Waistcoats & Weaponry (12 page)

“Oh?” Sophronia looked at her hard. Mrs. Barnaclegoose had guided her into espionage. And despite her once having covered Mrs. Barnaclegoose with trifle, Sophronia liked her. “Would you care to elaborate?”

Mrs. Barnaclegoose glanced about at the assembled party as if only just noticing them all. “Interesting collection, Miss Temminnick. Is that Golborne’s get? I was engaged to him once, you know? Before we found out about his political leanings. The duke, I mean, not the get. Now, dears, I’d scatter if I were you. Mrs. Temminnick is soon to send one of her other spawn to check up on Lady Kingair’s condition, and they aren’t as”—she paused, knowingly—“discreet as I.”

Sophronia could imagine the delight in Petunia’s eyes. “Thank you very much, Mrs. Barnaclegoose.” She curtsied deeply.

Mrs. Barnaclegoose left, closing the door behind her.

The room erupted into confused questions. Dimity’s higher tones resolved into the only one Sophronia felt like addressing.

“Who was she?”

“Oh, Mrs. Barnaclegoose? She’s the one who recruited me.”

“I forgot you were a covert. I never would have guessed
that
woman a product of Mademoiselle Geraldine’s.”

“I believe that’s the idea,” said Sidheag, sounding almost like her old self.

“Who is her patron, do you think?” Dimity seemed particularly curious; perhaps she saw Mrs. Barnaclegoose as a model for her own future lifestyle.

Sophronia answered because she wanted Felix to know she had options. She wanted Felix to know
he
had options. “Queen Victoria, I suspect. She acted as if this delivery was a favor to a friend, and the same when she recruited me to the school. I’ve never asked her outright, but I think her patron must be someone very important. The queen matches her personality.

“Speaking of which, I find it’s generally best to follow her advice. Ladies, we should go down directly. Gentlemen, in about fifteen minutes Lady Kingair will have a fainting fit that will result in our needing to retire from the ball early.” Sidheag nodded her willingness to participate. “Dimity, are you ready with the assist?”

“Of course.”

Sophronia looked to Soap. “If the gentlemen would meet us in the gazebo in a quarter of an hour? Pillover will show you where. Soap, can I trust you to requisition sufficient supplies from the kitchen?”

Soap nodded.

“Lord Mersey, you’re on clothing. The nursery is four doors down on the left. There are masses of Gresham’s old things stashed there. Mumsy is keeping them for when the twins are
big enough. Bring enough for all of us, lots of sizes and such. I trust you have a good eye for the figures of ladies?”

Felix’s kohl-rimmed eyes were mellow behind the slim jester mask. “I’ve seen you in trousers before, both of you. Although not Miss Dimity, of course.”

Dimity blushed. “Must I?”

Sophronia said firmly, “I think it best. Then we’re only a bunch of lads—ladding it about. Young ladies on the loose get noticed.”

Dimity winced in anticipated humiliation.

Sophronia gave her team a quick look-over. They all seemed prepared for action. Sidheag had bucked up, less worried about life now that Sophronia had a scheme in play. Pillover looked like Pillover, the weight of the world oppressing him. Nothing to be done about that. She worried about Soap. Would he be sacked for being away from engineering for so long? Would he refrain from popping Felix in the snoot?

Sophronia reached down and scooped up her mechanimal. She fed Bumbersnoot the gift from Lord Akeldama. It was almost too long to fit into Bumbersnoot’s storage compartment, but he managed it. She marched from the room, clutching Bumbersnoot under one arm. Dimity and Sidheag trailed after.

They reentered the ballroom.

Just in time, as it turned out. The grandfather clock in the hallway behind them was striking midnight. Speeches were soon to commence, then more nibbles, then more dancing. Ephraim was leading his cupcake lady up to the dais in front of the quartet, for some concentrated adoration and praise. The mechanicals circled in a pattern, herding people to stand on
the dance floor, passing out glasses of bubbly. Sophronia, Sidheag, and Dimity hustled to the front, in prominent position to be seen by Sophronia’s mother and cause a maximum amount of distraction with sudden illnesses. They each took a glass of champagne, knowing that flying crystal and spilled drinks could be almost as bad as the faint itself.

The clock finished its final gong. The musicians stopped playing and everyone stilled, turning expectantly to face the dais crowded with proud parents and the happy couple.

All was in readiness.

Sophronia prepared to give Sidheag the signal.

Then every mechanical in the house went completely and utterly unhinged.

T
here was no other way to put it—they went bonkers. One moment, mechanicals were passing out the champagne. The next, they were engaged in a high-speed romp along their tracks. Those that had the bearings to do so twirled in place. Those that were less dexterous twirled only their heads, like owls. It was a synchronized ballet of sophisticated engineering. A feast of mad pirouetting, as much as conical metal contraptions attached to tracks could be said to pirouette. Such a ramp-up in action, so different from their ordinary sedate trundling, caused internal engines to crank. The lower part of the ballroom became steamy. Sophronia closed her mouth on a hysterical giggle. No one had any feet. The masqueraders looked to be bobbing gently in a white sea.

The mechanicals stopped as suddenly as they had started, going perfectly still as if hit by a blast from Vieve’s obstructor. Everyone relaxed, thinking it some strange glitch, now ended.
But before the guests could completely recover, the mechanicals began to sing, all together, in perfect unison. Sophronia hadn’t even known one could instill such complex group protocols into mechanicals.

The mechanicals sang as loudly as their voice boxes allowed. The tune was startlingly patriotic. Although, afterward, no one would claim that “Rule, Britannia!” sung in such high, tinny tones was particularly stirring. The fancy new models, on loan, threw themselves into their dramatic roles. Even Frowbritcher, at the top of the stairs, the most sophisticated mechanical in the Temminnick household, was participating. Such nonsense ought, by rights, to be far beneath his dignity!

Bumbersnoot, dangling from his lacy cord over Sophronia’s shoulder, looked as if he’d like to join. But he had no voice box and no track. So he beat out time to the tune with his tail, slapping the side of Sophronia’s hip rhythmically. The mechanicals sang the full length of the song, drawing out the chorus at the end on a long “slaves!” Longer than any human could hold the note.

Then they stopped.

Instead of going back about their duties, they stayed stopped. All their little steam engines cycled down, as if they were dying in their tracks. Silence descended. Only the tick-tock of Bumbersnoot’s tail continued. He seemed the only one immune to a massive turn-off.

There was a moment’s stunned silence, and then pandemonium reigned. Only this time, it was humans. No one there had ever seen anything like it. Mrs. Temminnick’s amazing hostess abilities were praised by all. Imagine the exorbitant expense in mechanics’ commissions alone! But Mrs. Temminnick was no Sophronia; she
could not hide her surprise and claim credit where none was due. Thus the shock and awe, initially translated into delight, quickly changed to fear that such a spectacle was
uncontrolled
.

This, soon, was the least of their problems, as it became patently clear that every mechanical in the house was dead without possibility of revival.

There was no one to serve the food. No one to respond to the bell rope. No one to open the doors. No one to clip the wicks and replace the candles. No one to turn down the gas. No one to carry the wood and lay the fires against nighttime chill. Worst of all, there was no one to refill the champagne glasses. The party was ruined. The evening was considered a loss. The whole week was looking pretty bad. How on earth would they function? What were they to do? No one could imagine life without servants. Of course, there were a few human staff; everyone kept
some
. But they were intended for complicated tasks. It was beneath one’s human staff to do the work of a mechanical, not to mention the fact that there was simply too much of that work!

The gentry at the ball spiraled into panic. What if it was not just the Temminnicks’ mechanicals malfunctioning? What if their own servants were broken? Who would make the tea in the morning? Several of the ladies began to have hysterics. Even a few gentlemen succumbed to overwrought nerves.

Sophronia, Dimity, and Sidheag participated briefly in the confusion. After all, they also had never seen anything like it. But it only took them a moment to realize they should take advantage of the situation. Such a crisis as this, mass mechanical revolt of an incomprehensibly passive variety, would occupy the adults long enough for them to make good their escape.

Thus, without any fainting necessary, they left the ball and made for the gazebo.

The boys were already there. Soap had found a number of large wicker picnic baskets and stuffed them with food filched from the kitchen. Felix provided a pillow sack containing a collection of menswear. Pillover was standing off to the side with these items, watching as the other two attempted to extract the airdinghy from its intimate relationship with the gazebo.

While Dimity went to point out how it had been incorporated, Sophronia dashed off with Sidheag to find Roger. He might know where Mumsy was keeping the helium.

Roger proved amenable to repurposing the transportation nodules, so long as Sophronia took the blame. He hooked up a donkey to the helium cart so quickly, it was almost as if he had been expecting never to use it for the party display.

Sophronia gave him a sardonic look.

“This much helium, miss, for a lantern show? Bloody great waste.”

“My thoughts exactly, Roger.”

They returned with donkey and helium just as the airdinghy basket tumbled off the roof of the gazebo with a crash. Fortunately, it survived intact. Felix and Soap righted it and jumped inside to throw out the four balloons. While they wrestled the sail and mast up the middle, the girls and Roger unrolled the balloons and began to fill them with helium. There was no way to rush this part, although Sophronia kept glancing back to the house, where the shifting lights were her only clue that all was still chaos in the ballroom.

None too soon, the four balloons were filled. They tugged
up the basket so that it rose sedately into the air, shedding decorative bits of gazebo in its wake. Felix and Soap managed to raise the center sail. It was a pity they disliked each other so intensely, for it was clear that they made an efficient team. Sophronia appreciated efficiency.

Dimity and Sidheag climbed inside, awkward in long skirts and with no ladder. Sophronia swung Bumbersnoot over. Pillover passed up the hampers. Roger tossed in the sack of clothes.

“Everyone good to go?” Sophronia asked, wondering what they were forgetting.

Four faces peeked over the edge, nodding. Soap and Felix extended their arms down while Dimity and Sidheag went to the other side of the gondola against the lean.

The balloons caught a breeze and they bobbed up a bit.

Sophronia held up her hands to be lifted inside.

“What in heaven’s name is going on
here
?” came Petunia’s shocked voice. She appeared as if by magic around the side of Mumsy’s rhododendrons.

“Cut us free, Pillover!” yelled Sophronia, dangling off the side. Felix had both his hands wrapped around one of her wrists and Soap the other.

“Sophronia Angelina Temminnick, what on
earth
are you doing to the gazebo now?”

Pillover unlashed the airdinghy from where it had been tied to the gazebo columns.

It lifted sedately upward.

“Wait,” cried Petunia, “come back here this instant! You can’t just drift off with a duke’s son. That’s not sporting!”

Felix and Soap hauled Sophronia into the gondola. She
blessed the split skirt of her costume; it allowed her to leg over and land on her feet inside. She turned to look back at her sister.

“Sorry, Petunia, but this is an emergency. I’m only borrowing him for a bit.”

Petunia stood, head tilted back, watching them float away. Pillover slouched over to stand next to her. They were outside earshot, so Sophronia had no idea what he said, but to everyone’s surprise, Petunia seemed mollified. She took his arm, and he led her with great dignity back toward the house.

“He’s coming out well, for a pustule,” said Dimity, with evident pride.

“He may have found his calling at last,” said Sophronia. “Hoodwinking my sisters. That’s no mean feat. We have brothers, too; we’re usually immune to their charms.”

Dimity chuckled. “Imagine Pill, with charms! What a hoot.”

Sidheag said, in all seriousness, “He should be at Mademoiselle Geraldine’s, he’d make a great intelligencer. No one should ever believe it of him.” She turned to face inside and assess how they were handling the airdinghy.

Soap was concentrating on manning the sail, as if he actually knew what he was about.

“
Do
you know what you are doing, Soap?” Sophronia asked.

“Not really, miss, but someone’s got to.”

“So, which way is north?” asked Sidheag.

Sophronia leaned over the side of the basket, squinting into the night, looking for the lights of Wootton Bassett. The basket tilted and Dimity hurried to counterbalance.

Sophronia pointed. “That way, more east than north for
now. Everyone look out for a big clock face. That’ll be the nearest railway station.”

With no propeller, they had to drift up and down, searching for a breeze headed in the correct direction. Finally, they hooked into one that carried them along at a sedate pace. This was not exactly a high-speed, high-risk endeavor. Fortunately for them, Pillover seemed to have adequately distracted Petunia, and the mechanical malfunction seemed to have adequately distracted everyone else. Sophronia kept looking back, but no carriage or horseman came galloping after them.

Dimity gave a little cry. “There it is!”

Indeed, there it was—a small clock tower, peeking up above the other buildings of the town. Soap grabbed at the tiller and the airdinghy obligingly slid to one side. Thus they approached the station silently, a small bobbing craft within the damp night.

While Soap and Felix bickered mildly over how best to steer, Sidheag turned to Sophronia. “We can catch a train north there?”

Sophronia hated to disappoint. “Wootton Bassett’s not very big and, as a general rule, people are going through it to somewhere else. Not many trains stop, and when they do it’s either east to London or Oxford, or west to Bristol.”

“Well, I certainly don’t want to go back to London.”

“Nor do you want to go to Bristol. Who would?” said Dimity, a decidedly snobbish tone to her voice.

“We need one heading to Oxford?” suggested Sidheag.

Sophronia nodded. “From there we can switch to a northbound line. I’m worried there won’t be one until morning, but it’s worth a try. Wootton rarely gets nighttime passenger trains.”

The other two knew what that meant. If a passenger could get somewhere quickly, and with all the modern conveniences of first class, there was no need for overnight service. Vampires couldn’t leave their territory, and werewolves could move faster on four paws than a train on rails.

Nevertheless, Sophronia had hopes. “There
are
sometimes freight trains puffing through at night—out of the ports. We might be able to jump one of those, although freight will be going to London. We’d have to scramble to hop a passenger halfway to get to Oxford.”

Sidheag looked doubtful. A freight train wouldn’t stop at Wootton Bassett unless they flagged it down. “Do you have a plan?”

“Of course,” said Sophronia, but then added in confusion, “Except it doesn’t look like I need it. See there?”

They were coming in over the station, and lo and behold, there was a train, sitting patiently, as if waiting for them.

“My, that one is a peculiar-looking beast,” Sophronia said, tilting her head in confusion.

“Looks pretty enough to me,” responded Sidheag, who clearly had great, if blind, affection for the railway.

Sophronia summoned Felix. “Lord Mersey, stop bothering Soap and come look at this.”

“I’m not bothering anyone!” Felix left off trying to fly the airship and came to stand next to Sophronia at the side of the basket. Dimity and Sidheag stayed to the opposite side. It was a dance they’d been conducting since they floated off, in order to properly weight the four balloons.

“Have you ever seen a train like that before?” Sophronia assumed that Felix was well traveled.

The young lord shook his head, equally mystified. “Goodness, no. It looks as if someone crammed a first-class passenger train and a freight train together. Most abnormal.”

Sophronia tilted her head. “That’s exactly what I thought.”

“What’s going on?” demanded Dimity.

“It looks like someone took four carriages from a passenger train and then added two from a freight in between them.”

“Could it be a circus or some other kind of acting troupe?” suggested Dimity.

Felix said, “I think it’s more likely a special delivery—military, perhaps. With the freight carriages in the middle like that? It’s as if the passengers are needed to protect them.” He craned his head over the edge and to one side, as if trying to see the side of the train.

“Careful,” said Sophronia.

“Aww, Ria, you care.”

“Don’t be silly. I prefer not to clean up the mess if you fall out.”