Etiquette & Espionage

LESSON 13: ATTACK OF THE FAN AND SPRINKLE

Sophronia and Vieve dashed through the airship ever upward and forward, making their way to the forbidden tassel section. They paused in front of Professor Braithwope’s door.

“You had better make yourself scarce, Vieve. There’s no point in both of us getting into trouble.”

Vieve looked up at her, then nodded. “We must do this again soon.”

“Perhaps without the werewolf attack and the loss of petticoat life?”

“Perhaps.”

With which the young girl tipped her cap at Sophronia and retreated down the hall, one hand in her pocket, obstructor pointed out in front of her, whistling some French tune in the tones of the deeply satisfied.

Well, I’m delighted someone had an enjoyable evening, Sophronia thought before knocking loudly on the vampire’s door.

There was good deal of clattering, a wet slurping noise, and the sound of india rubber squeaking, and then the door was opened a crack and Professor Braithwope peeked out.

“Whot, whot?” He had something dark about his mouth.

Oh, dear, thought Sophronia, have I interrupted him at tea? She tried to peek around him and catch a glimpse of whomever he might be supping with. But while the vampire was modestly sized, he occupied all of Sophronia’s line of sight.

“Professor, I do so hate to disturb you, but I have urgent business requiring your immediate attention.”

“Student, whot? By George, how’d you get into this section without setting off the alarms?”

“That’s not important, sir.”

“No, I think it might be.”

“Not now, sir. There is a problem, please, sir. It’s Captain Niall.”

“Werewolf, whot? What’s that to do with your getting into restricted areas of the school without a chaperone?”

“No, sir, he’s loose.”

“Of course he’s loose. Loose and leagues away, as he should be.”

“No, sir, he’s here.”

“On the ship, whot? Not possible. Werewolves don’t float.”

“No, sir, below. He’s here, on the moor, directly below, and the others should be returning from the theater soon. I saw him out my window.”

“Girlish fancies.”

“That’s possible, sir, but wouldn’t it be better to check and make certain?”

“Whot, whot? Yes, well. I suppose you’re right.”

“Quickly, sir. They’re due back at any moment.”

“Yes, yes. Where’s my hat?”

The vampire vanished for a split second and then pushed his way out into the hallway.

He was looking a tad disheveled, but he’d pulled on a greatcoat and buttoned it closed to disguise any possible fashion transgressions, and he had boots on his feet, which was more than might be said of a werewolf. Sophronia wasn’t certain, but she believed she might be coming down in favor of vampires as a general rule.

“Where is the blighter?”

“Below the boiler room area, sir. Last I saw.”

“Miss Temminnick.” The vampire tipped his hat and then sped away.

There was no point in even trying to keep up; he moved faster than any human could.

Oh, great, thought Sophronia. Now how am I supposed to get back to my quarters?

Vieve’s head reappeared around a bend in the hall. “Need a helping hand, or should I say wrist?” She waved the arm with the obstructor.

Sophronia grinned.

“So there we were, in all our evening’s finery, coming up the path toward the ship, and you will never guess what we observed! It was almost more exciting than the play itself. Although it was a very stirring performance of An Ideal Bathtub.” Dimity’s eyes were shining, her hands clasped together passionately, as she was thrust into the wondrousness of reliving the evening recently passed.

Sophronia, only slightly smudged, in a clean pinafore and her second-best set of petticoats, pretended rapt attention.

They were seated tête-à-tête on the settee while the other girls milled about, nattering about the finery of dress, the play, and the handsomeness of some boy or another—not necessarily in that order.

“Oh, what did you see?”

“Professor Braithwope, in a greatcoat!”

“Presumably he owns outerwear.”

Dimity left off clasping her hands to fiddle at something hanging about her neck.

Sophronia leaned forward. “Dimity, are you wearing two necklaces?”

“I couldn’t decide. But don’t distract me. Where was I?”

“On Professor Braithwope’s greatcoat.”

“Oh, yes. Don’t you believe greatcoats are rather a werewolf’s provenance? Not to mention the fact that vampires aren’t supposed to feel the cold. Anywho, where was I? Oh, yes. Professor Braithwope and his greatcoat were fighting a werewolf! Captain Niall!”

“Oh, how horrid.” Sophronia arranged her features into an appropriately shocked expression. Or what she hoped was appropriately shocked. She wasn’t doing very well in her acting lessons so far. I probably look more like a stuffed squirrel.

Dimity didn’t appear to think so. “Unfortunately, I didn’t see very much of the confrontation.”

“Was the exchange of fisticuffs that rapid? Supernatural speed, I understand.” Sophronia nodded wisely.

“Oh, no, there was blood, so I fainted.”

Preshea came over and stood before them, hands on hips, in nothing but her stays and drawers. So immodest!

“Sidheag caught her. Such a shame, Dimity, that you hadn’t arranged to faint earlier in the evening, when young Lord Dingleproops was paying you so much attention.”

Dimity blushed. “His parents are friends of the family, that is all!”

Sophronia ignored Preshea and looked to the other girls to continue the story where Dimity had fainted out of it. “What happened with the fisticuffs?”

“Not so many fists, actually. More fang and claw,” said Agatha.

“Very well, what happened with the fangicuffs, then?”

“Oh Sophronia, you’re so droll.” Dimity prodded her playfully with one thumb.

Sidheag only smiled dryly and retreated. Monique was pointedly absorbed in examining a small tear in the trim of one sleeve, and Preshea turned away to do her hair in rags for the night.

Agatha came timidly to Sophronia’s rescue. “Mademoiselle Geraldine also fainted. That freed Lady Linette to order some of the older girls into covert action. They’ve had lessons in group tactics for coordinated social rebuttal. She had them do the fan and sprinkle maneuver, to good effect.”

“Fan and sprinkle?”

Monique snorted. “Oh, really, Sophronia, don’t you know anything? Fan and sprinkle is for young ladies coping with werewolf attack while gentlemen are away. There have been pamphlets published!”

Sophronia looked to Agatha for further explanation, but the portly girl had lost all her pluck and retreated to a corner with a book on the language of parasols.

“Dimity, do you know what this maneuver is?”

Dimity hedged. “Well, I’ve heard of it, of course, but never seen it applied.”

“And you didn’t this evening, either. Really, Dimity, you must learn to time your faints with greater accuracy.” Preshea’s tone was condescending; rooming with Monique was turning out not to benefit her character.

Monique tsked. “It’s very simple, really. Distract the werewolf.”

“In this case, with a well-applied vampire,” interjected Preshea, to Monique’s annoyance.

Monique continued. “Then approach to within sprinkling distance. Sprinkle the werewolf, or his near proximity, liberally with noxious perfume—anything herbaceous does the trick, though basil is best, of course—as well as smelling salts, to encourage the inhalation. They have a heightened sense of smell, werewolves. Then everyone takes up their fans and blows the fumes in the direction of the beast. The creature begins to sneeze uncontrollably, allowing one to escape. Voilà!”

“And is that what happened?” Sophronia looked to Preshea for confirmation. After all, Monique hadn’t been on the theater excursion, either.

“Essentially. Although poor Professor Braithwope also got a big dose of perfume. But still, it distracted Captain Niall long enough for the professor to get the upper hand and drag him away. We managed to board the airship with impunity using the grand stairs.”

Stairs? thought Sophronia. This ship has stairs?

Preshea concluded, “A very exciting end to the evening. But that’s enough rough talk. Did you ladies see how many beaux I had surrounding me at the theater?”

“Not nearly so many as I might have had,” shot back Monique. “I’ve already managed to make half of Bunson’s fall madly in love with me; this year I shall get the other half.” She looked about magnanimously. “Of course, you are allowed some, Preshea. I’m no glutton.”

Preshea smiled in a way that had nothing to do with pleasure. “And then there’s Lord Dingleproops; he’s clearly in Dimity’s pocket.”

“I know, so peculiar. Well, I suppose there is no accounting for taste. No offense meant, of course, Dimity.”

Dimity could clearly think of nothing to say to that. She looked as though she had swallowed a live eel.

Monique and Preshea continued to chat about the young men Preshea had met at the theater. Boys whom Monique already knew and about whom minutiae of appearance, financial situation, and social connection had to be told to Preshea in a most condescending way.

With the other girls thus distracted, Sophronia turned to Dimity and said in a low voice, “Do you like this Dingle personage?”

Dimity blushed in such a manner as indicated she might. Either that or she didn’t like him at all. “He is quite tall for his age.”

Sophronia tried to be sympathetic. “A good start, I suppose. Has he any other qualities of note?”

“He has a very nice nose.”

“Good, a nose, excellent.”

Dimity, who was rarely silent, fell quiet again at that juncture.

Sophronia tried to think of some other attribute a boy of interest to Dimity might possess. “Was he wearing anything sparkly?”

“He had a brass pin on his hatband.” Dimity looked a little disappointed, as if this were the merest of seeds before the great tree of her own adornments.

Two necklaces. Two! “And, um, is he smart?”

“Oh, Sophronia, that is hardly a desirable quality in a beau!”

“No? Is he a beau, then?”

“I am not allowed followers until I’m sixteen.”

“Well, then.”

The conversation paused.

Finally Dimity said, “Did you know my revolting brother wasn’t there? Scarpered off from the play. Apparently, he’s a bit of a pustule so far as the other boys are concerned. Not that I’m surprised. He’s probably going around correcting silly little mistakes and making himself unwelcome.”

“Or it could be they are browbeating him out of spite.”

“Oh, come now, I hardly think boys are like that.”

“Oh, no?” Sophronia, who had several brothers of her own, was startled at this outrageous statement.

“Girls, yes; boys, no. They are much more forthright.”

“Have you heard of the Pistons?”

“Yes; how did you…?”

Sophronia shrugged. “I’m learning my lessons at this school.”

“Pistons is some kind of Bunson’s school club, I gather. Lord Dingleproops is a member.”

“Is he indeed?”

“Yes, an engineering concentration. They put smudges of coal about their eyes. Very dark and brooding.”

“How sootie of them.”

Monique, whose own conversation had paused and who had taken to listening in on theirs, seemed unable to help interjecting at this juncture. “Sophronia, don’t even say such a thing! Imagine comparing highborn lords to, well, the lowest of the low. Really.”

“Sooties aren’t as bad as all that,” Sophronia protested, rather more loudly than she ought.

Preshea, Monique, and Agatha all stared at her in dumbfounded horror.

Sophronia was truculent. “They can hardly be blamed for their station!”

Monique said with confidence, “Yes, they most certainly can!”

“Oh, come now, the poor sooties only require some social reform and a little charitable assistance with their wardrobes,” said Dimity staunchly, no doubt thinking she was supporting Sophronia’s unusually progressive social stance.

Sophronia closed her eyes in horror at the very idea of Dimity trying to reform Soap. Or worse, taking him on as a charity case.

A loud knock sounded on their door.

Lady Linette’s voice said, “Gas out soon, ladies. You need your beauty rest. Well, most of you do, and there’s no cause to risk any of the others.”

“Yes, Lady Linette,” replied all the girls in singsong unison.

Lady Linette moved on without coming inside. It was school policy for the students not to be disturbed unduly during their spare time. Even children, Lady Linette said, must be allowed some time to conspire together.

Dimity leaned in as close to Sophronia as possible and whispered, “Why are you defending sooties? How do you even know them with any intimacy?”

“Information gathering, Dimity, remember? It’s what we do now.”

“Yes, but sooties? They can hardly be of any use. They live in the boiler room.”

Sophronia came up with her best excuse. “I need to feed Bumbersnoot, don’t I?”

Dimity blinked at her in silence, the concept of befriending sooties as alien to her as having to choose between two necklaces. “If you say so. Come on, let’s go to bed.”

But before they could leave the sitting room, another knock sounded, startling the girls. This was not part of their normal routine.

A male voice said, through the door, “Miss Temminnick, a word, if you would be so kind, whot?”

Preshea let out a little gasp and dove for her room, she being still in her underthings.

Sophronia glanced about. “Agatha, pick your gloves up off the floor. Dimity, you aren’t wearing shoes.” Once the others were back in reasonable order, Sophronia opened the door.

“How can I help you, Professor Braithwope?”

The vampire was looking once more like his dandy self: no greatcoat. “Ah, good, you are not abed yet. Take a little walk with me, if you would, Miss Temminnick?”

Sophronia curtsied and reached for her wrap from a nearby hat stand. The other girls watched in dumb silence. Sophronia gave them all a quelling look and followed the vampire.

As she was in the company of a professor, none of the mechanicals were aggravated by Sophronia roaming the ship after hours. Professor Braithwope led her up and out onto a small balcony that bridged the gap between the middle and forward sections. They stood staring out at the clouds and the moon setting over the moor.

Finally Sophronia said, “Sir?”

“You understand, Miss Temminnick, that I am a vampire.”

“Yes, sir, I had noticed the fangs.”

“Don’t be pert, young lady.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yet I am tethered to this roaming ship far from all meaningful society.”

“Yes, sir. But you did go down to the ground to fight Captain Niall.”

“I am not a vampire queen to have so short a tether as all that.”

“I see, sir.” Although she didn’t. Why did that make him defensive?

“Tonight when you came to my room…”

Sophronia cocked her head, remembering what must have been blood around his mouth. “I didn’t hear or see anything. Although I have been wondering, sir, how you eat? Or should I say who?”

The vampire said nothing.

Have I revealed that I saw too much? Quietly Sophronia added, “And the soot on my dress, sir?”

“I didn’t see anything.” Professor Braithwope smiled down at her, showing a small hint of fang.

Sophronia grinned back. “I’m glad we understand each other, sir.”

The vampire looked out into the night. “This is the right finishing school for you, isn’t it, whot?”

“Yes, sir, I think it might very well be.”

“A piece of advice, Miss Temminnick?”

“Sir?”

“It is a great skill to have friends in low places. They, too, have things to teach you.”

“Now, sir, I thought you didn’t see any soot.”

Professor Braithwope laughed. “Good night, Miss Temminnick. I trust you can make your own way back to your room without causing an alarm? It seems to be a particular skill of yours.”

“Actually, sir, I could use your escort tonight.”

“Whot, whot? Interesting.”

“Even a vampire can be surprised on occasion?”

“Miss Temminnick, why do you think I became a teacher?”

They turned together and walked back toward the students’ residential section.

Sophronia thought hard about what it must be like to live forever. I suppose one would get bored easily. That’s one thing about Mademoiselle Geraldine’s. So far, it’s not been remotely dull. What she said was, “It can’t be all that bad, being away from cities. You’re one of the few vampires who gets to travel.”

“So long as we don’t go too high.”

“Really?”

“Whot, whot, there goes that curious mind of yours, Miss Temminnick. I think perhaps there has been enough of that, for the time being.”

They arrived back at her door.

“Good night, Miss Temminnick.”

“Good night, Professor.”

School life carried on course after that, as did the school itself, except that it did so in the gray, as Lady Linette called it. It turned out mail had been retrieved from Swiffle-on-Exe when they stopped over for the play. Sophronia’s loot was comprised of a package of clothing, including her winter cape, and one uninformative letter from her mother. They were told they could not send replies. Swiffle-on-Exe was already leagues behind them. The school’s deadline from the flywaymen had been exceeded and they were now on the run and in hiding.

The great airship floated deep into the gray of the wild moor. The mists were more common and longer lasting now that autumn was upon them. Mademoiselle Geraldine’s Finishing Academy for Young Ladies of Quality did not go low; lessons with Captain Niall were canceled for the time being. They had enough fuel and supplies for a good, long stint away from civilization. So they floated, shrouded by cool, wet gray, hidden from friends and enemies alike—for three whole months.

At about a month in, Sophronia overheard Monique complaining to Preshea about the ban on outside communication. Clearly the restrictions had finally gotten to her, and she hadn’t managed to get her message out on the night Sophronia, Soap, and Vieve had infiltrated Bunson’s.

“I cannot believe they won’t let me—me!—send a message.”

“They aren’t letting anyone, Monique. I heard Sophronia complaining about it only the other day.”

“But mine is terribly important.”

“Oh, really? Is it an order for next summer’s hats?”

“Oh, yes, of course. Something like.” Monique neatly avoided Preshea’s interest. “Gloves and a few fans as well.”

Sophronia discussed the conversation with Dimity later that evening.

“I really do think that Monique was hoping to get information to someone about where she hid the prototype. Do you suppose the teachers actually imprisoned her on the evening of the theater jaunt in an effort to prevent this from happening? I mean to say, I saw neither hide nor hair of her all evening.”

Dimity’s round porcelain face scrunched up in suspicion. “That’s a terribly medieval approach. I can’t imagine they’d be that strict with her.”

Sophronia lay back. “Dimity, we are missing something.”

“On board? Decent cheese,” suggested Dimity.

“No, I mean, if Monique hid it somewhere, why did we never see her do it? Is it still in the carriage, do you think? Were you ever separated from her during the beginning of the journey?”

“Only when she went to interview you.”

“Of course! Dimity, you’re brilliant!”

“I am?”

“While I was packing, she asked Mumsy if she might take a turn about the grounds. The prototype must be hidden at my house!”

“Goodness gracious, I suppose you’re right. Oh, Sophronia, what if the flywaymen figure that out? Or what if Monique is working for someone else even more sinister, and they figure that out?”

Sophronia’s stomach twisted in panic. “Then my family might be in danger. I must get a message to them somehow!”

Of course, Sophronia could no more send out a letter than Monique could. She and Dimity even made an abortive attempt at pigeon training. The pigeon was not interested. Sophronia began to see the appeal behind the transmission machine and the prototype. She tried to talk herself down. I am, after all, the only one who knows Monique was alone for that small space of time. And even if the flywaymen do figure it out, they will, hopefully, use nonviolent stealth to retrieve the prototype, and leave my parents and siblings alone.