the beast.”
Footnote burped at her and led the way to the library. The two ladies followed.
Percy was not pleased to have the plans changed again so soon. “But I did all the calculations for the more complicated night departure. Now you want to go back to the first float scheme?”
“Yes. We decided you were right all along,” said Rue, swiftly forestalling further objections.
Percy sputtered to a halt. “Oh. Well, yes, naturally. Of course I was right.”
“So what time is that superior current you found for us?” Rue pressed.
Primrose wore a look of distaste at Rue buttering her brother up but held her tongue since it was her fault.
Percy scattered his notes every which way, looking for the earlier schedule. “Eight minutes past nine in the morning.”
Prim couldn’t help it: she groaned. “Such an inhuman hour.”
“Such an unfashionable hour,” corrected Rue. “All too human – that’s the point. It’s after sunrise. No supernatural parents to see us off. No drones.”
Rue couldn’t help a little thrill at the idea of sneaking away. She adored all three of her parents but they were awfully prone to drama. Paw would cry – she knew he would. Lord Maccon might be the biggest, baddest Alpha werewolf in all England but he was a big old softy where his daughter was concerned. Mother would order her around. Dama would fuss over her clothing selection. Better to escape in secrecy. Thank goodness for Prim’s unexpected fashion faux pas – it was going to make Rue’s life so much easier.
Prudence Page 8
