Curtsies & Conspiracies

The 4th test FLIRTING WITH CONSPIRACIES

The first aether-borne dirigible flight, and we get to witness it! Do you realize, if Giffard’s calculations are correct, this could halve float times? Can you believe it? We could get all the way to Scotland in four days! I wonder how he is handling aether-current monitoring. Can you imagine being that high up?”

Sophronia was not as impressed as Vieve thought she should be. “It is still faster by sleeper train.”

“Yes, but this is floating. Floating! Using aether currents! The possibilities are endless. It’s so exciting!” Vieve bounced up and down on Sophronia’s bed.

The young inventor had stopped by for a visit after breakfast. Sophronia had no idea where the scamp ate, but clearly it was within hearing distance of the assembly.

“As you’re here, do you think you could help me dress?” she asked.

“You’re dressed already,” protested Vieve.

“In something nicer?”

“Not you, too!”

“Well, everyone is putting on their best because of the visitors. I don’t want to be known as that girl in the carriage dress.”

Vieve sighed. “Oh, very well.” The ten-year-old eschewed female clothing herself, but she had the French eye for apparel on others, and opinions to go with it. She mooched over to Sophronia’s wardrobe and selected a dark blue-and-green plaid, two seasons old, with a narrow skirt.

“This one,” she pronounced with all the authority of youth.

“Really?”

“It complements your eyes.”

“If you say so.”

“With the straw shepherdess bonnet.” Vieve was always very assured on the subject of hats. Not to be trifled with.

“Well, you’ll have to help me put it on. Dimity still isn’t speaking to me.”

“More fool, her. You know about what’s going.”

“Not now; everyone is as up on things as I.” This irritated Sophronia.

Vieve dimpled. “Ah, but you’ll never guess what I heard.”

Sophronia brightened. “Oh?”

“One of the teachers is required in London.”

Sophronia was struck, yet again, by how much older Vieve always sounded and acted. One would never have guessed from her speech that she was ten. From her actions, occasionally, yes. She did bounce.

“Which one? Your aunt?”

Vieve shrugged.

“Really, Vieve.”

“Now, now, Sophronia, I told you something interesting, didn’t I? I can’t do all the work.” The girl got distracted. “What is Bumbersnoot up to?”

Bumbersnoot had snuffled over to one side of the room and latched onto a froufrou that had fallen into the corner by the bed. He was dragging it out into the center of the floor and not swallowing it into his tiny boiler.

Sophronia looked at her pet. “He wants to come along.”

“What?”

Sophronia indicated the floof in Bumbersnoot’s mouth with her head. Her hands were busy pinning on the shepherdess hat.

Vieve crouched down and gently extracted the bit of cloth from the metal dog’s mouth. It turned out to be a complex sort of sling, heavily decorated with lace, ruffles, and tassels. Vieve, being mechanically minded, realized it was designed for Bumbersnoot to wear. It covered most of the mechanimal and made him look like a reticule—if a reticule were to be designed with a metal dog head. If anyone asked, Sophronia was prone to explaining her handbag was the latest fashion out of Italy, and she couldn’t fathom how a person of taste didn’t also own one.

“Dimity and I made it for him after Petunia’s ball. The idea worked so well there. Everyone thought he was some fancy new accessory. This way I can take him to classes with me. He likes to get out and about on occasion, don’t you, Bumbersnoot?”

Vieve’s eyebrows were raised almost into her dark hair. Bumbersnoot was, technically, illegal. Not only were students of Mademoiselle Geraldine’s not permitted pets, but unregistered mechanimals were forbidden throughout the British Empire.

“Lesson five five four,” said Sophronia. “Sometimes it is best to hide a suspicious item in plain sight.”

“How do you keep him from smoking or steaming unexpectedly?”

Sophronia completed her toilette and turned to look at Bumbersnoot. Vieve had fastened the sling about him using the various ribbons tied into bows. “He has to behave, or he gets brought back to the room. Usually, he’s pretty good. Speaking of which, I’d better get to class.”

“What do you have?”

“Lady Linette’s lesson on hive society.”

“Then there will be boys with you.”

“As opposed to? I thought they were joining us for all our classes.”

Vieve shook her head, green eyes twinkling. “Oh, no, no. Bunson’s doesn’t fraternize with supernaturals.”

“So they won’t be in lessons with Captain Niall or Professor Braithwope?”

Vieve nodded and handed her Bumbersnoot.

“Oh, I don’t know,” hedged Sophronia, “with boys running around. Is it wise to bring him?”

“He wants to go,” insisted Vieve.

Bumbersnoot flapped an ear.

“Very well. Remember, Bumbersnoot, don’t move.” Sophronia slung the mechanimal over her shoulder so that he dangled near her waist, looking for all the world like the oddest and most eccentric bag any lady of means had ever carried.

In class, Dimity, Sidheag, and Agatha noticed the addition of Bumbersnoot to Sophronia’s attire but said nothing. Sophronia only carried the mechanical when she thought she might need him. Although what defined needing such a ridiculous creature was anyone’s guess. They would assume this was simply another moment when Sophronia knew more than they and intended to show them up.

As if I would do that in front of boys! Sophronia plonked Bumbersnoot down ostentatiously among the other reticules.

Lady Linette’s etiquette class was augmented by four boys, including Lord Dingleproops and his dark-haired friend.

Lady Linette began. “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. Today’s class is entitled “Faking It with Fangs.” We will go over proper introductions within a hive environment. Please pair off.”

With six girls, Sophronia and Agatha were left out of the first round. Monique made straight for Lord Dingleproops, cutting Dimity off. Preshea chose the dark-haired boy. They made a fetching pair, of a kind in coloring, pleasing proportions, and sulky temperament. Yet, despite Preshea’s uncontested loveliness, the dark-haired boy kept glancing at Sophronia. Which, while complimentary, also gave her an undeniable feeling of smugness. It wasn’t often a boy preferred her over Preshea.

Lady Linette continued, “Queens outrank all other vampires, despite whatever landed title they might hold. Always go to the queen first in any social situation and allow one of her hive-bound vampires to introduce you. After the queen come her hive members, then any roves who may be present. All of these will be men, some landed. Drones—humans indentured to hive or rove—are classed as household staff, with a few exceptions.”

One of the boys said, snidely, “Are you purposefully leaving out the fact that drones are also the vampires’ primary food source?”

Lady Linette snapped, “One doesn’t discuss such utilitarian things!

For today’s practice, the gentlemen will pretend to be hive vampires. Begin!”

Sophronia and Agatha introduced themselves to each other. Agatha was as shy and as nervous as if Sophronia were a real vampire. The mere presence of four young men among them had her aflutter. Poor Agatha was generally overset by anything new, from the advent of a birthday scarf—How to wear it? What to match it with?—to boys wandering willy-nilly into classes.

“So unpredictable,” Agatha whispered.

The scarf, wondered Sophronia, or the boys?

Conversation was allowed to continue for some ten minutes while Lady Linette mingled and made adjustments—to stance, to subject matter, to flirting, to lack of flirting, to eyelash use. She corrected both girls and boys. Sophronia realized, for the first time, that vampires had just as many rules to follow as women in society. Possibly more.

“Pardon me, Lady Linette?”

“Yes, Miss Temminnick?”

“Can rove vampires safely visit a hive? I thought they had to stay in their own territory.”

“Roves can visit for short lengths of time. Think logically, Miss Temminnick. Roves must have an alliance with a vampire queen because only a queen can breed new vampires. Since roves have drones, and drones work for the right to try to become a vampire, they must maintain an alliance with a queen. In exchange for drone metamorphosis, roves perform duties for the queen that the males of her hive cannot. Roves, for example, have much longer tethers and greater mobility.”

Sophronia decided tether length was something to bother Professor Braithwope about. She found the idea of vampire territories intriguing, but there was very little written on the subject. Since vampires perceived tethers as a weakness, this was probably by design. They did love controlling information.

Lady Linette clapped her hands. “Rotate, please. Lady Kingair and Miss Plumleigh-Teignmott, you pair out for this round.”

Preshea made her way to Lord Dingleproops. The young man was clearly charmed by the girl’s precise petty prettiness. Dimity looked disgruntled—she had her embossed missive clutched in one hand and clearly wished to ask Lord Dingleproops about it.

The dark-haired boy made his way across the room to Sophronia, despite the fact that Monique had moved to intercept him. He avoided her with consummate adroitness.

“We meet again, Miss Temminnick.”

“To be perfectly correct, sir, we have never properly met at all.”

He gave a little half smile. “Of course, one must always be correct.”

“Oh, haven’t you heard, sir?” Monique said. “Sophronia is always correct.”

“Is that your given name, Sophronia? Pretty.”

“Sophronia Temminnick. And it most certainly isn’t pretty. It’s a mouthful. Now, shall we do this properly? Lady Linette is watching.”

“Whatever you like, Ria.”

“Miss Temminnick to you,” hissed Sophronia.

The boy smiled wider. His eyes were a very nice shade of blue. “No, I prefer Ria.” He grasped her hand. His thumb made its way inside the top of her glove to caress her wrist. Scandalous.

Sophronia jerked away. “Stop that.” Her heart was racing. Undoubtedly in anger.

Lady Linette was upon them. “Show me.”

The dark-haired boy—I still don’t know his name, pox upon him—stopped smiling and made a very neat bow to Sophronia, as though he were encountering her at a hive house door.

Lady Linette did not look inspired.

Sophronia executed a near perfect curtsy in reply, perhaps a little brief.

Lady Linette called her out. “Why so curt, Miss Temminnick?”

“We haven’t been introduced. I wouldn’t want him to get ideas.”

“You wish to discourage the hive? Did I say we were practicing ways to dissuade a vampire’s interest?”

“You did not direct us to focus on encouragement or reluctance.”

“Very well, proceed.”

The dark haired boy said, “How do you do? My name is Mersey, Felix Mersey.”

Lady Linette interrupted him. “Family names only, young man. What kind of lady do you take her for?”

Felix smiled that quirky half smile. “The best kind, of course.”

Lady Linette was shocked. “Mr. Mersey!”

Lord Dingleproops said, from where he partnered a self-satisfied Preshea, “Actually, my lady, he’s a Golborne.”

Lady Linette was impressed. “Son of the viscount?”

The four boys in the class laughed.

Felix Mersey said softly, “Golborne is a duchy, my lady.”

“And Felix here is the eldest,” added Lord Dingleproops.

Lady Linette looked even more impressed, for that meant that Mersey was a landed title, his father’s second holding.

Sophronia narrowed her eyes. Heir to a duke, is he? No wonder he’s so arrogant. The entirety of Monique’s attention swung in their direction. Felix Mersey outranked everyone else in the room. Monique’s two years older than him, at the very least. She should be looking for someone her own age!

“We call him Felix. Doesn’t hold with titles, do you, Viscount?”

“A luxury only the titled can afford, I’m sure,” said Sophronia.

“Don’t worry, Ria,” a molasses voice whispered near her ear. “You will call me Felix, regardless.”

A fan snapped down between them. “None of that! No vampire would ever be so intimate!” Lady Linette did not hold with obvious flirting. Flirting, yes, but not obvious flirting.

Felix said, pertly, “I object to having to portray a vampire. It is beneath me.”

Lady Linette rolled her eyes and clapped for everyone’s attention. “Now, gentlemen, I understand that Bunson’s predisposition is against any contact with vampires, but the fact is they pervade high society, and you will have to fraternize with them eventually. It is always better to be prepared. And what better way to understand the enemy than to pretend to be one?”

This mollified Felix. Sophronia wondered at the strength of his dislike. With Professor Braithwope, who was a dear, as her primary model, Sophronia was rather more in favor of vampires than against. She’d been raised relatively progressive. She didn’t think her father had any business dealings with vampires or werewolves, but she was tolerably certain he wouldn’t be against such a thing.

“How do you do, Lord Mersey?”

“It is a very great pleasure to make your acquaintance at last, Miss Temminnick. Amusing reticule you have.” Felix gestured to where Bumbersnoot sat, discarded among the other accessories on Lady Linette’s mantelpiece.

“Oh, yes, indeed. A gift from a friend, Italian design. How do you feel about the weather? One might expect rain soon, might one not?”

Lady Linette interrupted, “Weather is only safe with a male vampire. Never discuss the weather with a queen. Since she can not leave her hive house, this is considered a rude reminder of her loss of freedom. Lord Mersey, how would a vampire respond?”

“Rain, in your glorious presence, Miss Temminnick? I hardly think it should dare.”

Lady Linette interjected. “No, no, too much flattery. Only roves would be so aggressive. Miss Temminnick, a rebuttal, if you would?”

Sophronia said, “And how are you enjoying your sojourn on board our ship?”

Lady Linette said, “Nicely played, except, of course, no vampire except Professor Braithwope floats. We are pretending that Lord Mersey is a hive-bound vampire. Let us say, instead, that you are both visiting Vauxhall Gardens of an evening.”

Felix’s eyes twinkled at her. “I’m finding myself quite enchanted with… gardens, at the moment.”

Sophronia persisted. “Have you ever visited Vauxhall before?”

“Indeed, but I find this a whole new kind of garden experience, now that I have met you.”

Sophronia stepped away from the impossible boy with a glare. “Lady Linette, Lord Mersey is not speaking by the rules. Either for vampires or regular gentlemen.”

“Well, Miss Temminnick, you are using only standard niceties. Examine your subject and tailor your remarks to his taste.”

Given permission, Sophronia took in Felix Golborne, Viscount Mersey, from head to toe. “The mark is of average height and slender build. He is a man of means, but not overly interested in fashion. His hair is a little long. The mark has a slightly sullen expression denoting chronic ennui. Peculiarities include kohl about the eyes, fake gears sewn to the waistcoat, and a top hat with a brass ribbon.” She pointed to the hat where it sat atop an articulated bronze hat rack. “In short, an average hive-bound toff with a few eccentricities.”

Felix looked remarkably nonplussed under this string of observations. “You wound me.”

Lady Linette was delighted. “Note, however, the expense of the haircut? It takes a great deal of money to acquire a look of not having spent any at all. The precise fit and cut of the waistcoat? That is next season’s color. We have here a vampire of more than considerable means. He probably has not only hive backing but his own as well. His eccentricities might lead you to direct the conversation accordingly. Kohl is sourced where?”

Sophronia did not know; cosmetics were not her strong point.

Preshea spoke up. “Oh, me, me!”

“Yes, Miss Buss?”

“Egypt, my lady.”

“Very good, Miss Buss.” Lady Linette turned back to Sophronia. “What might you gather from that?”

“He has business concerns overseas, is possibly a collector of antiquities, or thinks his eyes are so pretty they must be exaggerated, which, given the length of his eyelashes, seems a waste of kohl.”

Lord Dingleproops let out a guffaw. “Got you there, Felix!”

Lady Linette finally realized Sophronia’s antics had distracted the entire class. “Ladies and gentlemen, please return to your own encounters! Sophronia, proceed with your discourse, applying our new information.”

Sophronia sighed and faced Felix. “My lord, are you interested in ancient Egypt?”

“I’m interested in the fact that you noticed the length of my eyelashes.”

Sophronia gritted her teeth. “Does your hive have historic ties to exotic lands?”

Felix’s intense focus on Sophronia was momentarily distracted by the mantelpiece behind her. “Speaking of exotic, your reticule seems to have moved of its own accord.”

Felix was not the only one to have noticed. One of Lady Linette’s cats was a full fluff ball of bristling offense, staring up at Bumbersnoot.

Sophronia hurried over. In the guise of retrieving her shawl, she gave Bumbersnoot an impressive whispered lecture on sitting still. The mechanimal crouched down with a small steam puff of slowing gears. The cat took further offense and hid under a sofa.

“What, for aether’s sake, is wrong with Artemisia?” asked Lady Linette, distracted by her cat’s behavior.

Felix followed Sophronia and leaned in to whisper, “Italian design, did you say? I must see about getting my mother one. Then again, if all the best households have one, she may already be blessed.”

Luckily, shortly after that, they were required to switch partners. Then the class got thoroughly distracted by the spectacle of Dimity Plumleigh-Teignmott, normally a placid young lady, positively bristling at a surprised Lord Dingleproops. Their vampire-meets-maiden conversation was full of hissed undercurrents. Sophronia observed that when Dimity flashed her letter at the young man, he shook his head violently, not understanding her ire. He was either a very good actor or had no involvement in the fiasco on the squeak deck. Sophronia was relieved that she had interfered and set the airdinghy falling. But if Lord Dingleproops wasn’t involved, who was? The flywaymen? The Picklemen? How did they get hold of the stationery? And the question still remained, why Dimity?

Sophronia tried to approach her friend after class with her concerns. “Dimity, about that letter…”

Dimity, practically in tears, only brushed by and scuttled off as fast as she could, trailing a worried-looking Agatha and Sidheag in her wake.

Felix, thought Sophronia as she made ready for supper that evening, is liable to be a problem. Despite all due attention to deportment, she could not help thinking of him as Felix, even while addressing him as Lord Mersey. They shared several lessons—including tea and delusions with Mademoiselle Geraldine and portion allotment, puddings, and preemptive poisonings with Sister Mattie. He would keep flirting, despite more tempting prospects like Monique and Preshea, who practically hurled themselves in his direction. I wonder if I should warn him about Preshea. She does so desperately want to murder her first husband. Sophronia had no idea why Felix was so intent upon her. She had not yet received lessons in seduction, or she might have understood the appeal of sharp confidence, a topping figure, and green eyes. All Sophronia’s intellect was directed at something other than attracting male companionship. These things combined to make her particularly appealing to gentlemen. Soap could have told her that.

The boys were permitted to take supper with the girls, distributed among the tables. Lord Mersey, Lord Dingleproops, and Mr. Plumleigh-Teignmott sat with Sophronia’s group because they were the youngest of the gentlemen visitors. Pillover was the youngest of all, at thirteen, and was distressed at having been singled out for special treatment.

“I’m not that good a student,” he confided in Sophronia. “This trip was supposed to be a reward for the top evil geniuses. I’ve no idea why Professor Shrimpdittle chose me. It could be because I’m the only one with a sibling on board. What is going on with you and Dimity, by the by? My sister is a raging pain but not the type to snub a friend.”

Sophronia winced. “Set up, I’m afraid. Some kind of test.”

Pillover nodded. “Ah, well, she’ll come around eventually.”

“I certainly hope so. It’s terribly boring without her constant gossip.”

“Really? I don’t miss it at all. You are an odd duck.”

The supper was served—broiled salmon, hashed mutton, potatoes, parsnips, and baked apple pudding. The young men had passable table manners, but conversation was stilted at best, with the young ladies either flirting or nervously silent at the prospect of using the wrong fork.

Despite his best efforts, Felix was not sitting on Sophronia’s left. She sat isolated at the end of the table next to Preshea, who turned to speak with Lord Dingleproops. Pillover was a godsend, sitting across the way, although he would shovel mutton into his maw as if sheep were soon to be obsolete.

“I must say,” he commented between bites, “you eat better at this school than we do.”

“And in greater style, I imagine.”

Pillover looked at the tablecloth and flower centerpiece as though he had not noticed them before, which he probably hadn’t. “Rather.”

“We are training to handle such things for the rest of our lives. You are training to be evil geniuses. Table settings and the like are regarded, I am sure, as beneath you.”

“You are disposed to see this as careless?” wondered Pillover.

“Some things are more important than they seem. Note, for example, that by having larger flowers in taller vases, you can prevent people from conversing across the table, thus confining them to their dinner partners. Wider arrangements with cascading ferns, and you might even pass notes or objects to a dining companion without anyone the wiser.”

Pillover looked uninterested. Sophronia switched topics.

“I think someone is after Dimity.”

“Well, despite what she claims about that silly letter, it isn’t Lord Dingleproops. I can tell you that.” Pillover appeared to be aware of the situation.

“Have you had any odd encounters?”

Pillover started. “Me? Who would be after me?”

“Well, who would be after your sister?”

“It must be some kind of lark. Or mistake. I wouldn’t put it past the Pistons.”

Sophronia detailed the events on the squeak deck.

Pillover shook his head. “Can’t be Pistons, not that. Even they don’t have access to an airdinghy. No, I think you’re right that someone else wants my sister.”

“But who?”

Pillover was remarkably unconcerned. “Isn’t that your job?”

“Have you missed the part where she’s not speaking to me?”

Pillover had once been made to wear Sophronia’s petticoats in pursuit of information and safety. This gave him an inflated opinion of her abilities. “You’ll manage.”

“You’ll give it some thought, please?” Sophronia pressed. “I’m a little worried.”

“Well, she is my sister,” Pillover reluctantly agreed.

The meal proceeded, and Sophronia and Pillover conversed civilly, in a manner quite in keeping with training, until the tables were cleared and the cards brought forth.

Given their new numbers, the girls were told that round games were to be played so the entire table might participate. Monique declared that they would play loo and dealt without waiting for a consensus. Since loo was best played with seven, Sophronia, without being asked, and Pillover, who cared not one jot, sat out.

They watched the others play for a while. Felix kept glancing up over his cards at Sophronia.

Finally, she asked Pillover, in a low voice, “What is it with Lord Mersey?”

Pillover’s face darkened, and he shifted in his seat as though it were uncomfortable. “Golborne’s a famously conservative family. Too much money, not enough new blood.”

“Ah, anti-integration?” Sophronia prodded. Some of the aristocrats had fought hard against allowing the supernatural any part of government. That had happened centuries ago, but aristocrats and vampires had long memories.

“Worse. Picklemen.”

Sophronia stared at Felix. “Really?”

Pillover, whose family was quite progressive, answered sarcastically, “Can’t have monsters taking over the government, can we? We’re food to them. You know the propaganda. Fear supernatural creatures! Forget the fact that they won us an empire.”

Sophronia had come around to appreciating both the werewolf Captain Niall and the vampire Professor Braithwope as much as one could appreciate teachers. Even if Captain Niall had once accidentally tried to eat her. So she considered herself mostly progressive.

Her attention was diverted by a small, polite cough.

“Vieve?”

“Good evening,” said the scamp, from near her elbow.

Pillover nodded at her. They’d met before, during the incident with the petticoats.

“Listen, Sophronia, Soap says there’s something you might want to see tonight when we leave the moor. And I know I want to. I’ll be by with the obstructor later, so you won’t need to climb.” She didn’t wait for Sophronia’s agreement and rabbited off.

“Did you understand any of that?” Pillover asked, in a tone of voice that said he didn’t really care.

“You mean to say, you didn’t?”

“Nor was I meant to. Are you going out this evening, then?”

“Possibly.”

Pillover looked down the table to where Felix was once more staring in their direction. The viscount seemed distressed by the amount of attention Sophronia was bestowing upon Pillover. Since Pillover was customarily the victim of the Piston’s pranks, he was morosely pleased to be getting under the boy’s skin.

“You want any company?”

“Oh, no, thank you.”

“I wasn’t thinking of myself.”

Sophronia gave him a crafty smile. “Has no one officially warned you boys about Geraldine’s alarms?”

Pillover looked as cagey as a round boy with an obvious stash of apple fritters could. “Nope. I know from Dimity, of course.”

“In that case, you might mention to Lord Mersey that I’m planning a jaunt later tonight.”

Pillover smiled for the first time in their acquaintance. “I might do that.”