Etiquette & Espionage

LESSON 4: THE CORRECT CONFIGURATION OF A FINISHING SCHOOL

My goodness,” said Sophronia. “It looks like a caterpillar that has overeaten.”

And it did. It wasn’t so much a dirigible as three dirigibles mashed together to form one long chain of oblong, inflated balloons. Below them dangled a multilevel series of decks, most open to the air, but some closed off, with windows reflecting back the dying sun. At the back, a colossal set of propellers churned slowly, and above them billowed a massive sail—probably more for guidance than propulsion. A great quantity of steam wafted out from below the lower back decks, floating away to join the mist as if responsible for creating it. Black smoke puffed sedately out of three tall smokestacks.

Sophronia was enchanted. It was the most fascinating thing she had ever seen, and entirely unlike any of the finishing schools she had ever heard of, which were mostly—according to her sisters—inside castles in Switzerland. She did not, however, want to admit to being enchanted, as this seemed childish, so instead, she said casually, “It’s much bigger than I expected.”

“It’s very high up, isn’t it?” added Dimity nervously.

As the carriage drew closer, Sophronia realized that the floating academy was moving much faster than she had initially thought. It was probably riding the stiff wind that seemed to rush over Dartmoor constantly, tilting small trees into lopsidedness. Just when she thought they might actually catch it, the horses screamed in terror and the carriage jerked to a stop.

The door burst open. A young man stood before them. He was a tall, swarthy fellow of the type that Petunia would swoon over; rakishly handsome in a floppy way. He was wearing a black silk top hat and a greatcoat that covered him from neck to ankle. Papa would call him a “young blunt” in a disgusted tone of voice. Sophronia was briefly afraid that this was some new form of flywayman—except that he wore no goggles and was grinning at them.

“Ladies!”

Monique colored becomingly. “Captain.”

“Winds are fierce this evening. Can’t float down for a pickup. You ladies will have to wait until after sunset, then I’ll give you a lift.”

“Oh.” Monique’s delicate little nose wrinkled. “Must we?”

The young man’s cheerful expression didn’t falter under the weight of her dissatisfaction. “Yes.”

“Oh, very well.” Monique gave the man her hand and he helped her down.

He did not turn to accompany her, instead looking inquiringly at Dimity and Sophronia. “Ladies. No time like the present.”

Dimity gathered up her little basket, also blushing furiously, and put her hand into the man’s large one.

He helped her down and returned for Sophronia. “Miss?”

Sophronia busily checked the cab for any forgotten items.

The young man observed this with a twinkle in his dark eyes. “Cautious girl.”

Sophronia didn’t dignify that with a reply. She hadn’t pinpointed the particulars yet, but there was something odd about this man, aside from his being adorable.

Outside, the wind was biting, and the great airship was even more impressive. The horses were restless, rolling their eyes and straining against their traces. The coachman fought to hold them. There seemed to be no reason for their panic. The young man strode forward to pay the driver. This only terrified the animals further. The coachman managed to take possession of his fare and keep hold of the reins, but only by dint of real skill. Then he turned his steeds around and let them have their way, careening across the heath at a breakneck speed.

Dimity sidled up to Sophronia and whispered, “Isn’t he simply scrumptious?”

Sophronia pretended obtuseness. “The coachman?”

“No, silly. Him!” Dimity tilted her head toward their new escort.

“He’s a little old, don’t you feel?”

Dimity considered the age of the young man. He was, perhaps, one-and-twenty. “Well, I suppose. But Monique doesn’t believe so. Look at her flirting! Shameless.”

The man and Monique were discussing the lack of luggage. With animated hand gestures, Monique described its loss, their recent attack, and their subsequent escape. She downplayed Sophronia’s part and accentuated her own. Sophronia would have defended herself, but there was something about the way Monique told the story that was about more than ego.

“She’s hiding something. Has been all along—and not only her real identity.”

“A brain?” Dimity suggested.

“And he isn’t wearing any shoes.”

“Oh, I say! You’re right. How peculiar.”

“And the horses were afraid of him. Every time he got close, they shied.”

“But why?”

“Perhaps they have equine standards—an abhorrence of bare feet.”

Dimity giggled.

The man, apparently tired of Monique’s tales, came to join them.

The older girl trailed behind him and finally remembered her manners. “Girls, this is Captain Niall.”

Dimity bobbed a curtsy. “Captain.”

Sophronia followed suit a second later with a much less tidy curtsy and a much less pleasant “Captain.”

Monique said, “Miss Dimity Plumleigh-Teignmott, full credentials, and Miss Sophronia Angelina Temminnick, covert recruit.” Her lip curled.

The man touched the brim of his top hat and bowed to each in turn.

Captain Niall had a nice smile, and Sophronia liked his boneless way of moving. But she had a sinking suspicion he wasn’t wearing a cravat under the greatcoat. Also, it looked as if his top hat was tied under his chin like a baby’s bonnet. Since she figured it might be rude to point out the man’s deficiencies in attire to his face, she said instead, “I do hope the coachman finds his way back to civilization safely.”

“Commendable conscientiousness, Miss Temminnick, but I shouldn’t trouble yourself.”

Behind them, the sun had completely set. The airship, drifting away, began to fade into the misty, purpled sky, becoming increasingly difficult to see.

“Back in a jiff.” The young captain ambled down a little gulley, disappearing behind a large rock.

The ladies could still see his top hat bobbing, but nothing else, and that only for a moment. The hat began to melt down and out of sight. Was he crouching? It was difficult to hear anything above the wind, and Sophronia’s ears were already starting to ache from exposure, but she thought she could detect a moan of pain.

Then, out from behind the rock, trotting up the gulley, came a massive wolf. A rangy beast with dark, mottled, black-and-brown fur and a fluffy, white-tipped tail.

Dimity let out of a squeak of alarm.

Sophronia froze, but only for a moment. Werewolf! said her brain, putting everything together in one split second. The lack of shoes. The full greatcoat. Now he was coming at them.

She turned and ran straight for the nearest coppice of trees, thinking only in terms of safety. She ignored Monique’s instructions for her to stop. She didn’t even think of poor Dimity. Her only instinct was that of prey: to scurry and hide, to escape the predator.

The werewolf leapt after her far faster than any normal wolf ever could. Not that Sophronia had ever met such a monster before. She had heard the rumors about supernatural speed and strength, but she had hardly given them credence. This werewolf proved all the fairy tales true. Before she had gone more than a few paces, he caught up to her and jumped over her head, twisting in midair and coming to rest facing her and blocking her path.

Sophronia crashed right into him and fell to her back on the rough grass, winded.

Before she could rise, a massive paw descended onto her chest, and a vicious wolf face appeared above her—black nose damp and teeth bared. The face descended and… nothing.

Sophronia screwed her eyes shut and turned her head away, waiting for the deathblow to come from his other massive paw, or for those glistening canines to close about her neck.

Still nothing.

I guess I’m not dead. She cautiously opened her eyes to look up into the wolf’s yellow ones. They crinkled at her, and the beast lolled out his tongue, grinning. His massive, sweeping tail brushed back and forth behind him. She noticed then, much to her shock, that the top hat was still tied securely to his head.

This incongruity served to calm her as nothing else could have. Later, Sophronia was to wonder if this was the reason Captain Niall always wore a top hat, even when he changed—to put people at ease. Or if he believed that, whatever the form, a gentleman should never be without his hat.

She made to sit up. When he refused to let her, she said, “I won’t run again. I’m sorry. You startled me. I’ve never met a werewolf before.”

With a small nod, he backed away.

Dimity offered Sophronia a helping hand up. “Sophronia’s parents are conservatives,” she explained to the creature. She moved cautiously, suggesting that she, too, was unfamiliar with werewolves, for all her progressive upbringing. Or perhaps that is the way one is supposed to behave around them. Sophronia decided to take her cues from her new friend, and stood very slowly.

Monique minced over. “If you are quite done making a fool of yourself, Covert?”

Sophronia snapped back, “I wouldn’t want to make a promise I couldn’t keep.”

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t. I’d better go first, Captain. Show them how it’s done.”

The wolf nodded his furry, top-hatted head.

Then Monique de Pelouse did the most remarkable thing. She sat down sidesaddle on top of the werewolf’s back, as though he were a Shetland pony.

“One holds on, like so,” she explained officiously, burying her hands in the wolf’s thick neck ruff. “Then one leans forward as much as possible.”

Sophronia thought she heard the girl’s stays creak.

The werewolf trotted off, gaining speed until he was nothing but a blur racing across the heath toward the floating school.

Sophronia squinted, trying to follow his movements. He leapt impossibly high into the air, toward the ship. He was a supernatural creature, and clearly very powerful, but even werewolves couldn’t fly. It became clear, however, that he didn’t intend to, for he appeared to have landed midair.

“Must be some kind of platform,” said Dimity.

Sophronia nodded. “Suspended on long cords, perhaps?”

Monique dismounted, and Captain Niall jumped down and came racing back to them.

He looked expectantly at Dimity.

Dimity glanced at Sophronia and said, “Oh, dear.”

Sophronia smiled. “If you’re afraid of falling, you could ride astride. It’s much easier to hang on to a horse that way.”

Dimity looked affronted at the very idea.

“It was only a suggestion.”

“You’re very calm.”

Sophronia shrugged. “I’m overburdened by strange occurrences at the moment. I’ll go next, if you like.”

Dimity looked relieved and gestured expansively with one hand.

Sophronia climbed onto the werewolf. Her mother would have had hysterics—leaving aside the whole werewolf steed aspect—at the very idea that a daughter of hers would ride astride! Sophronia merely wrapped both her arms and legs about the wolf. “I’m ready.” His fur smelled of hay, sandalwood, and pork sausages.

He started slowly, accustoming her to his gait—which was not at all like that of a horse!—then picked up speed. Sophronia hunkered down, watching the grass and rocks rush by beneath them. They neared the airship, and with a tremendous bunching of haunches and a surge of power, Captain Niall leapt into the air.

For a brief, glorious moment, Sophronia felt as close to flying as she ever would. The wind lifted her hair and dress; the emptiness of space surrounded her; the ground was far below. Then the werewolf touched down lightly onto a small platform beside a bored-looking Monique.

Sophronia climbed off. “Thank you, sir, most enjoyable.”

Captain Niall jumped back down to collect Dimity.

As Monique was ignoring her, Sophronia examined the workings of the platform. It was made of thick glass, hollowed on the inside like a box, and hung on four chains. These were looped about pulleys at each corner, which meant the whole thing could be raised and lowered as one unit.

She craned her neck, but saw neither hole nor docking structure in the underside of the airship.

A distant shrieking, getting louder and louder, heralded Dimity’s arrival.

As soon as they landed, Dimity stopped screaming—embarrassed—and dismounted. Then she sat down on the platform abruptly.

Monique laughed.

Sophronia hurried to her friend’s side. “Are you unwell?”

“My nerves are a little shaky, I must confess. No, please, leave me until I recover the use of my knees. That was a tad overwhelming.”

“I thought it was quite a wheeze.”

“I’m beginning to understand that about you. I’m not convinced it is a good personality trait, but it certainly appears to be useful.” Dimity pushed her hair out of her face with a trembling hand.

Captain Niall deposited Dimity’s basket, which he had carried in his mouth, next to her and barked imperiously. He then tilted forward over one foreleg in a lupine bow.

Sophronia and Monique curtsied politely, and Dimity nodded from her seated position. Then he was away, jumping down to the moor below.

“Isn’t he joining us?” Sophronia was confused.

“Oh, he doesn’t live at the school. He’s a werewolf. They don’t float. Didn’t you know?”

Sophronia, who did not know, felt unjustly chastised. And also strangely bereft. Now that she knew what Captain Niall had been hiding with his bare feet and oddities of dress, she rather liked the man. He might have made for an ally of sorts.

Still, she had Dimity.

As if in reply to this thought, Dimity grinned at her. “I’m glad you’re with me. I was so nervous about coming in alone. Everyone will know one another already.”

Sophronia crouched down and squeezed her friend’s hand. She was glad she had crouched, for with very little warning, the platform rocked from side to side and began to rise toward the airship above.

Monique gave a squeak of alarm as the jolt almost tumbled her over the edge. Acting as if it were all her idea, she also sat.

The platform picked up speed until it was racing along briskly. The underside of the airship looked to be of solid wood and metal construction. Our skulls would definitely not win any kind of encounter with it! Sophronia resisted the urge to raise her arms above her head to shield herself. Monique was sitting, unflinching, and Sophronia wasn’t about to give the girl any more ammunition.

She and Dimity exchanged terrified glances.

At the very last minute, a hatch snapped open directly above them and they sped inside the ship, out of the freezing evening air and into warm darkness.

The platform stopped. The hatch snapped shut behind them. All was black. After the violence of the wind, the sudden stillness was overwhelming.

Sophronia’s eyes adjusted quickly. They were in a large, cavernous room, like a barn, with beams and supports indecently exposed all around them. It was curved, however, like the inside of a very large rowboat.

They heard the chattering first: amiable but argumentative female voices. Then across from them, a door opened, and a beam of yellow light spiked through. Three silhouetted figures entered, one after another, all garbed in the voluminous dress of a modest upper-class Englishwoman. The first was of medium size and medium build, with a halo of blonde curls; then came a tall woman; and lastly a short, dumpy female.

Miss Medium held a lamp and was by far the best looking, although this fact was well-hidden under a quantity of face paint that might embarrass even an opera dancer.

Dimity was charmed. “Look at her cheek rouge!”

“Her what?” Sophronia was shocked. One ordinarily didn’t expect such an application of powder, except from women of ill repute. What kind of finishing school has a lady of the night on staff?

“Rouge—the red stuff on her cheeks.”

“Oh! I thought that was jam.”

“Oh, really!” Dimity tittered obligingly.

The short, dumpy female was wearing a religious habit of some approximation. The robes had been cut and pinned into a facsimile of modern dress, full skirts, ruffles, and all. Over her head she wore a hat that was part lace floof, part wimple.

Miss Tall was the only one of the three who actually looked the part of a teacher. Sophronia adjusted her assessment from merely “tall” to “impossibly angular.” Like a human hatstand. This woman was severely dressed, with a face that might have been pretty if all the lines resulted from smiling rather than frowning. As it was, she looked like a stoat with gastric problems.

Monique stepped down off the platform and approached the three women. “You said it was a simple retrieval operation. No danger!” She was not speaking in the manner of a student to her superiors.

The nun said, “Now, dear, please don’t carry on.”

“ ‘No difficulty finishing, Monique.’ That’s what you said!”

“Well, dear, it was your exam.”

“It’s a very good thing that I can keep a cool head in a crisis! We were attacked by flywaymen! I had to take measures to get us out of there safely.”

“Explain,” barked the tall one. Her accent was French in a way that suggested it was not fake. “And take off that ridiculous wig.”

“The coachman was incapacitated, and those two panicked.” Monique removed her wig, revealing that she was a blonde, and gestured with it at Sophronia and Dimity. “I had to take charge of the carriage and enact a daring escape. Unfortunately, we had to leave our belongings behind.”

Sophronia was flabbergasted by this parade of outright lies. Monique definitely had some kind of secondary agenda. What’s going on here?

Dimity said, “Oh, I say! That’s not at all what happened.”

“Those two made consistent errors in judgment and protocol. They even fainted at the wrong moments. They’re entirely at odds with me. I can’t think why. I’ve been perfectly civil to them the entire time. I believe that they want to take all the credit for my intelligent actions. They clearly don’t want me to finish!”

“What?” said Sophronia, so shocked she was moved to speak.

“Look at her, all innocence! She’s the crafty one. I’d watch her if I were you.”

“She’s lying,” said Sophronia flatly; there was no other response possible.

The painted woman interrupted. “The particulars matter not at this juncture. The question is, Miss Pelouse, do you have it?”

Monique gestured to her torn dress. “Of course I don’t have it! I’m not so idiotic as to keep it on my person. As soon as I realized what it was, and that you’d given me a dangerous finish, I secreted it away in a private location.”

Sophronia understood the undercurrent of that statement. She expected us to be attacked by flywaymen all along.

The bony female craned her neck forward and hissed, “Where?”

Sophronia frowned, trying to remember a time when Monique might have hidden something.

Monique shook her head. “Oh, no. When I’m properly finished, then I’ll tell you.”

The Frenchwoman stepped forward to loom over the girl. “You manipulative baggage, I ought to—”

The dumpy nun put a hand on her arm.

“Now, Beatrice, don’t fuss. We have new girls here, don’t forget.”

Beatrice glanced at Sophronia and Dimity, and then snorted.

Gosh, thought Sophronia, the French are every bit as rude as Mumsy always said they were.

The painted woman said, “Beatrice, take Miss Pelouse away and see if you can’t come to an arrangement.”

Monique looked militant. “I’ll summon reinforcements if I have to.”

“Are you threatening me, girl? We shall see about that.” The Frenchwoman did not look cowed.

Sophronia shuddered—she wouldn’t want to be alone with either of them for any length of time.

She heard Miss Tall say, as the two walked away, “Properly finish, my dear? What makes you think there is any way for you to finish at all, now?”

Sophronia decided to forget Monique for the time being.

“Well, it certainly appears that you two have had a very exciting journey,” said the nun.

“We didn’t faint!” protested Dimity. “Or, rather, Sophronia didn’t faint. I did, but only after we rescued Monique from the flywaymen! She told it all backward!”

“Do you have witnesses?”

“Well, my brother was there.”

The teachers exchanged looks. Apparently Pillover’s reliability was questionable. “A boy? I don’t know.”

“And there was the coachman.” Dimity would not let the matter rest.

“He was insensible for most of the event,” Sophronia pointed out.

“You’re a funny one, aren’t you?” The painted lady looked at Sophronia closely. “Why aren’t you defending yourself?”

Sophronia shrugged. “I have sisters. I know how this works.”

“Do you indeed?”

Sophronia said nothing else. Monique was covering up her trail as well as self-aggrandizing her own actions. Perhaps she’d given the prototype away to someone else beforehand. Sophronia intended to find out. What was the prototype, and where was it, and why did everyone want it so badly? Some new kind of device for producing tea inexpensively? In the Temminnick household, nothing was valued more than good quality tea.

Dimity opened her mouth to protest further, but Sophronia elbowed her in the ribs.

The painted lady said, “Shall we get on with official business? Where was I?”

The nun whispered something in her ear.

“Yes, of course! Welcome to Mademoiselle Geraldine’s Finishing Academy for Young Ladies of Quality. I understand one of you is a covert recruit?”

Sophronia raised a tentative hand.

“Welcome, welcome! I’m Lady Linette de Limmone. I’ll be instructing you in music and several of the finer creative arts. This is Sister Herschel-Teape. She’s head of household management. And you are?”

“Sophronia Angelina Temminnick,” said Sophronia with a curtsy.

“Oh, dear,” said Lady Linette. “We are going to have to work on that curtsy.”

“Dimity Ann Plumleigh-Teignmott,” said Dimity, with a better curtsy.

I must ask her to teach me the way of it. It seems a powerful weapon, thought Sophronia.

“Ah, yes, Miss Plumleigh-Teignmott, we have been expecting you. Sister, if you would kindly get Miss Plumleigh-Teignmott settled. She knows everything already. Miss Temminnick, you’re with me, please.”

Dimity squeezed Sophronia’s hand. “Good luck.” She followed the dumpy nun out of the cavernous room.

The painted woman raised the lantern and looked Sophronia over.

“Well, well, let me see. You’re… how old, girl?”

“Fourteen, my lady.” Sophronia couldn’t believe that a woman with that much face paint was a real lady. Mrs. Barnaclegoose had a teacup poodle named Lord Piffle; perhaps Lady Linette’s was a similarly spurious title?

“Good bones, average height. I suppose there’s no hope of your growing into that chin?” Sophronia said nothing. “No? I thought not. Eyes, indifferent. Hair”—she tsked—“you’ll be wearing curling rags the rest of your natural life, poor thing. The freckles. Well. The freckles. I’ll have cook order extra buttermilk. But you are confident. Shoulders back, girl, when you’re facing inspection. Confident is something we can work with. And Captain Niall likes you.”

Sophronia withstood the criticism with only a slight frown. She put her shoulders back as ordered. What she wanted to do was comment on Lady Linette’s appearance. So far as Sophronia was concerned, the woman’s hair was too curly and her skin too white, and she smelled overwhelmingly of elderflowers. I wager she wouldn’t like it if I told her that to her face!

What she said instead was, “How do you know what the captain thinks of me?”

“If he didn’t think you’d suit, he wouldn’t have jumped you up. He has very good judgment, for a, well…” She paused, as though hunting for the right word.

“Werewolf?” suggested Sophronia.

“Oh, no. For a man. Now, child, come along. We have much to do, and it is getting late. I suppose you’re famished, and, of course, we’ll need to settle your luggage and such.”

“No luggage, my lady.”

“What?”

“Had to leave it behind with the flywaymen.”

“You did? Oh, yes, you did, didn’t you? How tiresome.”

“When I was driving the carriage.”

“When you were driving the carriage? I thought Miss Pelouse said…” A short pause. “Where was Miss Pelouse during all of this?”

“Well, either fainted in the road or crying in the carriage, depending on which point of the story.” All of it faked, if you ask me. But something kept Sophronia from volunteering that information.

“Interesting. Well, Beatrice will sort it all out.”

“What does she teach?”

“Worried, are you? You should be. Professor Lefoux takes a firm hand. Although she’s too fearsome for the debuts. You won’t have her until later. If you stay, that is.”

Sophronia noticed that Lady Linette had neatly avoided answering the question. What is Professor Lefoux’s subject? I still don’t know.

“Now, dear, we must press on. Do follow me.”

They emerged from the darkness of a passageway into the open air of one of the main decks—a wide semicircle of rough timber planks.

The school had floated quite high since Captain Niall had jumped them on board. It no longer bobbed through the low mists of the moor, but was instead well above them. Below now lay a mass of white cloud tops, and above was the starry night. Sophronia had never thought to see the other side of clouds. They looked as solid as a feather mattress. She clung to the rail, staring down, hypnotized.

“Amazing,” she breathed.

“Yes, dear. I assure you, you’ll become quite accustomed to it. I am pleased to see you are not afraid of heights.”

Sophronia grinned. “No, never that. Ask the dumbwaiter.”

And that was when the maid mechanical ran straight into her. It was a standard domestic model. Looking down at her feet, Sophronia noticed that the deck was inlaid with multiple tracks. However, like the porter mechanical at Bunson’s, this one had no face, but only inner moving parts, completely visible to the outside world. It also had no voice, for even after it bumped into her and stopped, confused in its protocols, it neither apologized nor asked Sophronia to move.

Lady Linette said, “Really, dear, do get out of its way.”

Sophronia did so, watching with interest as the maid trundled on to the other side of the deck, where a hatch opened and it disappeared inside.

“What was that?”

“A maid mechanical, dear. I know you’re from the country, but surely your family cannot be so backward as that!”

“No, of course not. My family has a butler, an 1846 Frowbritcher. But why doesn’t yours have a proper face?”

“Because it doesn’t need one.”

Sophronia was a little embarrassed, but it had to be said: “But her parts are exposed!”

“Mmm, yes, shocking. But you had best get accustomed to the style. Very few of our mechanicals are standard household models.”

They wended their way up several sets of stairs, into and out of long corridors, and over other decks—some of wood, a few of metal, and one that seemed, most illogically, to be made of stone. Sophronia had boarded the airship under the back section of the long dirigible caterpillar, and they now were crossing through its center.

The interior decoration looked much as Sophronia imagined one of the great Atlantic steamers, except that the entire place seemed to have been attacked by a grandmother—the kind of grandmother who knitted horrible small booties for workhouse orphans and made jelly for the deserving poor. Railings and finials supported crocheted antimacassars in mauve and chartreuse. A medieval suit of armor in the corner of one corridor was decorated liberally with ribbon flowers. Sophronia paused to examine it, only to find tiny mechanical devices hidden within the flowers. Suddenly, the outrageous chandeliers at each junction took on sinister aspects. Are those glass baubles decorative or deadly? They are rather knifelike. Can one call a chandelier sinister?

“The back end of the school grounds,” explained Lady Linette, “is for group and recreational activities. That is where we take meals and regular exercise. The middle section is comprised of student residences and classrooms, and the front is for teachers and staff. That is where we are heading now.”

“Uh, why?” Sophronia wanted to know.

“To meet Mademoiselle Geraldine, of course.”

“The real one this time?” asked Sophronia, a little snidely. And then, when her stomach rumbled, she added, “Will there be food?”

Lady Linette seemed to find this funny.

Sophronia couldn’t understand Lady Linette. She had a French name, yet her accent was English. Sophronia thought she detected a certain burr that suggested the north country, or possibly the East End.

“Now, be certain to remember which way we are going, Sophronia. It is easy to get lost. The school grounds are rather convoluted. The most important thing to note is that you must be on a middle level or higher to get between sections. Very high up, however, is not recommended. Once you get to the squeak decks, the way between the sections is not suited to proper attire. Ah, here we are. You see this red tassel here? It marks the teacher’s section. You are not permitted to roam anywhere freely at night, and during lesson time you are restricted to certain areas. However, you can never enter the tassel section without an adult escort.”

Sophronia nodded. She wondered how the restrictions were enforced. Which was the moment she realized she was intrigued enough to give this abnormal finishing school an opportunity to prove itself worthwhile.

“Very well, Miss Temminnick. Tell me a little about yourself. Are you well-educated?”

Sophronia considered this question seriously. “I don’t believe so.”

“Excellent. Ignorance is most undervalued in a student. And have you killed anyone recently?”

Sophronia blinked. “Pardon?”

“Oh, you know, a knife to the neck, or perhaps a cleverly noosed cravat?”

Sophronia said only, “Not my preferred diversion.”

“Oh, dear, how disappointing. Well, don’t you fret. We shall soon find you some useful hobby.”

Lady Linette stopped in front of a fancy-looking door decorated in gilt and navy leather and boasting a particularly large number of tassels. She knocked sharply.

“Come in, do!”

Lady Linette motioned for Sophronia to wait, then went inside alone, closing the door behind her.

After determining that she couldn’t overhear anything through the door, Sophronia nosed about the hallway. The lighting was fascinating. Gas pipes were inset into the wall, and little lamps hung all along the ceiling like so many tiny parasols. It must be expensive, not to mention dangerous, to run gas through walls. Essentially, every corridor they walked along was liable to explode.

Sophronia was near the end of the passage, up on tiptoe to examine one of the parasol-shaped lights, when another maid mechanical came trundling down the hallway. It carried a tray laden with tea and companion comestibles. However, upon sensing Sophronia, it paused and let out a little whistle of inquiry.

When Sophronia did not respond, it whistled again, imperiously.

Sophronia had no idea what to do. The mechanical was between her and the gilt door. No Lady Linette to come to the rescue.

The whistle turned into a very loud shriek, like that of a boatman, and Sophronia guessed that this was how restrictions were enforced.

Halfway down the hallway, a door banged open and a gentleman emerged. He was improbably mediocre in size, shape, and looks. His nondescript features were only emphasized by the addition of a fantastic crimson velvet top hat. The face under the hat, Sophronia saw, did not look at all pleased.