Waistcoats & Weaponry (10 page)

Sophronia glared at him, waiting for some kind of sign.

“You’re awfully friendly with that young man,” said a horribly familiar voice from behind the velvet mask.

“Soap!” hissed Sophronia, backing them both away from the punch and into a corner behind a potted plant. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“Swilling punch with the aristocracy. Keeping an eye on you.”

“I can take care of myself!”

“Not from what I hear. Rumor around the floor is that you got yourself engaged!”

“Oh ho, trust you to be in on the gossip.”

“The ladies like me, what can I say? What do you have to say for yourself?” He was glaring at Felix, who held court across the crowded ballroom and raised his glass at them in a challenging, cocky way.

Soap inclined his head.

Sophronia could almost feel the sharpness of Felix’s glare.

Sophronia was convinced these two shouldn’t encounter
each other when Soap was pretending to be a gentleman. Dueling might result.

“Silly Soap, it’s not to Felix. Mumsy has decided to engage me to Pillover.”

“What?” That took the coal out of Soap’s boiler.

“Misunderstanding.”

“I should hope so. He’s a child.”

“Sadly, he doesn’t look like it anymore.”

Soap stopped staring angrily at Felix and turned to follow Pillover’s slouched form as he led an excited lady through a reel in a competent—if desultory—manner. The young woman clearly thought he was
the
most wonderful thing.

“Oh, dear,” said Soap.

“Who knew Pillover would turn into a lady-killer?”

“Who
indeed
?” Soap could do a fair imitation of an upper-crust accent when he put his mind to it.

If Sophronia hadn’t been so annoyed with him for putting himself in danger, she might have said something complimentary on this subject. “I think it’s the general air of bleakness and dyspepsia; women want to save him and administer good cheer.”

“Poor old Pillover.”

As if knowing he was the object of their discussion, Pillover spotted them lurking behind the palm and, with an air of desperation, began to bend his set in their direction. Felix extracted himself from a flock of eager young ladies and desperate mamas and circled in on their location as well.

Sophronia panicked. “Soap, you have to get out of here! You haven’t been invited. What if someone finds out who you are?
I’m sure there’s a law against it. You could be cashiered or whatever it is they do upon encountering unsanctioned mixing of the classes.”

“I thought my accent was rather good!”

“Soap, and I don’t mean to be rude, but you do
know
you are of African descent, don’t you? What if your mask slips?”

Soap shrugged. “I like your costume, miss. You look a treat, almost like you was one of us down below.”

“You’re impossible! Why, I… Wait a moment. You were Roger’s friend, on the box! How did I not know it was you?”

“I bundled completely up and I slouched so you wouldn’t recognize my posture. And I stayed quiet so you wouldn’t know my voice.”

“How did you persuade Roger to go along?”

Soap grinned. “You think I don’t have just as many tricks as you, for all your education?”

That was fair; he had taught Sophronia a whole mess of dirty fighting techniques.

“Who are you? You upstart poodle faker!” demanded Felix, interposing himself between Soap and Sophronia in an overbearing white knight way.

Sophronia was instantly annoyed. Felix should know she was perfectly capable of dealing with things!

“That is none of your concern,” replied Soap, sounding even more the toff, his speech patterns influenced by Felix’s upper-crust accent.

“Oh, now, if you are focusing in on
my
lady here, I should
make
it my concern.”

“Ho there!” said Sophronia, in a low hiss, attempting to get
both young men to lower their voices and not cause a scene. “I’m no one’s lady, thank you kindly. Despite what my mother thinks.”

The boys ignored her, squaring off rather like two hounds after the same smelly old carcass.

“Oh, really,” said Sophronia, annoyed at being ignored. “I’m not really important in this situation, am I? You two simply wish to bicker.”

This was probably unfair to Felix, who didn’t recognize Soap.
Where did Soap get such an outlandish outfit?
Felix would consider a sootie so far beneath him as to be unworthy as a rival, if he knew.

Soap, on the other hand, had taken an active dislike to the young viscount the moment Felix entered Sophronia’s life.

Things might have gotten quite out of hand, except that Pillover pulled up, panting. “Oh, Sophronia, thank goodness. Save me? Please? All those young girls, in pastels, talking about the weather. I shall go jump off a bridge, I swear I shall. Do you have bridges in Wiltshire? They chatter, they chatter worse than Dimity ever did. Oh, the chattering! The chattering, it haunts me.”

That broke the tension.

Felix looked at Pillover as if he were some yappy dog.

Soap chuckled.

“Well,” said Pillover truculently, “if we’re secretly engaged, she’s obliged to save me.”

Sophronia did not want to leave Soap and Felix together. “Oh, Pill, I really would like to help, but we seem to be in the middle of some kind of whose-top-hat-is-the-biggest contest.”

Pillover looked between the two young men in question. “Well, I don’t know who you are, sir,” he addressed Soap, “although I respect the courage of a man who wears satin breeches
that
tight, but in the end you’ll have to cede to Lord Mersey. He’s too much of a peer, you understand? And a bit of a prick as well.”

“Pillover!” gasped Sophronia.

“Well, he is. Girls never see it, but it’s true. All I’m saying is, he’s going to win no matter what you do, stranger. So you might as well give up.”

Felix looked as if he had been given some kind of caped weasel—part gift, part insult, part utter confusion. “Thank you, I think.”

Pillover glared at him. “Pistons! Trouble, the lot of you. Now that’s settled, you’ll save me, Sophronia?”

“Pill, I don’t think you’ve solved the problem.”

“People tell me that all the time.” He turned about. “Oh, belter, here they come!” A gaggle of pastel puffs mixed with wings and very pretty flowered masks headed purposefully in his direction. Though, to be fair, they might also be after Lord Mersey.

Sophronia followed Pillover’s gaze, only to have her attention caught by a hubbub at the door to the ballroom. Within a very brief space of time, it escalated into a loudly voiced argument of the type that ought never be conducted in public, not even between tradesmen. It had everyone’s attention. Even Felix and Soap left off their animosity to focus on the astounding breach in social etiquette.

Frowbritcher and a human footman were barring the door against some highly excitable interlopers.

“How thrilling, I do believe someone is trying to infiltrate our party,” Sophronia said. “I had no idea an invitation was so desirable. Mumsy will be pleased. We have
arrived
in society at last.” She realized that might sound like bragging. “Or there is nothing on at the theater this evening.”

Then she caught sight of one intruder. The lady wore no mask and displayed no extravagance of fancy dress. She wasn’t trying to attend the ball; she was trying to get inside for some other reason. She turned to face the crowd.

“Good gracious me, Lady Kingair!” said Felix.

“Sidheag!” said Sophronia at the same time.

Standing to either side of Sidheag, visible only when the ebb of the throng allowed for it, were two huge wolves. One of them had a top hat tied to his head. The other was bigger and shaggier. And hatless.

“Captain Niall?” squeaked Sophronia.

“And a strange werewolf,” added Soap.

Felix looked alarmed. “Werewolves? Unknown,
uninvited
werewolves? Here? How revolting.”

“You do know the by-invitation-only thing is just vampires, don’t you?” said Pillover, under his breath.

Sophronia wasn’t certain if her mother would take the presence of an underdressed Scottish aristocrat and two beast-form werewolves as an honor or a horror. So she stepped forward. She had better make certain it was thought an honor or they’d all be in trouble. “If you’ll pardon me, gentlemen, I believe I have a situation to rectify.”

None of them objected.

S
ophronia pushed her way through the crowd. Her mother was at the top of the stairs, agitating like a malfunctioning mechanical. Her father seemed to be already at the cards. Sophronia was glad to note his absence. One less parent to bamboozle.

“Who are you and why have you brought those
animals
to my party?” Mrs. Temminnick demanded. She must be near hysterics, for she knew better than to address a werewolf with anything but the strictest courtesy. Poor Mumsy did not like chaos, which made it all the odder that she had eight children.

Sophronia stepped up. “Mumsy, I believe I may be of assistance.”

“Sophronia, this wouldn’t be your fault, would it? Did you invite these… these… hirsute interlopers? Is that academy a complete failure? I thought you were doing so well.”

“Now, Mumsy, I brought the son of a duke to Ephraim’s party, didn’t I?”

“That
is
something.”

“Well, this is Lady Kingair, daughter of an earl, a very important person indeed.” Technically it was slightly more complicated than that, but daughter of an earl was good enough for Mumsy.

Mrs. Temminnick looked at Sidheag doubtfully. Not for the first time, Sophronia wished her dear friend
sometimes
dressed the part of a peer. Today Lady Kingair was wearing a gown so drab that even a governess wouldn’t have bothered.

“But, but, dear, that dress is tweed.… Oh, has she come costumed as a parlormaid?” Mrs. Temminnick was disposed to be optimistic on behalf of an earl’s daughter.

“Now, Mumsy”—Sophronia was quick on the flip—“don’t you see? It’s a symbolic allegory of the famous myth of Romulus and Remus. Since a werewolf is almost never female, Lady Kingair has dressed as a nanny to foil the wolf shape and properly represent the she-wolf who fed the great hero-founders of Rome.”

Mrs. Temminnick balked.

Sophronia looked at her, eyes wide. “Oh, dear, isn’t it obvious? I thought it was obvious. I’m sure Sidheag did, too. Didn’t you, dear?”

Sidheag balked almost as much as Sophronia’s mother.

“Goodness, well, at least they are giving you
some
kind of education at that finishing school.” Mrs. Temminnick liked that she hadn’t understood a word her daughter had said.

“I could say it in Latin, if that would help?”

“No, dear, no, not Latin as well as tweed. Not in one night.”

“Oh, Sophronia!” Sidheag did not want to play along. Fortunately, she also seemed incapable of cogent speech. Solid, unflappable Sidheag was so relieved to see Sophronia, it seemed she might cry. Or cast herself into Sophronia’s arms. Impossible options in public, the both of them.

Sophronia had thought Sidheag would be recovered by now, yet she seemed to have gotten worse.

Since she was unable to console her friend with intimacy, Sophronia’s training kicked in. “Mumsy, Lady Kingair appears to have misplaced her mask on the journey. Was it terribly distressing, Sidheag dear? Why don’t I take her to the family parlor for a restorative cup of tea? I might be able to settle matters, find another mask. This would get us all away from the ball. Ephraim would like that.”

Brought back to the purpose of the masquerade, Mrs. Temminnick could think of no better solution.

Dimity appeared at Sidheag’s elbow.

No one mentioned the werewolves, although Sophronia and Dimity both nodded at them. Politeness deemed they only be acknowledged, not addressed directly. When in wolf shape, they couldn’t exactly engage in polite conversation. It was thought best not to remind them of this fact by attempting an introduction.

Mrs. Temminnick threw her hands up to heaven. “Fine, fine, but the young gentlemen
all
stay here dancing!”

“Of course, Mumsy. They can make up the numbers.” Sophronia sent a silent prayer to Pillover to keep Soap and Felix from murdering each other.

“This way, Sidheag dear.” Sophronia grabbed her friend’s hand. It was icy cold. Sidheag must have ridden through the rain for hours. Sophronia guided Sidheag hurriedly away from the ball.

Captain Niall and his unknown companion followed. It was a mark of how little, if ever, Mrs. Temminnick fraternized with werewolves that she had decided to categorize both as friendly dogs, rather than naked men. Otherwise, she would never have permitted them to accompany her daughter.

The family parlor was a cozy enclave of puffy furniture and unbreakable objects much used by the Temminnick children over the years. They settled Sidheag on the couch nearest the fire. Dimity sat next to her, patting her on the arm, trilling consoling banalities.

Sophronia sent one of the clangermaids off to retrieve tea. She then suggested to Captain Niall and the strange werewolf that they find some of Gresham’s old clothing in the nursery and requested they go change shape there. She worried about the second werewolf, who was a good deal larger than the captain. It meant he would be a good deal larger as a man as well, and Gresham was not particularly large.

With werewolves gone and fire stoked, Sidheag stopped shaking. The tea, once it arrived, had its customary effect—engendering comfort and loosening the tongue.
That’s tea for you
, thought Sophronia,
the great social lubricant
. Soon they had the whole story out of her. No wonder tea was considered a vital weapon of espionage.

“I begged Gramps to go home.” Sidheag’s Scottish accent was thick in her distress, or perhaps from arguing copiously with her great-great-great-grandfather recently.

Dimity hadn’t the strength in the face of such distress, so Sophronia said what they all knew had to be true.

“It’s treason, Sid. You know he can’t. They betrayed him as well as the queen.”

“But the pack should stay whole. He killed… he did what had to be done, let that be an end to it. Why can’t he forgive the others?” Sidheag adored her pack; she only wanted it to stay together.

“You know he won’t,” said Sophronia softly.

Frustrated out of her sadness, Sidheag snarled, “Of course I bloody know it! Worse now, he can’t. He did as he said he would! He up and challenged for the Woolsey Pack and won. He’s garnered himself a new family! A replacement pack.”

Sophronia’s mind whirled. “Lord Vulkasin is dead?”

Sidheag nodded, her anger abated and the tears returned.

Sophronia was strangely relieved. She’d only seen the werewolf Alpha of the Woolsey Pack a few times, and had never been introduced, but he seemed cruel and unhinged. Knowing the world was without him was oddly cheering. But it didn’t solve Sidheag’s problem.

“And now he’s lost to me. I had to choose.”

Sophronia’s eyes widened as she grasped Sidheag’s meaning. “Are you saying you had to choose between the Kingair Pack and your grandfather?”

Dimity’s face was white with distress. “Whyever would you have to do that?”

Sophronia felt faintly ill. Poor Sidheag.

“I canna maintain a relationship with both—Gramps killed his Beta. Killed him! Yet the pack betrayed Gramps. I just…”
Sidheag paused, struggling to explain why she was rejecting the only father she had ever known. “It’s up to me to fix it, don’t you see?” Normally so taciturn, she became loquacious in her despair. “No matter what they tried to do, I love them. Someone has to look after them. Hold them together.”

“Oh, dear Sidheag.” Dimity fairly crumpled in sympathy.

Bumbersnoot, having been set on the floor by Sophronia, bumped up against Sidheag’s ankle, his tail tick-tocking slowly.

“So if it’s not Lord Maccon with you, who is the other werewolf?” Sophronia asked.

“Don’t you recognize him?” Sidheag seemed to think his identity obvious.

“No. All the werewolves I’ve ever seen were in human form, except for Captain Niall.”

Sidheag looked inquiringly at Dimity, who also shook her head.

“That’s the dewan.”

“The dewan!” Sophronia and Dimity said it together, shocked. Only the werewolf in charge of
all
other werewolves. Only the queen’s
personal
adviser. Only the werewolf representative on the Shadow Council. Only the man who saw to werewolf assignments in the army itself!

If Mumsy knew who she just called an animal she’d be mortified.

The door opened and in came Captain Niall, decidedly too tall for Gresham’s clothes. The trousers were short as a cockle-hunter’s and the shirt was basically cuffless. Still, the important parts were covered. The captain, who was a bit of a fancy lad, for a werewolf, was uncomfortable in his shrunken getup, but presentable enough to be among humans. He came to crouch
next to Sidheag, his handsome face deeply concerned, his trousers straining alarmingly. He put his back to the fire and placed a hand on the arm of the couch near Sidheag’s repulsive tweed skirts. His fingers twitched slightly, as if he would like to stroke her hand in sympathy. Sidheag, for her part, leaned into his presence, taking reassurance there. Neither had the courage to actually touch.

They exchanged a single brief yet deep look of…
sympathy? Something more?

Sophronia couldn’t pinpoint what, but something significant had occurred between them on their recent journey. A connection had shifted, as if they saw each other as equals now.

Then Captain Niall said, as there was no point in hiding the fact that both werewolves had overheard the conversation, “If I may present the gentleman in question?”

Sidheag said, airily, “Oh, of course, no secrets here.”

“There are always secrets,” corrected Sophronia softly.

The dewan entered the Temminnicks’ shabby family parlor.
Oh, how chagrined Mumsy will be
. Then again, perhaps not. As silly as Captain Niall’s appearance was, the dewan looked sillier.

He was a large man who had been metamorphosed somewhat late in life. He had dark hair tinged with gray, and a wide face with deep-set eyes. His mouth was a little too full, reminding Sophronia of Felix. He had a cleft in his chin, and his mustache and muttonchops were quite bushy. For a werewolf who was at least a hundred years old, the facial hair was stylishly modern. Unfortunately, Gresham’s clothing was stretched to indecency. It was doing little to disguise the necessary,
and looked as if it might stop doing that at any moment. All the protruding parts, of which there were a great deal, were covered in such a quantity of hair as to make the young ladies present wonder if the dewan were not partly wolf
all
the time.

Sidheag did not show the leader of all English werewolves any deference. She didn’t even bother to stand, merely saying, “Lord Slaughter, may I present my dearest friends, Miss Temminnick and Miss Plumleigh-Teignmott?”

The dewan, with great dignity for a man so experimentally dressed, answered with, “Young ladies, how do you do?”

Dimity and Sophronia curtsied, careful not to show any neck, as custom demanded. “My lord,” they said in unison.

Sidheag said, lip curled, not looking at the great man, “He says there is nothing even he can do to change this outcome and I must stay out of it.”

The dewan sighed the sigh of an older gentleman dealing with a hysterical young girl. “Lord Maccon has made his bed and must lie in it. That bed is Woolsey. Frankly, with Vulkasin the way he was, it is not so terrible an outcome. Politically, Lord Maccon will be good to have closer to town. I’ll give him plenty to do, keep him out of trouble.”

Sidheag wailed, “But he has left Scotland forever! I must be allowed to attend my pack!”

“Admirable sentiments, as I have said before, young lady. But they aren’t your pack, you are not a werewolf, and this is not your concern. Allow Captain Niall and me to manage Kingair, and me to deal with their punishment for attempted treason. Exile, I think, for a decade or two. Now that we have delivered
you back to the safe bosom of your friends, we must be on our way. Captain, shall we?”

Captain Niall stood, unhappy, and cleared his throat. He said to the assembled young ladies, “I do not blame Lord Maccon for his choices. For an Alpha werewolf to be betrayed by his Beta—there is no worse pain. It cuts through the heart and mind, but also what is left of the soul. It tears at the bonds of pack, the instinct that holds us as one unshakable group. Lord Maccon could never unify Kingair again after this, nor would he want to. But he is still strong enough to hold a pack. Woolsey will do well for him. Please, take care of your friend, and keep this in mind? Try to get her to understand?”

Sidheag looked betrayed and unreasonably angered by his statement. She jumped to her feet, hands fisted at her sides. “I dinna give two tail shakes about Gramps! He has abandoned the others. What are they to do? What are
we
to do? How will my pack survive without an Alpha? Who will look after my uncles? Who will plead for a lesser punishment?”

Captain Niall shook his head sadly. “Please, give us time, Lady Kingair. This is not your concern.”

Sidheag said, softly, looking to Sophronia for understanding, “I asked Gramps to bite me.”

Sophronia gasped.

Dimity let out a squeak of alarm.

Bumbersnoot trundled in a shocked circle, as if he actually understood what was happening.