The Parasol Protectorate Boxed Set (122 page)

Alexia took the invitation reluctantly. “Well, thank you, but I have a busy schedule, and at such late notice, please understand
I will try to put in an appearance but—”

Miss Dair continued making the excuses for her. “In your current condition, that would be difficult. I understand perfectly
and the countess will as well. But I didn't want you to think we were slighting you in any way. Case in point, I have been
instructed by my mistress to inform you, should we encounter each other, that we are officially delighted with your new living
arrangements and wish it to be known outright that there are no hard feelings. Or”—she paused delicately, her actress training
becoming apparent—“consequences.”

As if they were not the ones who had been actively trying to kill me!
Lady Maccon, in a huff, said pointedly, “Likewise. Perhaps next time if your lot told me why they were trying to exterminate
me from the start, much unnecessary chaos could be avoided. Not to mention loss of porcupine life.”

“Yes, indeed. What did happen to them?”

“Lime pit.”

“Oh. Oh! Very good, Lady Maccon. I should never have thought of that.”

“Is this little creature still armed with the projectile spines? Some kind of numbing agent, I assume.”

“Yes, but not to worry—he's quite tame. And it is for my protection and not any ulterior motive.”

“I am very glad to hear it. Well, Miss Dair, can I take you to your destination, or would you prefer to walk? I can see you
might wish to display your pet to advantage. Your mistress is looking to profit by the new technology, isn't she?”

“You know vampires.”

Normally polite company wouldn't mention pecuniary matters, but Miss Dair was only an actress, so Alexia said, “You'd think
owning half the known world would be enough for them.”

Mabel Dair smiled. “Control, Muhjah, comes in many different forms.”

“Indeed it does, indeed it does. Well…,” Lady Maccon picked up the speaking tube and addressed her coachman. “Pull up
here, please. My companion wishes to alight.”

“Very good, my lady,” came the tinny reply.

The carriage pulled to the side, allowing Miss Dair and her porcupine to disgorge themselves and continue their promenade.

“Perhaps we will enjoy the pleasure of your company later tonight, Lady Maccon.”

“Perhaps. Thank you for your scintillating conversation, Miss Dair. Good night.”

“Good night.”

They parted, many a reveler now curious as to the relationship between a werewolf's wife and a vampire drone. The rumors were
out concerning Biffy. Was Lady Maccon trying to poach yet another key player from the vampire's camp? New gossip was set in
motion. And that, too, Alexia realized, might have been all part of Miss Dair's scheme in visiting with her.

She spoke once more into the tube. “Chapeau de Poupe, if you please.”

It was early still, so far as the night's festivities were concerned. No establishment of worth in all of London would dare
be closed on such an evening. Thus Lady Maccon was unsurprised to find Madame Lefoux's hat shop not only open but also occupied
by multiple ladies of worth and their respective escorts. The hats, suspended on their long cords from the ceiling, swayed
to and fro, but without imparting their usual aura of undersea calm. There was too much clatter and bustle (in both senses
of the word) for that. Alexia was surprised to find that Madame Lefoux herself was not in residence. For all her more atypical
pursuits, the inventor normally made a point of putting in an appearance in her shop on busy nights. Half the reason the ladies
chose to frequent Chapeau de Poupe was on the off chance they might encounter the scandalous proprietress in all her top-hatted
glory.

In her absence, Lady Maccon trundled in and stood, confused. How was she to make her way to the contrivance chamber without
someone seeing her? She respected Madame Lefoux's wish to keep the chamber, its activities, and its entrance a secret from
the general public. But with what seemed to be at least half said general public milling about in the shop, how was Alexia
to return the papers and consult the inventor on the nature of the porcupines without being observed? Alexia Maccon was many
things, but stealthy was not one of them.

She made her way to the counter—an attractive high table painted white to add to the modern atmosphere that was a hallmark
of Madame Lefoux's refined taste.

“Pardon me?” Lady Maccon used her best, most imperious tone.

“I'll be right with you, madam,” chirruped the girl who stood there. She was all bright chatter and false friendliness, but
her back remained quite firmly presented. She was busy rustling through stacks of hatboxes.

“I don't mean to interrupt your work, young lady, but this is an urgent matter.”

“Yes, madam, I am certain it is. I do apologize for the delay, but as you can see, we are a little understaffed this evening.
If you wouldn't mind waiting just one more moment.”

“I must see Madame Lefoux.”

“Yes, yes, madam, I know.
Everyone
wishes the personal attention of the madame, but she is unavailable this particular evening. Perhaps one of the other ladies
might be of assistance?”

“No, really, it must be Madame Lefoux. I have some important paperwork to return to her.”

“Return? Oh, did the hat not suit madam's needs? I
am
sorry.”

“Not a hat. Nothing to do with hats.” Lady Maccon was getting impatient.

“Yes, certainly, if madam would simply wait. I shall be at your service momentarily.”

Alexia sighed. This was getting her nowhere. She moved away from the counter and took a slow turn about the room, utilizing
her parasol as a kind of cane and exaggerating her limp so that sympathy drove those ladies out of her way who did not already
know her face and rank. This maneuver garnered her more attention, rather than less, and she was left with a distinct feeling
of inertia.

Madame Lefoux's hats were of the latest style, a number of them too daring for any save Ivy and her ilk. Cabinets displayed
other accessories as well—mob caps, sleeping caps, hair pins, and bands all decorated beautifully. There were reticules of
varying shapes and sizes; gloves; and dirigible accessories such as velvet ear protectors, skirt ties, weighted hem inserts,
and the finest in color-tinted glass goggles. There was even a line of masquerade goggles trimmed with feathers and flowers.
And, last but not least, a rack displaying Ivy Tunstell's hairmuffs, designed for the fashionable young lady who wished to
keep her hair untangled and her ears warm while still sporting the latest ringlets. They had gone somewhat out of favor recently,
having enjoyed a brief spate of popularity during the winter months, but were still on display in deference to Mrs. Tunstell's
finer feelings.

Alexia completed her circuit of the shop and came to a decision. Given that any kind of stealth was out of the question, she
must opt for her only alternative—making a fuss.

“Pardon me, miss.”

The same shopgirl was still rummaging behind the counter. Really, how long did it take to find a hatbox?

“
Yes,
madam, I will be right with you.”

Lady Maccon reached down inside herself for her most regal, difficult, aristocratic nature. “I will
not be ignored,
young lady!”

That got the girl's attention. She actually turned around to see who this interfering female was.

“Do you know who I am?”

The young woman gave her the full once-over. “Lady Maccon?” she hazarded a guess.

“Indeed.”

“I had been warned to keep an eye out for you.”

“Warned? Warned! Were you, indeed? Well, now I am here and… and…” She floundered. It was terribly hard to be angry
when one wasn't. “I have a very grave matter to discuss with your patroness.”

“I told you, madam, and I do apologize, but she is not available this evening, even for you.”

“Unacceptable!” Alexia was rather pleased with both the word choice and her execution. Very commanding, indeed!
That's what living with werewolves will do for a girl. Now where to go from here?
“I'll have you know I have been swindled! Absolutely swindled. I will have none of it. I shall call on the constabulary.
You see if I don't.”

By this time, Lady Maccon and the now-trembling shopgirl had attracted the attention of the entire establishment, both patrons
and hire.

“I came here looking for hairmuffs. I hear they are
the thing
for dirigible travel, and I desire a set that matches my hair, and what do I find? Not a single pair of the appropriate shade.
Where are they all?”

“Well, you see, madam, we are currently out of the darker colors. If madam would like to put in an order—”

“No, madam would
not
like! Madam would like a set of the hairmuffs right this very moment!” At this juncture, Alexia contemplated stamping her
foot, but that was probably excessively dramatic, even for this audience.

Instead, she waddled over to the muff display stand near the shop window. She grabbed a cluster of her own curls, artfully
arranged over the shoulder of her blue and green plaid visiting dress, and waved them at the stand.
Then she backed off as though physically repulsed by the mismatch.

“You see?” She stood away and pointed with the tip of her parasol at the offending hairmuffs.

The shopgirl did see. So, in fact, did all the other ladies present. What they saw was that Lady Maccon, only a few days from
her confinement, had still extricated herself from bed and the bosom of her husband's affection in order to come to this very
shop to buy hairmuffs. They must, perforce, be
back en mode.
Lady Maccon, wife to the Earl of Woolsey, was known to fraternize with the trendsetters and fashion leaders of the ton. She
herself might prefer more practical garb, especially in her present state, but if she was buying hairmuffs, then Lord Akeldama
approved the accessory. If Lord Akeldama approved, then the vampires approved, and if the vampires approved, well, that was
simply it: hairmuffs must be
the living end.

Suddenly, every lady in that shop had to have a set of Mrs. Tunstells'
Hairmuffs for the Elevated Lady Traveler.
They all stopped admiring whatever hat they were fawning over and swarmed the little stand. Even those who had absolutely
no intention of ever setting foot on board a dirigible suddenly were in a mad passion to own hairmuffs. For what became fashionable
for floating descended to the ground—witness the craze for decorative goggles.

Lady Maccon was swarmed by a gaggle of bustled and trussed ladies, all grabbing for the muffs, squealing at each other while
they tried desperately to snatch the colors that matched their own coiffures. There was even a little pushing and some shortness
of breath. It was practically a rout.

The shopgirls obligingly descended into the milieu as
well, notepads out, trying to convince the ladies not to purchase right away but to place an order for the appropriate color
and perhaps multiple styles and different-size ringlets as well.

In the resulting chaos, Lady Maccon extracted herself and lurched, as stealthily as was within her limited capacity, to the
very back of the shop. Here, in a shadowed corner under an attractive display of gloves, was the handle to the entrance to
the ascension chamber. She activated it, the hidden door swinging quietly open. Alexia noted with relief that the chamber
was already at the upper level waiting for her. She clambered inside, drawing the door to the shop closed behind her.

After many months of friendship, not to mention parasol maintenance and aethographor repairs, Alexia was more than familiar
with the operation of Madame Lefoux's ascension chamber. What once had upset her stomach and frightened her was now standard
procedure on her visiting rounds. She flipped the lever that operated the windlass machine and did not even stumble when the
contraption landed with a jarring thud.

Lady Maccon waddled down the passageway and thumped loudly at the contrivance chamber door.

Silence.

Figuring that Madame Lefoux probably could not hear her knock, for inside the chamber was always a cacophony of mechanical
noises, she let herself in.

It took her a long moment of scanning over all the piles of machinery, but she eventually became convinced that Madame Lefoux
really was not in residence. Nor was her new contraption. The shopgirl had not lied in the interest of social niceties. Madame
Lefoux was definitely unavailable.
Alexia pursed her lips. Genevieve had said something about relocating in order to put the finishing touches to the latest
invention. Alexia debated trying to remember where and following her there or simply leaving the papers behind.
They'll probably be safe enough.
She placed them on a nearby metal tabletop and was about to depart when she heard something.

Alexia had no werewolf's hearing to be able to note some strange noise among the rattling, humming, hissing clatter. Even
without the Frenchwoman in residence, some machines never ceased their activity. But she definitely heard another sound, an
underlying keen to the rattles that might, or might not, be human in origin.

It might also be a very excited mouse.

Lady Maccon contemplated not getting involved. She also contemplated not using her parasol—after all, some of the machines
in that chamber might be engaged in some delicate feat of manufacturing that could not afford to be paused midclatter. In
Alexia's case, contemplation was never signified by more than a pause before performing the action she would have taken, contemplation
or no.

She took her parasol firmly in hand, raised it high above her head, and activated the magnetic disruption emitter by pulling
down on the appropriate lotus leaf in the handle with her thumb.