Waistcoats & Weaponry (11 page)

“Oh, Sidheag. You didn’t.” Sophronia tried to be gentle. Sidheag was suffering so much, but such a request was plain
stupid
.

Sidheag growled, sounding rather werewolf-like. “He refused
that, too! Too young, he said. Last of the Maccon line, he said. Not ready, he said.”

“Female!” cried Dimity in frustration.

Sidheag shook her head as if tossing aside the very fact of how unbelievably risky such a request was. Maybe one in a thousand men survived the bite and managed metamorphosis into a supernatural. And for women… well, Sophronia knew of only three female werewolves in all history.

Sidheag looked to Captain Niall. “So, what
are
we going to do?”

The werewolf said, not unkindly, “
We
are going to do nothing. You three are going to return to school, like good girls. I’ve written a note explaining Lady Kingair’s extended absence.”

The dewan had grown increasingly impatient. “Niall, we really do not have the time to humor children further, not even Lady Kingair. As it is, we will lose a night’s travel tomorrow. It’s full moon, after all. We shouldn’t have come here. We should have tried for Kingair before the moon.”

“We’d never have made it,” said the captain. Then, like a good loner, he acquiesced meekly to the dewan’s insistence, saying politely to the ladies, “I will take my leave of you now. Best wishes for safe travels back.”

Sidheag looked for a long moment at the werewolf captain. It was almost one of those longing looks Lady Linette made them practice. Only this one, Sophronia thought, had a modicum of sincerity to it that she herself had yet to master. She felt guilty watching Sidheag expose her emotions in such a way—intrusive.

So Sophronia turned to make her farewell to the dewan.
“You will not stay to meet my mother? She’ll be sorry to have missed you, as Lord Slaughter, of course. I do not believe my parents play in the same political arena as the dewan.”

He looked at her, concentrated on her as a person for the first time, and not an inconvenient schoolgirl. “And you will not tell them of your lessons at finishing school? Or of this conversation?”

“Absolutely not.”

The great man nodded. “Lady Linette does good work.”

Dimity said nervously, “It was kind of you to escort Sidheag here.”

“I should not have done so but for Captain Niall’s insistence. And he is necessary. Speaking of which, Captain? Now, please.” It was not a request.

With the barest of courtesy, the two werewolves strode from the room.

When Sophronia and Dimity turned back, Sidheag was trying to pull herself together, eyes glassy.

“I can’t believe you rode through the night from London on wolf-back!” said Sophronia, gently applying admiration.

“I can’t believe you requested the bite,” said Dimity, more accusatory.

“I can’t believe my own Gramps turned me down,” huffed Sidheag, a little color returning to her cheeks.

“Thank goodness for small mercies,” said Sophronia.

“You called, Ria my love?” said Lord Mersey, letting himself into the room.

“Oh,
mercies
, Lord Mersey. Yes, I see. Ha ha,” Sophronia was quick to respond.

“Don’t call her that,” said Soap, still entirely masked, following the other young man inside.

“I tried to stop them, but goodness, it’s nice to get away from all those ruffles,” said Pillover, trailing in last of all. He bent to pat Bumbersnoot, who clattered in greeting.

Sophronia said, “This is wonderful.” She walked to the door, stuck her head out, and said, “Would any other eligible young men like to join our party? I don’t know, to attract
more
of my mother’s unwanted attention?”

Dimity said, on a slight smile, although still tending to Sidheag’s finer feeling, “Be sensible, Sophronia, we don’t
know
any other eligible young men.”

The boys must have missed the two werewolves, for they made no mention of having seen the dewan. Lord Mersey, at least, would have recognized him and made some derogatory remark.

Pillover and Soap settled easily into the group. Pillover being Dimity’s brother, and Soap Sophronia’s friend, they assumed levels of intimacy that would have given Mrs. Temminnick hysterics. For one thing, they sat far too close to the young ladies.

Felix stayed to the outside, held back by society’s protocols. He pretended keen interest in Bumbersnoot.

“What’s the dilemma, ladies?” he asked, perceptive enough.

This was too much of a crisis to stand on social airs. “Come sit, Felix,” Sophronia said, intentionally dropping his title. “This is an emergency, no time for folderol. Soap, take off that ridiculous mask.”

Felix started when Soap removed the mask. “You! The chimney sweep.”

Soap swept him a seated bow. “The same.”

Felix spluttered.

Sophronia interrupted before things could get out of hand. “Both of you, behave. Now, Sidheag, what do you need from us? More tea?”

Dimity began pouring for everyone. When it became clear the pot was likely to run dry, she went to the door, corralled a clangermaid, revived the pot, and returned, having wedged the door shut with an armchair as added precaution.

“We have about a quarter of an hour before Mumsy realizes the boys are missing,” said Sophronia, consulting a pocket watch.

Felix was glaring at Soap. Now that he knew who Soap really was, Felix was upset at being challenged during a dance by a sootie.

Soap was focused on Sidheag. He considered her a friend—they had sparred on occasion. He liked her masculine ways and acerbic attitude. He respected her as a decent gambler. No icing on Miss Maccon, he was prone to saying. “Miss Maccon, I’ve never seen you upset afore. What’s happened?”

Pillover sat cross-legged on the floor, Bumbersnoot in his lap, attitude mostly sympathetic. Although he did seem morosely pleased to be in the company of someone as unhappy as he.

Dimity relayed Sidheag’s tale of woe, avoiding mention of the dewan. It was intelligencer instinct that caused her to withhold that bit of information, but Sophronia agreed with her decision. Felix didn’t need to know everything; his father was a Pickleman, after all. The Picklemen were probably elated by the werewolf crisis.

During the telling, Lord Mersey, unaccustomed to all attention being on someone other than him, came timidly over and drew up a small hassock to sit on, joining the circle by the fire. He wisely held his tongue, but Sophronia could practically read his mind:
Who cares what happens to a pack of werewolves? Good riddance to bad rubbish
. But he knew himself to be in the minority. He was also, Sophronia hoped, a genuinely decent enough person to sympathize with Sidheag over the loss of a loved one—whether or not he approved of that loved one’s condition. Maybe seeing her distress would make him think that not all supernaturals were bad. Then again, Kingair had just tried to kill the queen. What a pickle this was.

Sophronia wasn’t sure what to think. She wished, inexplicably, that she could get Lord Akeldama’s perspective. Vampires and werewolves were mainly uninterested in one another’s private affairs, except where they crossed into alliance with the Queen of England. They were protective of their unusual acceptance in British Government and guarded it jealously as the only supernaturals in the known world with legal status. Which explained the dewan’s involvement. He had to fix this. The stability of the nation depended on it.
There you go
, thought Sophronia,
perhaps I don’t need to talk to Lord Akeldama to understand after all.

They sat drinking tea and suggesting possible plans of action, consoling Sidheag with words and imagined deeds.

Sidheag remained mainly monosyllabic but after her third cup took a deep, shaky breath. “Thank you all for being so kind. But I know what I have to do. It’s only… Sophronia, I’ll need your help.”

“Of course.” Sophronia looked up, eager to be of assistance. She hated the feeling of helplessness her friend’s misery engendered.

“I have to go home to Kingair. Now. Right away.” Sidheag’s expression pleaded with her not to argue.

Sophronia nodded. Her mind was already on it.

“You want to follow Captain Niall?” Dimity had seen that intimate look exchanged between their tall, angular friend and the handsome werewolf.

“My pack needs me. Kingair needs me.”

The train is probably fastest
, Sophronia was thinking. “You can help them?” was what she said.
The right train and we might even beat them there, as the werewolves have to lock down tomorrow night
. She did some quick calculations in her head.

“I am the Lady of Kingair, after all. There is power in the title.” Sidheag sounded confident.

“What good could you possibly do?” Felix asked. The others would have simply supported Sidheag, however illogical or emotional her choice. She was their friend and they would do what was needed.

Sidheag spoke, peer to peer. “You don’t understand. Pack is more than a group; it is a container. Like a jug of water that can hold a great deal if it is intact. Without an Alpha, the jug fractures and the water drains away.”

“You think
you
can patch the leak?” Felix’s lip curled slightly in genuine disbelief.

Sidheag snorted. “Bad analogy. But, yes, in a way I do. I think I am more than a little Alpha by nature. My uncles, they trust me.”

“To become a kind of Alpha yourself? Or help one of your uncles take the position?” Sophronia was confused as to what Sidheag thought she could do.

“Either, both, I don’t know, something. Just offering emotional support I’m sure would help.”

Sophronia thought this was foolhardy. But she had no better plan. She didn’t know werewolf dynamics well enough to predict their reaction to Sidheag’s interloping. But if this was what would make Sidheag feel better, to commit a mad dash across England to Scotland, then Sophronia would arrange a mad dash or die trying.

Sophronia had made her decision before she’d even finished that thought. “We’ll need to get to a train station. Mumsy will have all the horses tied down, but I have an idea that I think will work.”

Sidheag looked relieved. She herself was a decent leader, but under current conditions she trusted Sophronia to get the details sorted. “Good, I like trains.”

Sophronia continued to scheme. “I think it’d work best if we went as young men, fewer questions.”

“We?”

“I’m coming with you, of course.”

Dimity said, instantly, “Then I’m coming, too!”

Felix Mersey added, “I as well. Sounds like a lark. Besides, can’t have you ladies running around the countryside without some kind of supervision. Especially not if werewolves are involved.”

“If he’s going, I’m going.” Soap’s tone of voice brooked no argument.

Sophronia did weight sums in her head.

Everyone else turned to look at Pillover, the only one still silent.

“No, thank you,” said Pillover primly. “I loathe adventures. I’m sure Bumbersnoot will join you, though.”

Bumbersnoot blew smoke out his ears in agreement.

Sophronia said, “That’s good, because I don’t think it can take six.”

“You don’t think
what
can take six?” Sidheag seemed to be perking up now that the others had agreed so readily to her need to head north.

“The airdinghy, of course.”

Dimity knew exactly what Sophronia was talking about. “The one we stole and stashed? It still works?”

“Don’t see why not. Mumsy hasn’t lit her floating lanterns yet; we could steal the helium meant for those.”

She was interrupted by a rattling at the door.

“Sophronia! Let me in this instant,” said an autocratic female voice.

“Oh, dear,” said Sophronia. There was nowhere for the boys to hide; they were about to get in serious trouble.

The knob rattled again. Then the door crashed open with a splintering sound, overturning the chair Dimity had wedged against.

In strode Mrs. Barnaclegoose.

Mrs. Barnaclegoose was a dear friend of Mrs. Temminnick’s. A country lady much feared by gentlemen of all ages because she was decided in her ways, firm in her opinions, and interested
in impressing both upon everyone around her. She was an inveterate gossip who favored stylish gowns designed with far less substantial figures in mind. Tonight’s ensemble was a blue-and-white-plaid dress with a wide collar from which dangled an impressive quantity of fringe. The fringe shook much in the way a finger of reprimand might.

Everyone was terrified by the intrusion. Mrs. Barnaclegoose had an aura of imminent discipline. She was the type of female who would report to Sophronia’s mother on the situation in the family parlor in such vibrant terms as to make it seem a veritable orgy.

“Oh, there you are,” she said calmly to Sophronia, completely ignoring the others.

“Good evening, Mrs. Barnaclegoose. I did not see you arrive at the ball, or I would have tendered my regards immediately.”

“Very prettily said, dear. As you can tell, I’m not dressed for a masquerade. I hadn’t intended to come. I’m only here to deliver something. Oh, there’s the nice little doggie! Good evening, Bumbersnoot, how do you do?”

Bumbersnoot submitted good-naturedly to having his leather ears scratched. Mrs. Barnaclegoose loomed over him, breasts heaving, stays creaking alarmingly.

“Such a good little man,” said Mrs. Barnaclegoose to Bumbersnoot. She straightened and handed Sophronia a long, thin package. “Just this once, mind you. A similar request from anyone of less standing and I should have considered it an insult. Imagine asking
me
to deliver a gift as if I were a messenger boy.”

She turned to leave the room, trailing a strong scent of lavender in her wake. At the door she paused to say, “Now, dear,
you will be careful with that one? He’s too old for his own good.”

It must be from Lord Akeldama
. Sophronia seized the opportunity. “You would recommend against his offer of patronage?”

“Gone as far as that, has it?”

“Not formally. I’m still in school, after all, but I think he might ask.”

Mrs. Barnaclegoose hinted darkly, “I expect other contenders.”