Etiquette & Espionage (2 page)

“Miss Sophronia, your mother wishes to see you immediately.” His voice, emanating from a music-box device deep inside his metal body, was tinny and grainy.

Sophronia sighed. “Is she sending me to the vampires?”

Petunia wrinkled her nose. “I suppose there is a possibility they won’t take you. I mean to say, Sophronia, the way you dress!”

The butler only repeated, without any inflection whatsoever, “Immediately, miss.”

“Should I make for the stable?” Sophronia asked.

“Oh, do
grow up
!” said Petunia in disgust.

“So I can be a puffed-up poodle-faker like you?”
As though growing up were something one could do contagiously, caught through associating with officious older sisters.
Sophronia trailed after Frowbritcher, nervously brushing her custard-covered hands against her apron. She hoped the pinafore would hide the disreputable—well, absent—state of her skirt.

The butler rolled down the hall, leading her to her father’s library. An elaborate tea service was arranged there, including lace tablecloths, sponge cake, and the family’s very best china. This was far more effort than was ever spent on Mrs. Barnaclegoose.

Across from Sophronia’s mother, sipping tea, sat an elegant lady wearing a sour expression and a large hat. She looked like exactly the kind of woman one would expect to be a vampire drone.

“Here is Miss Sophronia, madam,” said Frowbritcher from the doorway, not bothering to transfer tracks. He glided off, probably to marshal forces to clean the parlor.

“Sophronia! What did you do to poor Mrs. Barnaclegoose? She left here in a dreadful huff and—oh, simply
look
at you! Mademoiselle, please excuse my daughter’s appearance. I’d tell you it was an aberration, but, sadly, it’s all too common. Such a troublesome child.”

The stranger gave Sophronia a prim look that made her feel about six years old. She was painfully conscious of her custardy state. No one would ever describe Sophronia as elegant, whereas this woman was every inch a lady. Sophronia had never before considered how powerful that could be. The strange woman was also offensively beautiful, with pale skin and dark hair streaked with gray. It was impossible to discern her age, for, despite the gray, her face was young. She was perfectly dressed in a sort of spiky lace traveling gown with a massive skirt and velvet trim that was much more elegant than anything Sophronia had ever seen in her life. Her mother was more a follower of trends than a purveyor of fine taste. This woman was truly stylish.

Despite her beauty, she looks
, thought Sophronia,
a little like a crow.
She stared down at her feet and tried to come up with an excuse for her behavior, other than spying on people. “Well, I simply wanted to see how it worked, and then there was this—”

Her mother interrupted. “How it worked? What kind of question is that fovetn is thr a young lady to ask? How often have I warned you against fraternizing with technology?”

Sophronia wondered if that was a rhetorical question and began counting up the number of times just in case it wasn’t. Her mother turned back to their guest.

“Do you see what I mean, mademoiselle? She’s a cracking great bother.”

“What?
Mumsy!
” Sophronia was offended. Never before had her mother used such language in polite company.

“Silence, Sophronia.”

“But—”

“Do you see, Mademoiselle Geraldine? Do you see what I must endure? And on a daily basis.
A bother.
Has been from the beginning. And the other girls were such little blessings. Well, I suppose we were due. I tell you this in complete confidence—I’m at my wit’s end with this one. I really am. When she isn’t reading, she’s taking something apart or flirting with the footman or climbing things—trees, furniture, even other people.”

“That was years ago!” objected Sophronia.
Will she never let that go? I was eight!

“Hush, child.” Mrs. Temminnick didn’t even look in her daughter’s direction. “Have you ever heard of the like with a
girl
? Now, I know she’s a little brazen for finishing school, but I was hoping you might make an exception, just this once.”

Finishing school? Then I’m not being sent to the vampires?
Relief flooded through Sophronia, instantly followed by a new horror.
Finishing school!
There would be
lessons
. On how to curtsy. On how to dress. On how to eat with one’s finger in the air. Sophronia shuddered. Perhaps a vampire hive was a better option.

Mrs. Temminnick pressed on. “We are certainly willing to provide compensation for your considering Sophronia. Mrs. Barnaclegoose told me, in confidence, that you are masterly with troublesome cases. You have an excellent record. Why, only last week one of your girls married a viscount.”

Sophronia was rattled. “Really, Mumsy!”
Marriage? Already?

As yet, the crow had said nothing. This was a common occurrence around Sophronia’s mother. The stranger merely sipped her tea, the bulk of her attention on Sophronia. Her eyes were hard, assessing, and her movements very precise and sharp.

Mrs. Temminnick continued. “And, of course, there is dear Petunia’s coming-out ball to consider. We were hoping Sophronia might be presentable for the event. This December? Well, as presentable as possible, given her… defects.”

Sophronia winced. She was well aware she hadn’t her sisters’ looks. For some reason the Fates had seen fit to design her rather more in her father’s image than her mother’s. But there was no need to discuss such a thing openly with a stranger!

“That could be arranged.” When the woman finally spoke, it was with such a strong French accent that her words were difficult to understand. “Miss Temminnick, why is there india rubber wrapped around your boots?”

Sophronia looked down. “Mumsy was complaining I kept scuffing them.”

“Interesting solution. Does it work?”

“Haven’t had a chance to test them properly.” She paused. “Yet.”

The stranger looked neither shocked nor impressed by this statement.

Frowbritcher reappeared. He made a mt t He madotion with one clawlike mechanical arm, beckoning. Sophronia’s mother stood and went to confer with the butler. Frowbritcher had a sinister habit of turning up with secrets. It was highly disconcerting in a mechanical.

After a whispered interchange, Mrs. Temminnick went red about the face and then whirled back around.

Oh, dear,
thought Sophronia,
what have I done now?

“Please excuse me for a moment. There appears to be some
difficulty with our new dumbwaiter.” She gave her daughter a pointed look. “Hold your tongue and behave, young lady!”

“Yes, Mumsy.”

Mrs. Temminnick left the room, closing the door firmly behind her.

“Where did you get the rubber?” The crow dismissed Sophronia’s mother with comparative ease, still intrigued by the shoe modification. India rubber was expensive and difficult to come by, particularly in any shape more complex than a ball.

Sophronia nodded in a significant way.

“You destroyed a dumbwaiter for it?”

“I’m not saying I did. I’m not saying I didn’t, either.” Sophronia was cautious.
After all, this woman wants to steal me away to finishing school. I’ll be there for years and then foisted off on some viscount with two thousand a year and a retreating hairline.
Sophronia rethought her approach; perhaps a little less circumspection and some judiciously applied sabotage was called for.

“Mumsy wasn’t lying, you understand, about my conduct? The climbing and such. Although it has been a while since I tried to climb up a person. And the footman and I weren’t flirting. He thinks Petunia is the pip, not me.”

“What about the taking apart?”

Sophronia nodded, as it was a better excuse for destroying the dumbwaiter than spying. “I’m fond of machines. Intriguing things, machines, don’t you find?”

The woman cocked her head to one side. “I generally prefer to make use of them, not dissect them. Why do you do it? To upset your mother?”

Sophronia considered this. She was relatively fond of her mother, as one is apt to be, but she supposed some part of her might be on the attack. “Possibly.”

A flash of a smile appeared on the woman’s face. It made her look very young. It vanished quickly. “How are you as a thespian? Any good?”

“Theatricals?”
What kind of finishing school teacher asks that?
Sophronia was put out. “I may have smudges on my face, but I’m still a
lady
!”

The woman looked at Sophronia’s exposed petticoat. “That remains to be seen.” She turned away, as though not interested anymore, and helped herself to a slice of cake. “Are you strong?”

Down the hall, something exploded with a bang. Sophronia thought she heard her mother shriek. Both she and the visitor ignored the disruption.

“Strong?” Sophronia edged toward the tea trolley, eyeing the sponge.

“From all the climbing.” A pause. “And the machine lifting, I suppose.”

Sophronia blinked. “I’m not weak.”

“You’re certainly good at prevarication.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“That depends on whom you’re asking.”

Sophronia helped herself to two pieces of cake, just as though she had been invited to do so. The visitor forbore to remark upon it. Sophronia turned away briefly, in the guise of finding a spoon, to tuck one piece in her apron pocket. Mumsy
wouldn’t allow her any sweets for the next week once she found out about the dumbwaiter.

The woman might have seen the theft, but she didn’t acknowledge it.

“You run this finishing school, then?”

“Do you run this finishing school, Mademoiselle Geraldine?” corrected the crow.

“Do you run this finishing school, Mademoiselle Geraldine?” parroted Sophronia dutifully, even though they had not been properly introduced.
Odd, in a finishing school teacher. Shouldn’t she wait until Mumsy returns?

“It
is
called Mademoiselle Geraldine’s Finishing Academy for Young Ladies of Quality. Have you heard of it?”

Sophronia had. “I thought only the very best families were allowed in.”

“Sometimes we make exceptions.”

“Are you
the
Mademoiselle Geraldine? You don’t seem old enough.”

“Why, thank you, Miss Temminnick, but you should not make such an observation to your betters.”

“Sorry, madam.”

“Sorry, Mademoiselle Geraldine.”

“Oh, yes, sorry, Mademoiselle Geraldine.”

“Very good. Do you notice anything else odd about me?”

Sophronia said the first thing that came to mind. “The gray in your hair. It’s amiss.”

“You
are
an observant young lady, aren’t you?” Then, in a sudden movement, Mademoiselle Geraldine reached and
pulled out the small throw pillow from behind her back. She tossed it at Sophronia.

Sophronia, who had never before had a lady throw a pillow at her, was flabbergasted, but caught it.

“Adequate reflexes,” said Mademoiselle Geraldine, wiggling her fingers for the return of the pillow.

Bemused, Sophronia handed it back to her. “Why—”

A black-gloved hand was raised against any further questions.

Mrs. Temminnick returned at that juncture. “I do apologize. How incurably rude of me. I can’t comprehend what has happened to the dumbwaiter. It’s making the most awful racket. But you don’t want to hear of such piddling domestic
trifles
.” She put a great deal of emphasis on the word
trifles
.

Sophronia grimaced.

Mrs. Temminnick sat down, rubbing at a grease spot on her formerly impeccable gloves. “How are you and Sophronia getting on?”

Mademoiselle Geraldine said, “Quite well. The young lady was just telling me of some history book she was recently reading. What was the subject?”

So, she doesn’t want Mumsy to know she’s been throwing pillows at me?
Sophronia was never one to let anyone down when fibs were required.

“Egypt. Apparently the Primeval Monarchy, which follows directly after the Mythical Period, has been given new dates. And—”

Her mother interrupted. “That’s more than enough of
that
, Sophronia. A headmistress isn’t inter. Tsn’t ested in education. Really, Mademoiselle Geraldine, once you get her started she’ll never
stop.” She looked hopeful. “I know she’s a terrible mess, but can you
do
anything with her?”

Mademoiselle Geraldine gave a tight smile. “What do you say to a probationary period? We’ll return her in time for that coming-out ball of yours in a few months and see how she gets on until then?”

“Oh, Mademoiselle Geraldine, how perfectly topping!” Sophronia’s mother clasped her hands delightedly. “Isn’t this thrilling, Sophronia? You’re going to finishing school!”

“But I don’t
want
to go to finishing school!” Sophronia couldn’t help the petulance in her voice as visions of parasol training danced through her head.

“Don’t be like that, darling. It will be very exciting.”