Etiquette & Espionage (11 page)

“Sophronia! Where did you get that?” Dimity bounced to her feet and came dashing up to exclaim over the mechanimal. She had changed clothing, presumably having borrowed a dress. She’d kept on her garish jewelry, however, and found a gown of sea green that strained to balloon over her many petticoats.

“I happened upon him during a recent excursion to a squeak deck. I thought I’d call him Bumbersnoot.”

“Goodness me, why?” Dimity patted the metal dog on the top of his head with two fingers, not convinced. Bumbersnoot puffed out some smoke, flapping his little leather ears. Dimity started back.

“Why not?” Sophronia looked over at the pretty girl with the mocking voice. “And, unfortunately, he is indeed all I have with me. We had a bit of an upset with the luggage on our way in.”

“Which I told you
all about
,” said Monique de Pelouse,
appearing in the room from one of the bedchambers. The room was set up like a proper drawing room, most unlike what Sophronia expected in a school.

Dimity looked like she’d swallowed something sour. Apparently Monique was still lying about the rescue.

“Oh, yes, indeed you did, Miss Pelouse,” said the pretty one with the mocking voice. “So exciting.”

“We aren’t allowed personal mechanicals.” Monique tilted her blonde head, eyes narrowing. Sophronia noticed her hair was now up and styled, and that without the wig and face paint she was quite beautiful, if a little aristocratically horsey.
Too many teeth.

Sophronia put down Bumbersnoot, who began trotting around the room curiously. She walked over to the blonde girl, sidling in close. Monique looked uncomfortable with the proximity. “How about a bargain, Monique? You refrain from telling anyone important about Bumbersnoot, and I won’t make a fuss about your rewriting history.”

Monique’s eyes narrowed, but she said, “Very well,” with ill humor.

That was rather easier than I thought it would beize it wou.
“Very gracious, Monique,” said Sophronia politely.

“This is all your fault, you know. My being here, demoted, living with the
debuts
!” Monique said the word like it was something smelly.

“Very logical. All I did was rescue you. Are you suggesting Dimity and I should have left you to rot with the flywaymen? I’m sure that could still be arranged.” Sophronia turned away.

The other girls had been distracted by Sophronia’s new pet.
Bumbersnoot was cavorting about, puffing steam and bumping into furniture and shoes in a most buffoonish manner. His tail wagged the whole time with tick-tock precision.

“May we keep him?” asked the clipped-voice girl hopefully. They all turned to look at Monique.

“If we must.” Monique, after a brief hesitation, no doubt unhappy that she must socialize with girls so far beneath her, took a seat.
But she’s pleased enough to be the one to make all final decisions by right of age.
Sophronia was pretty certain she should try to nip that tendency in the bud.

She turned to Dimity, mystified. “Who
are
these ladies?”

Dimity blushed. “Ah, yes. Oh, dear. Introductions. Let me see if I can remember. I only recently became acquainted myself. You already know Monique; she’s the oldest—which I guess gives her some status. But precedence, who has precedence?”

The young ladies looked about at one another, and then, as one, gestured to the tall girl in the far corner.

Speaking as though the words pained her, the pretty brunette said, “Sidheag, if you would believe it. She’s a proper lady. Laird or something like.”

Sidheag took a little more interest in the conversation once her name was mentioned. Not enough to move close—but her head came up. “Aye?”

“How do you do?” said Sophronia.

“Lady Bacon, this is Sophronia Angelica Tendency. Sophronia, this is Lady Bacon,” Dimity struggled to say.

The girls all laughed.

The one called Sidheag said, in a profoundly Scottish accent,
“I’m Sidheag
Maccon
, Lady Kingair, by rights. But you can call me Sidheag; everyone else does.”

“Sophronia
Angelina Temminnick
,” said Sophronia, gently correcting Dimity.

Everyone laughed again.

“Oh, sorry.” Dimity was mortified by her blunder.

“Perhaps if we skipped standards, this once, and introduced ourselves?” suggested Sophronia, trying to protect Dimity from further humiliation.

“Oh, I don’t know about that! It isn’t done,” said the pretty one, looking with relish at Dimity. “I’d like to see her try the rest of us.”

Lady Sidheag Maccon straightened up, revealing that she was a good deal taller than any girl of thirteen ought to be. She strode over to Sophronia. Her hair lay in a thick plait down her back. Her face was masculine in a way that no one would ever call attractive, but her eyes were a lovely tawny yellow color.

Sidheag turned those eyes, filled with flinty disregard, upon the pert brunette. “
That
is Preshea Buss. She thinks she’s smarter than everyone, when really she’s just meaner. As to ranking, forgive me, Preshea, but don’t your parents engage in
trade
?”

Preshea made a face like a fish with a digestive complaint. “Daddy dabbles with the East India Company, thank you very much. That’s
hardly
trade.”

Sidheag turned to the redhead. “Agatha Woosmoss, daughter of the noted railroad baron.” The chubby girl looked up quickly from her shoes, nodded, and then returned to her intense scrutiny of her own feet. Sophronia thought that, even
at thirteen, poor Agatha looked like she ought to be someone’s maiden aunt. All she lacked were spectacles and a lapful of ugly but philanthropic crochet.

“A lively and engaging bunch,” said Monique nastily.

Sidheag shrugged, like a boy, upsetting the fall of her gown. “We’ve only just started. Give us time.”

Preshea gestured primly with one thumb. “Sidheag here was practically raised by wolves. One need only look at the way she behaves.”

Sidheag laughed. “Practically? What does that matter? I still outrank you.”

“Lady Linette says style is everything; one’s shoes are as important as one’s thoughts, and possibly more powerful in the correct context,” said Preshea, sounding as though she were reciting from a broadsheet.

At this, Monique stood up pointedly. “Well, this has been most scintillating. If you would excuse me? I must unpack.” Her lip curling at the very idea that she must now live among the debuts, Monique left the room.

Preshea immediately gestured at Sophronia to join them and huddled forward. She lowered her voice. “We understand Monique failed to finish while retrieving you. Professor Lefoux demoted her. Did you witness it?”

“Did we ever!” Dimity had clearly been waiting patiently for ages to answer this very question. “We were the cause!”

The girls gasped in titillated horror. “No!”

“Oh, yes, yes! Well, it’s more Sophronia who’s the cause. She saved the day and brought down the flywaymen, while Monique fainted and cried in the street.”

Preshea’s dour face brightened. “As if Monique had no training at all. That’s certainly not how
she
told the story.”

“So I gathered, but if she did so well, why the demotion?” said Dimity.

Sophronia glanced warily at Monique’s closed door. She figured she hadn’t promised to keep Dimity quiet on the subject; only to hold her own tongue and not go whining to the teachers. And at least Dimity wasn’t blabbing about the prototype.

Sidheag slapped Sophronia on the back, hard enough to cause her to lurch forward and cough. “Good on you! If you had to make an enemy of anyone, Monique is certainly a high-end choice. Top-quality bite on that one. And many thanks—now we’re all stuck with her.”

“It wasn’t my idea! It was Professor Lefoux’s,” replied Sophronia. “What exactly does she teach, anyway?” It was a blatant effort to change the subject, but it worked.

Dimity, bless her, was ever eager to be of use. She was clearly full to bursting with useful information garnered while Sophronia had been otherwise occupied. “She’s
modern languages
, but Preshea says that’s not all.”

“Of course not.” Sophronia took a seat facing Preshea, looking as wide-eyed and innocent as possible. She imagined herself sitting at the feet of genius and tried to give the impression of profound admiration.

Sidheag looked Sophrwidlooked onia up and down. “You’re good. I can see why they wanted you.”

Preshea poured everyone tea from a nearby pot and then passed around biscuits. Dimity offered one to Bumbersnoot. He
sniffed at it with his mechanical nose, then opened his mouth wide, revealing two cavities: one leading to a storage compartment and the other to a tiny boiler. Dimity popped the biscuit into storage, where it would no doubt grow stale. Bumbersnoot continued his explorations.

Preshea finished serving and began explaining. “Old Lefoux has charge of modern weaponry and technological advancements. She’s an honorary member of the Order of the Brass Octopus. They don’t allow women, not officially, but they certainly use her designs.”

Bumbersnoot approached Agatha and opened his mouth impolitely. Agatha hesitated, reached into her reticule, and fed him a wooden clothespin. It went into the boiler, if the resulting smoke coming out of the mechanimal’s ears was any indication. Bumbersnoot’s tail wagged in approval.

“And Lady Linette is music and…?” Sophronia prompted.

Preshea obliged, puffing up with self-importance. “Intelligence gathering, of course; principles of deceit; fundamental espionage; and rudimentary seduction. I wager you can’t
wait
for seduction class, can you, Agatha?”

Agatha looked petrified at the very idea.

“Don’t worry,” said Sidheag. “Doesn’t happen until fifteen.”

Sophronia was not to be thwarted in her quest for information. “And Mademoiselle Geraldine—do we have any lessons with her?”

“If you’ve met her, you’ve already had one. Ostensibly she’s dance and dress, but really she’s diversion. You know she’s the only one who doesn’t know what this school is really teaching?”

Except for me, of course.
Although Sophronia did feel she
had it down to two options, neither of them finishing school–related.
Intelligencers or assassins.
She hadn’t been aware until now that either position was open to a female. Sophronia felt that, given her propensity for dumbwaiters and penchant for observation, she’d quite enjoy being an intelligencer, so long as she was spying on someone interesting. But she wasn’t certain about being an assassin. She’d once caused Frowbritcher to run over a mouse, and she still felt guilty about it.

“And Sister Herschel-Teape is household management?”

“Well, that’s
part
of it.” Preshea smiled for the first time, showing perfect small white teeth.

“It’s Preshea’s favorite class already,” said Agatha softly, speaking for the first time.

“Sister Mattie also covers medicinal cures and proper poisonings for every occasion.” Preshea looked positively animated.

Agatha explained further. “Preshea can’t wait until she gets to poison her first husband. She’s a great admirer of Mary Blandy’s work.”

“Oh, you flatter me.”

So we
are
being trained to be assassins? Or are they joking with me?
Sophronia looked back and forth between Preshea and Agatha. Agatha didn’t look like she knew how to joke.

“And Professor Braithwope. What does he teach?”

Preshea went quiet at the name, her face once again dour and sulky. Which was odd, because Sophronia had liked Professor Braithwope best of the bunchforof the .

“He’s history.” Agatha plucked at a ruffle on her skirt. Her voice shook slightly. “Some deportment and etiquette as well.”

“But in actuality?” Sophronia prodded.

“Well, vampire lore and defense. What else?” Preshea pretended impatience, but she was clearly a little scared.

Sophronia thought quickly. Professor Braithwope had said he was just getting up when she disturbed him, yet it was after dark. He’d sneezed at garlic mash. He’d got the cork stuck on his
fang
, not his tooth!
Of course. My first vampire
, she thought, disappointed in herself for not realizing it at once and in Professor Braithwope for not being more… well…
vampiric
.

Preshea stood. “Speaking of Professor Braithwope, we ought to get ready, ladies.”

The girls began to rummage about, gathering up lesson books and putting on bonnets. Monique reappeared, looking lovely and pulled together in a sweeping day dress of rose silk. With a good deal of bustle they filed out of the room, following Monique, who assumed the position of preeminence without challenge.

Sophronia summoned Bumbersnoot with an imperious gesture. The mechanimal bumped into her shoe and looked up. “Stay!” she said firmly, and then, “Sleep.” The mechanized dog sat back on its haunches and made a little whistling hum before relaxing down, all internal components stilled.
Gracious me, it worked!

Sophronia trotted after the group, ending up behind Sidheag and next to Dimity. “Where are we going?”

“Lessons, I suppose.” Dimity grinned at her.