The Parasol Protectorate Boxed Set (42 page)

“Please do.”

Alexia stood and said softly in French, “Perhaps without the additional garnishing.”

“Mmm,” replied Madame Lefoux.

A little bell chimed cheerfully as someone new wandered into the shop. Miss Hisselpenny struggled to rise from her undignified
lounge upon the floor.

The newcomer approached them, parting the forest of dangling hats and, upon seeing Ivy's plight, leaped to her aid.

“Why, Miss Hisselpenny, are you unwell? Let me offer my most humble services.”

“Tunstell,” interjected Alexia, glaring at the young man. “What are
you
doing
here
?”

The redheaded claviger ignored her, cooing over Miss Hisselpenny solicitously.

Ivy attained her feet and clutched at his arm, leaning against his side weakly and looking up at him out of big dark eyes.

Tunstell seemed to be taking a long, leisurely swim in those eyes, like some sort of gormless guppy.

Actors, the lot of them. Alexia poked at his bottom, nicely packaged in some excessively tight britches, with the tip of her
new parasol. “Tunstell, explain your presence at once.”

Tunstell jumped slightly and looked at her in a maltreated manner.

“I have a message from Professor Lyall,” he said, as though she were somehow to blame for this.

Lady Maccon did not ask how Lyall had known she would be at Chapeau de Poupe. The ways of her husband's Beta were often mysterious
and better left unquestioned.

“Well?”

Tunstell was staring once more into Miss Hisselpenny's eyes.

Alexia tapped the parasol on the wooden floor, enjoying the metallic clicking noise it made. “The message.”

“He requests for you to visit with him at BUR as a matter of some urgency,” said Tunstell without looking at her.

A matter of urgency
was pack code for activation of Lady Maccon as muhjah. Lyall had some information for the Crown. Alexia nodded. “In that
case, Ivy, you would not mind if I left you under Tunstell's care while you complete your shopping? He will see you safely
off. Won't you, Tunstell?”

“It would be my very great pleasure.” Tunstell beamed.

“Oh, I believe that would suit adequately,” breathed Ivy, smiling back.

Lady Maccon wondered if she had ever been so foolish over Lord Maccon. Then she recalled that her affection generally took
the form of threats and verbal barbs. She gave herself a pat on the back for avoiding sentimentality.

The inventor-cum-milliner walked her to the front door.

“I shall send a card around presently when I determine Lord Akeldama's availability. He should be at home, but you never can
tell with roves. This summons from Professor Lyall cannot possibly take long.” Alexia looked back at Tunstell and Ivy, engaged
in an overly familiar tête-à-tête. “Please, do try to prevent Miss Hisselpenny from purchasing anything too hideous, and see
that Tunstell puts her into a hackney but does not get into it himself.”

“I shall do my level best, Lady Maccon,” replied Madame Lefoux with an abbreviated bow—so short as to be almost rude. Then,
in a quick-fire movement, she caught one of Alexia's hands with her own. “It was a great pleasure to meet you at last, my
lady.” Her grip was firm and sure. Of course, lifting and building all that machinery below street level would give anyone
a certain degree of musculature, even the rail-thin woman before her. The inventor's fingers caressed Alexia's wrist just
above the perfect fit of her gloves, so quickly that Alexia was not certain the action had occurred. There was that faint
scent of vanilla mixed with gear oil once more. Then Madame Lefoux smiled, dropped Alexia's hand, and turned back into the
shop, disappearing among the swinging jungle of fashionable headgear.

Professor Lyall and Lord Maccon shared an office at BUR headquarters, on Fleet Street, but it was always considerably cleaner
whenever the earl was not in residence. Lady Alexia Maccon breezed in, swinging her new parasol proudly and hoping Lyall would
ask about it. But Professor Lyall was mightily distracted behind a pile of paperwork and a stack of metal scrolls with acid-etched
notes upon them. He stood, bowed, and sat back down again as a matter of course rather than courtesy. Whatever had occurred
was clearly occupying all of his considerable attention. His glassicals were perched upon his head, mussing his coiffure.
Was it possible that his cravat could be minutely askew?

“Are you well, Professor Lyall?” Alexia asked, quite worried by the cravat.

“I am in perfect health, thank you for asking, Lady Maccon. It is your husband who concerns me, and I have no way to get through
to him at present.”

“Yes,” said the earl's wife, deadpan, “I daily face a similar dilemma, frequently when he and I are in conversation. What
has he gone and done now?”

Professor Lyall smiled slightly. “Oh no, nothing like that. It is simply that the plague of humanization has struck again,
moving northward as far as Farthinghoe.”

Alexia frowned at this new information. “Curious. It is on the move, is it?”

“And heading in the same direction as Lord Maccon. Though slightly ahead of him.”

“And he doesn't know that, does he?”

Lyall shook his head.

“That family matter, it's the dead Alpha, isn't it?”

Lyall ignored this and said, “Don't know quite how it's moving so fast. The trains have been down since yesterday—strike.
Trust the daylight folk to become inefficient at a time like this.”

“By coach, perhaps?”

“Could be. It seems to be moving quickly. I should like to make the earl aware of this information, but there is no way to
contact him until he arrives at the Glasgow offices. Not to mention Channing's blather about the boat ride over. This thing
is mobile and Conall doesn't know that.”

“You think he might overtake it?”

The Beta shook his head again. “Not at the rate it is moving. Lord Maccon is fast, but he said he was not going to push this
run. If it keeps traveling north at the rate I predict, it will hit Scotland several days before he does. I have sent a note
to our agents in the north, but I thought you should know as well, as muhjah.”

Alexia nodded.

“Will you inform the other members of the Shadow Council?”

Lady Maccon frowned at that. “I do not think that is entirely wise just yet. I think it might wait until our next meeting.
You should file a report, of course, but I shall not go out of my way to tell the potentate and the dewan.”

The Beta nodded and did not inquire as to her reasons.

“Very well, Professor Lyall. If there is nothing else, I should be off. I have need of Lord Akeldama's council.”

Professor Lyall gave her an unreadable look. “Well, I suppose someone must. Good evening, Lady Maccon.”

Alexia left without ever having shown Professor Lyall her new parasol.

L
ord Akeldama was indeed in residence and willing to receive Alexia. Despite the rudeness of her unannounced visit, he seemed
genuinely pleased to see her. It was difficult to tell through the vampire's self-consciously frivolous mannerisms, but Alexia
thought she detected real warmth beneath the flatterings and flutterings.

The ancient vampire sashayed forward to greet her, both arms extended, dressed in his version of the “casual gentleman at
home.” For most men of means and taste, this meant a smoking jacket, opera scarf, long trousers, and soft-soled derbies. For
Lord Akeldama, this meant that the jacket was of pristine white silk with black embroidered birds of some lean oriental persuasion
splashed about, the scarf a bright peacock-patterned teal, the trousers the latest in tight-fitting black jacquard, and the
shoes cut in a flashy wingtip style with a black and white spectator coloration that was held by many to be rather vulgar.

“My
darling
Alexia. How fortuitous. I have just received delivery of the most divine new
plaything.
You
must
take a gander and give me your expert opinion!” Lord Akeldama addressed Lady Maccon by her given name and had done so since
the night they met. And yet, Alexia realized for the first time as she took his hands in a firm grip, she had no idea what
his was.

At the preternatural contact, Lord Akeldama turned from supernaturally beautiful, his skin ice white and his blond hair shining
gold, to the merely pretty young man he had once been before his metamorphosis.

Lady Maccon kissed him softly on both cheeks, as though he were a child. “And how are you this evening, my lord?”

He leaned against her, momentarily calm in his fully human state, before resuming his animated chatter. “Perfectly
splendid
, my little tea biscuit, perfectly
splendid.
There is a mystery waffling about London town, and I am immersed in the thick of it. You know how I do so dearly
love
a mystery.” He kissed her back, a loud smack to the forehead, and then released her hands to curl his arm affectionately
with hers.

“And it has certainly been all abuzz around my humble little abode since the excitement of yesterday.” He led her into said
abode, which was anything but humble. It had an extravagant arched and frescoed hallway with marble busts of pagan gods. “I
suppose,
you
know
all
about it, you high-powered political
daffodil
, you.”

Alexia loved Lord Akeldama's drawing room, not that she could tolerate it in her own house, but it was a nice place to visit.
It was quite old-fashioned in appearance, white and gilded gold like something from a French painting of pre-Napoleonic times.

The vampire unceremoniously ejected a fat calico from her slumbering possession of a gold brocade love seat with tasseled
trim and settled gracefully into her place. Lady Maccon seated herself in an armchair nearby, one that felt deliciously thronelike.

“Well, my creamy
pudding
cup, Biffy told me
the
most attractive little story last night.” Lord Akeldama's ethereal face was intent under its unnecessary coating of white
powder and pink blush. “Quite the bedtime romance.”

Lady Maccon was not certain she wanted to hear this story. “Oh, uh, did he? Where is Biffy, by the way? Is he about?”

Lord Akeldama fiddled with his gold monocle. The glass was, of course, plain. Like all vampires, he had perfect vision. “La,
the troublesome boy is causing mischief somewhere not too far away, I am certain. He is in a bit of a kerfuffle over a necktie,
but never mind that; you must permit me to tell you what he saw yester eve.”

Lady Maccon forestalled him. “Before you do, my lord, might we send round an invitation to a new acquaintance I have made?
I should very much like the two of you to know one another.”

That stalled Lord Akeldama. “
Really
, my darling little kumquat, how thoughtful. Who is he?”

“
She
is one Madame Lefoux.”

Lord Akeldama smiled slightly at that. “I did hear you had been hat shopping recently.”

Alexia gasped. “How did you know that? Oh, how vexatious! Do you mean to say that you are already acquainted with the lady?
Madame Lefoux indicated nothing to that effect.”

“You can hardly expect
me
to reveal
my
sources, snow drop. As to the rest, I do not know her; I merely know
of
her, and I should enjoy meeting her socially very much indeed. I hear she affects masculine garb! I shall send a card directly.”
He reached to pull a small bell rope. “So, do tell:
what
did you purchase from the
scandalous
Frenchwoman, my little clementine?”

Alexia showed him the parasol.

Lord Akeldama was alarmed by its appearance. “Oh dear, it is rather”—he cleared his throat—“
loud
, is it not?”

Alexia thought that rich coming from a man wearing black and white wingtip shoes and a teal scarf. She said only, “Yes, but
it does the most delicious things.” She was about to explain further when a polite knock interrupted them, and Biffy trotted
into the room.

“You rang?” Biffy was an agreeable young blunt with stylish proclivities and prodigious physical charms who always seemed
to turn up when least expected and most wanted. Had he not been born into wealth and status, he might have made for an excellent
butler. He was Lord Akeldama's favorite drone, although the vampire would never confess openly to having favorites any more
than he would wear the same waistcoat two days running. Alexia had to admit there was something special about Biffy. He was
certainly a dab hand with the curling iron, better at hair arrangements than even the otherwise unparalleled Angelique.

“Biffy, my
dove
, dash round to that scrumptious new hat shop on Regent Street and collect the proprietress for a bit of a hobnob, would you,
darling? There's a good fellow. She should be expecting something of the kind.”

Biffy smiled. “Certainly, my lord. Good evening, Lady Maccon. Is this arrangement of your making? You know the master here
has been dying to meet Madame Lefoux ever since she opened that shop, with no excuse to do so for an age.”

“Biffy!” hissed Lord Akeldama.

“Well, you have,” replied Biffy truculently.

“Off with you, you impossible infant, and keep that
lovely
mouth shut.”

Biffy bowed shortly and tripped lightly out, lifting his hat and gloves from a nearby side table as he went.

“That young whippersnapper will be the death of me. However, he has an
admirable
knack for being in the right place at the right time. Yesterday evening, for example, he was outside the Pickled Crumpet,
that
horrible
little pub near St. Bride, known for a preponderance of military and blood whores. Not his normal watering hole by
any
means. And you will
never
guess whom he encountered skulking about the back alleyway, just behind the pub.”

Lady Maccon sighed. “My husband?”

Lord Akeldama was crestfallen. “He told you.”

“No, it simply seems like the exact kind of place where my husband would be skulking.”

“Well, let
me
tell
you
, my petunia blossom! Biffy says that he was in a perfectly indelicate condition, trying to make his way toward Fleet Street.”

“Inebriated?” Lady Maccon was doubtful. Generally speaking, werewolves were not prone to intoxication. Their constitutions
did not allow for it. Besides which, that simply was not
like
her husband.

“Oh no. The poor dear had encountered that
disastrous
malady ravaging the downtown area and found himself entirely human and unclothed quite suddenly in the heart of London.”

Lord Akeldama's eyes were twinkling.

Lady Maccon could not help herself; she began to laugh. “No wonder he did not tell me about the incident. Poor thing.”

“Not that Biffy complained about the spectacle.”

“Well, who would?” Alexia had to give credit where it was due, and her husband did have quite the splendid physique. “That
is interesting, though. It means that one does not have to be present when this antisupernatural blight attacks. One can wander
into the infected area and be struck down.”

“You think it is a
disease
of some kind, do you, my little pumpernickel?”

Lady Maccon cocked her head to one side. “I do not know with any certainty what it may be. What do you think it is?”

Lord Akeldama rang a different bell rope for tea. “I believe it to be a weapon of some kind,” he said, unusually blunt.

“You have heard of something like it before?” Lady Maccon sat up straight, intent on her friend. Lord Akeldama was a very
old vampire. There were rumors he was older even than Countess Nadasdy, and everyone knew she was five hundred or more.

The vampire tossed his queue of long blond hair back off his shoulder. “No, I have not. But it does not have the
feel
of a sickness about it, and my experience with the Hypocras Club has taught me not to underestimate modern scientists and
their vulgar technological
dabblings.
”

Lady Maccon nodded. “I agree, and so does the rest of the Shadow Council. BUR is holding out that it is a disease, but I am
leaning in favor of a newly fashioned weapon. Have your boys found out anything of significance?”

Lord Akeldama puffed out his cheeks. He did not like open acknowledgment that his collection of apparently decorative and
inconsequential drones, possessed of high family connection and little evident sense, were in fact consummate spies. He resigned
himself to Alexia, and, via Alexia, to Lord Maccon and BUR, knowing of his activities, but he did not like them mentioned
openly.

“Not as much as I had hoped. Although one of the ships, the
Spanker
, transporting multiple regiments and associated packs, was said to be afflicted by a
human condition
the
entire
passage home.”

“Yes, Major Channing mentioned something of the kind. Although the Woolsey Pack had returned to supernatural normalcy by the
time they reached the castle.”

“And what do
we
think of Major Channing?”

“
We
try
not
to think on that repulsive individual at all.”

Lord Akeldama laughed, and a handsome young butler entered with the tea tray. “You know, I once tried to recruit him, decades
ago.”

“Did you really?” Lady Maccon could not countenance the idea; for one thing, she did not believe Major Channing leaned in
Lord Akeldama's direction, although there were rumors about military men.

“He was a
splendid
sculptor before he turned. Did you know? We all knew he had a good chance of having excess soul; vampires and werewolves
were vying to be his patron. Such a sweet young talented thing.”

“We
are
discussing the same Major Channing, are we not?”

“He rebuffed
me
and went into soldiering, thought it more
romantic.
Eventually, he was converted to the fuzzy side of the supernatural during the Napoleonic war.”

Alexia was not clear on what to make of this information. So she returned to the original topic. “If it is a weapon, I must
find where it has gone. Lyall said it was headed north, and we believe it to be going by coach. The question is, where, and
who is carrying it?”

“And
what
exactly is it?” added the vampire, pouring the tea. Lady Maccon took hers with milk and a little sugar. He took his with
a dash of blood and a squeeze of lemon.

“Well, if Professor Lyall claims it is heading northward, then northward it is. Your husband's Beta is
never
wrong.” There was an odd tone in Lord Akeldama's voice. Alexia looked at him sharply. He added only, “When?”

“Just before I came here.”

“No, no, primrose. I mean, when did
it
begin to move northward?” He passed a small plate of some excellent biscuits, declining the comestibles himself.

Lady Maccon did some quick calculations. “Seems like it would have had to depart London late yesterday evening or early this
morning.”

“Just as the humanization in London stopped?”

“Precisely.”

“So what we need to know is what regiments, or packs, or individuals came in on the
Spanker
, then proceeded north yesterday morning.”

Lady Maccon had a sinking feeling all fingers were about to point in one particular direction. “I place great confidence in
the fact that Professor Lyall is already hunting down just that information.”

“But you already have a good idea of who the perpetrators might be, don't you, my little
periwinkle
?” Lord Akeldama stopped relaxing back into the love seat and tilted forward to peer at her through his monocle.