Manners & Mutiny

by Gail Carriger

  Finally Sophronia shook off her mood. “How’s the book?”

  As much as she was enjoying it, Dimity would always rather talk about reading than actually read. In fact, Sophronia suspected she only read enough to have something to discuss. “Oh, it’s very good. I’ve just got to the bit where the vampire has taken the heroine to his town house and we don’t know if his intentions are honorable or dastardly.”

  Agatha gasped. She’d been getting an annotated commentary on said novel for the past week. “Oh, really? Does he want to suck her blood?”

  “Far worse. He wants to give her a makeover.” Dimity fiddled with the mother-of-pearl buttons up the front of her peach brocade dinner dress. She didn’t want Agatha to see how excited she was to relay more.

  Agatha squeaked in titillated horror. “A full makeover?”

  Sophronia snorted. She thought the novel very silly.

  They arrived back in Swiffle-on-Exe mid-December. As usual, they came in over the river, took on water in the wee hours, and circled back to rest near the goat path. Parents would send carriages for their girls the next morning. The young ladies were happily occupied well past bedtime, packing and giggling and exchanging gifts with friends before parting ways.

  Winter holidays were the longest offered by Mademoiselle Geraldine’s. The young ladies were let out earlier than most because they had so little contact with the outside world the rest of the year. One could not order in Christmas gifts when one was drifting idly over the moors. Shopping must be accounted for. So Mademoiselle Geraldine’s girls had an early pickup well before Christmas. They returned shortly after, as Geraldine’s girls traditionally spent New Year’s together. Something about making certain the New Year came in deadly and stylish.

  Sophronia left her fellows to the tribulation of fitting everything into hatboxes and portmanteaus. Dimity was trying to decide which of her sparkles to pack and which she might reliably expect to be replaced by the real thing this Christmas. Poor girl. She was doomed to disappointment. Her parents had made some improvement to the family’s circumstances by selling the crystalline valve, but not enough to afford sapphires. And Dimity adored sapphires. And rubies. And emeralds. And… not diamonds.

  “But they sparkle,” Sophronia protested.

  “They aren’t colorful enough,” Dimity explained. “All that white is so flashy, don’t you feel?”

  “Until this very moment, I didn’t think you found anything flashy.”

  “Really, Sophronia, credit me with some taste!”

  Agatha was mooning, purposeless, not bothering to pack. Much as she disliked school, it was better than home.

  Sophronia, for her part, never wasted too much time preparing for travel. As Preshea said, it wasn’t as if she had much to take with her. Instead, she drifted out of the door and into the hallway, unnoticed. It was after curfew, but Sophronia so rarely kept to legitimate hours that even her enemies didn’t bother to rat her out. For all they knew, she was under orders from one of the teachers. There were even a few, Preshea included, who accused Sophronia of taking over Monique’s duties as Professor Braithwope’s second drone.

  “That’s why he went for her during crossbow training,” Preshea explained to her new friend Frenetta.

  Sophronia allowed the rumors. It was as good a front as any, that she would entertain vampire patronage. No one need know she had already struck a deal with the werewolves. She had bargained her freedom to the dewan for Soap’s survival, and she considered it a fair deal. At least, right now she did. She had no idea what the dewan would want once he got her under his command. But in the end, wolves were better than vampires—or she hoped they were.

  In the interim, if her late-night peregrinations were perceived by her fellow students as part of some bloody agreement, she was not one to gainsay gossip that stood her reputation in good stead. Especially not gossip that stopped others from interfering.

  Vieve was waiting at their prescribed location behind the rosebushes, once again smelling strongly of cheap ale.

  “You’re going to get a reputation as a swill tub tosspot.”

  “Good.” Vieve also liked to be underestimated because of a perceived reputation. She handed over Bumbersnoot.

  He looked the same as ever, if perhaps a bit shinier and free of rust. He tooted smoke at Sophronia, his little tail tick-tocking back and forth in cheery greeting.

  “How did the installation go?”

  “Difficult to tell, as there is no way to test ahead of time. We have to wait for the Picklemen to make their move, and only then will we know if the crystalline valve–linked alarm trigger works. If they activate their command for all the mechanicals to do something, Bumbersnoot should squeal like an abused hand brake. But I’m only saying should.”

  “Not the best situation to be in. My life could depend on this alarm going off.”

  Vieve raised an eyebrow. “Could it? Well, I suggest you arrange things so that particular scenario doesn’t occur.”

  “You have an overabundance of faith in my abilities.”

  “As you have in mine.”

  They shared a smile.

  “Will I see you at the New Year’s tea?” Sophronia wondered.

  “Are we engaging in more interschool fraternization so soon?” Vieve was good at acting the part of absentminded boffin. They both knew she was perfectly well aware of the party.

  “That’s the gossip.” Sophronia played along.

  “I thought the teachers were at odds.”

  “That seems to be reason enough for another gathering.”

  “It’s so much more fun for everyone if a school rivalry is committed close up and in fancy dress?” suggested the younger girl.

  “Exactly,” agreed Sophronia.

  “Well, at least the food will be better. I tell you, Sophronia, if there’s anything rotten about being a boy, it’s the food. They expect us not to have any kind of discerning palate. The swill they give us to eat ought to be considered unlawful child endangerment.” Vieve sounded particularly French in her disgruntlement.

  “I’m sure it’s nourishing to the noggin.”

  “One wishes the tongue were also under consideration. I do miss tea at Geraldine’s.” Vieve sighed. “Will this party have crumpets? I’d kill for a proper crumpet.”

  “I don’t think you’ll have to kill anyone, although you never know.” It was best not to use that particular figure of speech around Geraldine’s girls, Sophronia always thought. “Can’t you invent a crumpet emitter or something?”

  “Cooking gadgets never work properly.” Vieve looked sad. “Try to kill someone or take over the world and boffins are all for it, but baking a cake is a more serious business. Must be left up to proper pastry chefs, I’m afraid. Cooks are always human, never mechanical. And Bunson’s cooks are several puffs short of the pastry.”

  Sophronia nodded, adjusting Bumbersnoot to lie crosswise over her back, the better to climb. He tooted at her and shed a bit of ash down the side of her dress. “Bumbersnoot!” she reprimanded.

  “Oh, yes,” Vieve was unperturbed by this rude behavior. “I’m afraid he’ll be doing that more frequently. Diminished storage capacity. I had to make room for the new valve. I did warn you the results could get messy.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “I didn’t? Well, you should take that as fact with anything you ask me to modify. My own inventions, from design to execution, are intended to be compact and elegant, but messing about with other people’s inevitably has untidy consequences.”

  “Noted. Very well. I forgive you, Bumbersnoot.” The metal creature looked neither chastised by the reprimand nor excited by the reprieve. In the end, sometimes he was simply a mechanical sausage dog.

  Vieve said, “Before you go, could I give you a present for my aunt? I don’t think we can arrange time to see one another secretly over the holidays. It’s best if we don’t remind people we are related. Gaspar Lefoux is supposed to be an estranged nephew.”
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br />   She produced a massive box from the shadows of the rosebush. It was quite wide enough for several Bumbersnoots to fit inside.

  “Um?” Sophronia hesitated. How am I supposed to get around the ship carrying that?

  “I put on straps, see, here and here? You can wear it across your back like a lute. Bumbersnoot will dangle below.”

  Sophronia took it, glad that at least it didn’t weigh much. “What on earth is it?”

  With a wide grin, Vieve unstrapped the gift, which proved to be some kind of hatbox, and popped off the lid. Inside was, not unexpectedly, a hat.

  Now, it ought to be pointed out, at this juncture, that the lighting wasn’t good behind the Nib and Crinkle, among the rosebushes, near the goat path. The moon was not full. The fog was low. And yet there was no doubt about its appearance.

  “Vieve, that is an inordinately ugly hat.” Sophronia would call Professor Lefoux many things, and not a one of them was leader of fashion, but her taste certainly wasn’t that bad.

  Vieve seemed to know her own aunt less well than Sophronia. “Isn’t it hideous? Do you think she’ll like it?”

  Sophronia quirked an eyebrow.

  “Oh. Of course. Only see what it does.” Vieve carefully removed the hat from its box. It was a massive sunshade style made of deep midnight-blue satin, instead of straw. The wide brim was sprinkled with small bits of glass, in a simulation of stars. Upon closer inspection, the sparkling dots were in the formation of several popular constellations. The very top of the hat’s crown was painted yellow, obviously indicating the sun, with rays extending down over the side toward the brim. This alone would have made it one of the most curious hats that Sophronia had ever seen, but that was merely the foundation. Vieve had constructed a miniature winch device, like those employed by music boxes, dangling near one ear, that when wound up and released caused seven planets to orbit about the hat. These were on long wires of different lengths, anchored to rails at the brim, sticking up to revolve about in patterns simulating the solar system. Each planet was colored according to the latest scientific evidence: Venus being pale blue because of all the turquoise deposits, the Earth green for the lush landscapes, Jupiter orange for its iron-rich sands, and so forth. There was a dangling feather ball off the back on a particularly long wire—a comet? Stuck to the midnight blue were a few sporadic small puffs of down.

  “What are those?”

  Vieve glowed. “Recent pamphlets suggest there’s a kind of cosmic mist, no name as yet, but I thought my aunt would appreciate the homage to modern astronomical theory.”

  Sophronia was impressed with the artistry and the execution, if not with the resulting style statement. Since Vieve’s shining eyes clearly indicated an expectation of some form of praise, Sophronia said the nicest thing she could think of without lying. “It’s very well made.”

  “Do you think my aunt will like it?”

  “Does she have anything to go with it?” Sophronia was cautious.

  Vieve laughed. “Crikey, no. I do know something about fashionable headgear. No, no. I don’t expect her to wear the wretched thing! It’s a bit of a family joke.”

  Sophronia relaxed. “Oh, well, in that case, I think it’s wonderful.”

  Vieve’s dimples became more pronounced. She resettled the solar hat into its box and took great pains when strapping it to Sophronia’s back.

  “Well, my dear Vieve, amazing work as always. Someday you must allow me to repay you for all you’ve done.”

  “Sophronia, ma mie, I’m counting on it.” The girl doffed her hat and strode back toward Bunson’s, hands thrust deep into her pockets, whistling an off-key tune under her breath.

  SISTERS AND THEIR CONSEQUENCES

  What will I do if they’ve forgotten about me?” Sophronia, Dimity, and Agatha were inside the main teahouse in Swiffle-on-Exe, waiting for retrieval over pudding. Pickups took most of the day, and the school had long since disappeared.

  “Enjoy the blessed freedom of a Christmas without family?” suggested Agatha.

  “I don’t know about that. Some of them aren’t all that bad. I quite like Ephraim’s wife.” Having not seen them in a while, Sophronia was disposed to be magnanimous about her siblings.

  “You could come back with me,” suggested Dimity.

  “Your parents wouldn’t mind?” Sophronia brightened at the idea. Someone else’s family holiday traditions are always so much more exciting than one’s own.

  “Hardly. They know a little about you rescuing Pill and me from the hive. They’re more likely to be embarrassingly gracious. There might even have been some correspondence between our mothers on your brilliance and the excellent nature of our friendship.”

  “Goodness, your mother didn’t say anything to mine about our real education, did she?”

  “Certainly not. She’d never reveal Mademoiselle Geraldine’s secrets. Mamma takes subterfuge seriously.”

  Sophronia relaxed. “Good. And they know to pick you up here?”

  “Standard practice, since Geraldine’s always has an early holiday let-out.”

  “What about your brother?” asked Agatha, trying to seem disinterested.

  “Unspeakable worm. What about him?”

  “Is he meeting here as well?”

  “No. Bunson’s isn’t out for another week. Mummy always grumbles about having to arrange travel twice. Although not this time, thanks to you.” Dimity flung a companionable arm around Agatha’s shoulders. Agatha hid a grin at the affection by nibbling pudding.

  Since her home was only slightly off the route to London, Dimity was to ride with Agatha. Agatha liked the companionship, and Dimity no longer enjoyed trains. Soap crashing a locomotive into a dirigible and subsequent events had given her train-related nightmares.

  The girls were in the window seat of the teahouse, which had an excellent view of the meeting square. Agatha’s near-limitless expense account was always good for the best seat at any watering hole. They watched their fellow students being retrieved and gossiped about each. Unfortunately, the pudding was alcoholic enough to appeal only to Bumbersnoot, who always showed interest in things that could catch on fire. The little dog sat on the bench next to Sophronia, under cover of the pouf of her traveling gown’s teal skirts, and ate whatever she fed him with gusto.

  All speculation proved moot at that point, for a carriage pulled up intended for Sophronia. Of course they did not know this until the owner of said carriage emerged.

  Her sister looked slightly stouter, but otherwise unchanged. As Petunia stepped down, no one could doubt she was related to Sophronia—same oval face and muddy green eyes. Petunia’s hair was a shade darker and her cheeks rounder, both tinted slightly red by art and science. Her curls were set by a French maid, while Sophronia’s were the product of Dimity and madly wielded hair-rags. But the sisters shared the same straight nose and firm mouth, and were of a height.

  Sophronia exchanged startled looks with her friends. “Well, I never!”

  She immediately gathered up Bumbersnoot, for it would not do to keep Petunia waiting. She collected her luggage from the cloakroom, leaving Agatha and Dimity to see to the last of the tea.

  Petunia stood looking around at the quaint town with ill-disguised hauteur. Her traveling dress, fur muff, well-trimmed bonnet, and velvet gloves screamed London.

  “Petunia? I say, this is a surprise.” Sophronia plopped down her carpetbag to give her sister a polite peck on the cheek.

  “Sophronia, still carting around that horrid Italian dog reticule, I see.” Petunia’s hat had ostrich and peacock feathers—for travel! Even more shocking—her sister was actually smiling.

  “It has sentimental value. But Petunia, what on earth are you doing here?”

  “You may well ask. Middle of nowhere. I understand why Mumsy sent you to finishing school, really I do, but why not France or Switzerland? Why Devon?”

  “Expense, I suppose.”

  Petunia shook her curls and tut-tutted at open mention of pe
cuniary matters, even among sisters. She had married well and after only one season. It was a match so advantageous, she herself could hardly believe it. True, Mr. Hisselpenny wasn’t as blue-blooded as Petunia would have liked, but he was well set up in town. From what Sophronia could gather, Petunia had proceeded to spend most of her husband’s fortune attempting to break into the upper crust, with limited success. Her doting husband catered to her every whim, including, evidently, a coach and four.

  “It has done you good, I will say that.” Petunia issued a rare compliment, looking Sophronia over with an eye to her appearance and posture, as if Petunia were decades her senior.

  “Thank you very kindly.” Sophronia resisted the urge to bristle. Petunia was one of those who responded better to cordial than to barley water. “I do value your good opinion, sister.”

  Petunia looked smug. “Is that all you have?”

  Sophronia’s baggage included only one valise and two hatboxes. And Bumbersnoot, of course. “Afraid so. Mumsy doesn’t send me many dresses anymore. Since you married, there have been none to hand down. Everything I have is worn and not worth packing.”

  Petunia’s eyes lit up. “Exactly what I suspected! This is why I volunteered to collect you. You are, after all, soon to come out, and as I am now residing in town, I decided to see you properly outfitted. And I know you would like to do your Christmas shopping in London, for once.”

  Ah-ha, thought Sophronia. Having spent as much as she dared on herself, and becoming bored with society, Petunia wants me for her new entertainment. Sophronia grimaced at being thought a doll, but she could not deny a thrill of excitement. Who didn’t want to go to London for the shopping? Of course, her eagerness had nothing, whatsoever, to do with the fact that Soap was currently living in London. Nothing at all.

  Petunia took Sophronia’s thoughtful silence as dissent. “You don’t want to? Oh, why must you be such a bore?”

  Where, in the past, Sophronia would have snarled in response, instead she applied praise. “Of course not, sister dear. It’s a delightful notion. And so kind of you to concoct it. I’m a little surprised, that is all. But I’m certainly not one to look a gift London in the mouth.” Even if it comes packaged with a meddling sister. Sophronia and Petunia had never been close, but Petunia appreciated the airs and graces finishing school had given her, and Sophronia was willing to put those airs and graces to the test in tolerating Petunia.