The Parasol Protectorate Boxed Set (63 page)

Formerly Angelique held up ten ghostly fingers and ticked one down. “Because ze comtesse offered me ze bite. Who does not
want eternal life?” A pause. “Aside from Genevieve.”

“Why were you trying to kill me?”

“I waz never trying to kill you. I waz always after Genevieve. I waz not very good at it. Ze fall, in ze air, and ze shootings,
zat was for her. You were an inconvenience; she iz ze danger.”

“And the poison?”

Formerly Angelique now had three fingers bent. “Zat was not me. I am thinking, my lady, zat someone else wants you dead. And
your fourth question?”

“Do you believe it is Madame Lefoux trying to kill me?”

“I think not, but it iz hard to tell with Genevieve. She iz, how do you say? Ze smart one. But should she want you dead, it
would be your body lying there, not mine.”

“So why do
you
wish our little inventor dead?”

“Your fifth question, my lady, and you waste it on Genevieve? She 'az something of mine. She insisted on giving it back or
telling the world.”

“What could be so horrible?”

“It would have ruined my life. Ze comtesse, she insists, no family. She will not bite to change if there iz children—part
of vampire edict. A lesser regulation but the comtesse 'az always played hive politics close. And seeing how Lady Kingair
complicates your husband's life, I begin to understand why the rule waz in place.”

Lady Maccon put all things together. She knew those violet eyes had been familiar. “Madame Lefoux's son, Quesnel. He is not
her child, is he? He is yours.”

“A mistake that no longer matters.” Another finger went down. Three questions left.

“Madame Lefoux was on board the dirigible tracking you, not me! Was she blackmailing you?”

“Yez, either I take up my maternal duty or she'd tell the countess. I could not have that, you understand? When I had worked
so hard for immortality.”

Alexia blushed, grateful for the cool night air. “You two were…”

The ghost gave a kind of shrug, the gesture, still so casual, even in specter form. “Of course, for many years.”

Lady Maccon felt her face go even hotter, erotic images flashing through her brain: Madame Lefoux's dark head next to Angelique's
blond one. A pretty picture the two of them would have made, like something out of a naughty postcard. “Well, I say, how extraordinarily
French.”

The ghost laughed. “Hardly that. How do you think I caught Comtesse Nadasdy's interest? Not with ze hairdressing skills, let
me assure you, my lady.”

Alexia had seen something of the kind in her father's collection, but she had never imagined it might be based on anything
more than masculine wistfulness or performances put on to titillate a john's palate. That two women might do such things voluntarily
with one another and do so with some degree of romantic love. Was this possible?

She did not realize she had voiced this last question aloud.

The ghost snorted. “All I can say iz, I am certain she loved me, at one time.”

Lady Maccon began to see much more in the inventor's actions and comments over the past week than she had originally. “You
are a hard little thing, aren't you, Angelique?”

“What a waste of your last question, my lady. We all become what we are taught to be. You are not so hard as you would like.
What will that husband of yours say, when he finds out?”

“Finds out what?”

“Oh, you really do not know? I thought you were playacting.” The ghost laughed, a genuine laugh, harsh and directed at the
confusion and future misery of another.

“What? What do I not know?”

“Oh no, I have fulfilled my half of the bargain. Ten questions, fairly answered.”

Alexia sighed. It was true. She reached forward, albeit reluctantly, to perform her very first exorcism. Odd that the government
had known of her preternatural state for her whole life, had recorded her in the BUR Files of Secrecy and Import as the only
preternatural in all of London, yet never used her in her kind's most common capacity—that of exorcist. Odd, too, that her
first use of this ability should be at a ghost's request, in the Highlands of Scotland. And odd, last of all, that it should
be so dreadfully easy.

She simply laid her hand upon Angelique's broken body, performing the literal application of the term
laying the body to rest.
As quick as that, the ghostly form disappeared, tethers broken, and all excess soul was terminated. With no living body to
call it back when Alexia raised her hands, it was gone forever: complete and total disanimus. The soul could never return,
as it did with werewolves and vampires. With the body dead, such a return was fatal. Poor Angelique, she might have been immortal,
had she made different choices.

Lady Maccon found a very strange scene when she made her way back inside the castle and up the stairs into the mummy room.
Tunstell was awake, his shoulder and upper arm bandaged with a red-checked handkerchief of Ivy's origination, and he was busy
applying a good deal of excellent brandy to his mouth as a curative addendum. Miss Hisselpenny was kneeling next to him, cooing
unhelpfully, having recovered her senses, at least enough to attain wakefulness, if not actual sense.

“Oh, Mr. Tunstell, how exceedingly brave you were, coming to my rescue like that. So heroic,” she was saying. “Imagine if
it got known that I had been knifed by a maid, a
French
maid, no less? Had I died, I should
never
have lived it down! How can I possibly thank you enough?”

Madame Lefoux stood next to Lord Maccon, looking composed, if a little drawn about the eyes and mouth, her dimples secured
away for the time being. Alexia could not interpret this expression. She was not yet confident in the inventor's trustworthiness.
Madame Lefoux had entertained some considerable vested interest in the proceedings from the start. Not to mention that suspicious
octopus tattoo. If nothing else, Alexia's experience with the bedeviled scientists of the Hypocras Club had taught her not
to trust octopuses.

She strode up to the Frenchwoman and said, “Angelique has had her say. It is time, Madame Lefoux, for you to do the same.
What did you really want—simply Angelique or something more? Who was trying to poison me on board the dirigible?” Without
pause, she turned her attention onto Tunstell, eyeing his wound critically. “Did he get vinegar put on that?”

“Had?” Madame Lefoux asked, apparently grappling with only one of the many words Lady Maccon had uttered. “Did you say
had
? Is she dead, then?”

“Angelique?”

Teeth nibbling fretfully at her bottom lip, the Frenchwoman nodded.

“Quite.”

Madame Lefoux did the most curious thing. She opened her green eyes wide, as though in surprise. And then, when that did not
seem to help, turned her dark head aside and began to cry.

Lady Maccon envied her the skill of crying with aplomb. She herself went allover splotchy, but Madame Lefoux seemed to be
able to execute the emotional state with minimal fuss: no gulps, no sniffles, just silent fat tears falling down her cheeks
and dripping off her chin. It seemed all the more painfully sad, immersed in unnatural silence.

Lady Maccon, never one to be moved by sentiment, cast her hands up to heaven. “Oh, by glory, what now?”

“I ken, wife, now is the time for us all to be a tad more forthcoming with one another,” said Conall. He was a softer touch.
He steered both Alexia and Madame Lefoux away from the scene of battle (and Ivy and Tunstell, who were now making horrible
kissy noises at one another) to a different part of the room.

“Oh dear.” Lady Maccon glared at Lord Maccon. “You said ‘us all.' Were you involved as well, my darling husband? Have you,
perhaps, been less forthcoming than you should with your loving wife?”

Lord Maccon sighed. “Why must you always be so difficult, woman?”

Lady Maccon said nothing, simply crossed her arms over her ample bosom and stared pointedly at him.

“Madame Lefoux was working for me,” he admitted, his voice so low it was almost a growl. “I asked her to keep an eye on you
while I was away.”

“And you did not tell me?”

“Well, you know how you get.”

“I most certainly do. Really, Conall, imagine assigning a BUR agent to track me, as though I were a fox in the hunt. That
is simply the living end! How could you?”

“Oh, she isn't BUR. We've known each other a long time. I asked her as a friend, not an employee.”

Alexia frowned. She wasn't sure how she felt about
that.
“How long a time and how good a friend?”

Madame Lefoux gave a watery little smile.

Lord Maccon looked genuinely surprised. “Really, wife, you are not usually given to such denseness. I dinna fit Madame Lefoux's
preferences.”

“Ah, any more than I fit Lord Akeldama's?”

Lord Maccon, who was prone to getting a mite jealous of the effete vampire and resented the man's close relationship with
Alexia, nodded his understanding. “Verra well, I take your point, wife.”

“Admittedly,” interjected Madame Lefoux, her voice soft and tear-strained, “I was also interested in contacting Angelique,
and she
is
Lady Maccon's maid.”

“You had your own agenda,” accused Lord Maccon, looking with suspicion at the Frenchwoman.

“Who doesn't?” wondered Lady Maccon. “Angelique told me you used to be intimate and that Quesnel is hers, not yours.”

“When did she tell you this, before she died?” wondered Lord Maccon.

Alexia patted his arm. “No, dear, after.”

Madame Lefoux brightened considerably. “She is a ghost?”

Lady Maccon waggled her fingertips about. “Not anymore.”

The inventor gasped, what appeared to have been a strange kind of hope quickly followed by a return to sadness. “You exorcised
her? How cruel.”

“She asked, and we struck a bargain. I am sorry. I did not think to take your feelings into account.”

“These days, no one seems to.” The inventor sounded bitter.

“There is no need to wallow,” replied Lady Maccon, who did not approve of maudlin humors.

“Really, Alexia, why such sharpness with the woman? She is overset.”

Lady Maccon looked more closely into Madame Lefoux's face. “I believe there may be cause. You are not so sad over lost love
as you are over a lost past. Is that not so, madame?”

Madame Lefoux's face lost a modicum of its grief, and her eyes narrowed, sharpening on Alexia. “We were together for a long
time, but you are right. I did want her back—not for me but for Quesnel. I thought perhaps a son would ground her in the daylight
world. She changed so very much after she became a drone. They tapped into the hardness Quesnel and I had once managed to
temper.”

Alexia nodded. “I deduced as much.”

Lord Maccon looked at his wife appreciatively. “Good Lord, woman, how could you have possibly known that?”

“Well”—Lady Maccon grinned—“Madame Lefoux here did play a bit of the coquette with me while we were traveling. I do not think
she was entirely shamming.”

Madame Lefoux flashed a sudden smile. “I did not know you were even aware.”

Alexia arched both eyebrows. “I was not until recently; hindsight can be most illuminating.”

Lord Maccon glowered at the Frenchwoman. “You were flirting with
my wife
!” he roared.

Madame Lefoux straightened her spine and looked up at him. “No need to raise your hackles and get territorial, old wolf. You
find her attractive—why shouldn't I?”

Lord Maccon actually sputtered.

“Nothing happened,” corroborated Alexia, smiling broadly.

Madame Lefoux added, “Not that I wouldn't like—”

Lord Maccon growled and loomed even more menacingly in Madame Lefoux's direction. The inventor rolled her eyes at his posturing.

Alexia's grin widened. It was rare to have someone else around brave enough to tease the earl. She shot a quick glance in
the Frenchwoman's direction. At least, she thought they were teasing. Just to be on the safe side, she hastily switched topics.
“This is all very flattering, but could we return to the subject at hand? If Madame Lefoux was on board the dirigible to keep
an eye on me and to blackmail Angelique with parental duties, then it was not she who tried to poison me and got Tunstell
instead. And I now know it was not Angelique either.”

“Poison! You didna tell me about a poisoning, wife! You only mentioned the fall.” Lord Maccon began to vibrate with suppressed
anger. His eyes had turned feral, solid yellow now instead of tawny brown. Wolf eyes.

“Yes, well, the fall
was
Angelique.”

“Dinna change the subject, you impossible woman!”

Lady Maccon switched to defending herself. “Well, I did suppose Tunstell would have told you. He took the brunt of the incident,
after all. And he is your claviger. Normally he tells you everything. Regardless”—she turned back to Madame Lefoux—“
you
are after the humanization weapon as well, aren't you?”

Madame Lefoux smiled again. “How did you guess?”

“Someone keeps trying to break into or steal my dispatch case. Since you knew about the parasol and all its secret pockets,
I figured it had to be you, not Angelique. And what could you possibly want with it except my records as muhjah on the London
humanization and the dewan and potentate's findings?” She paused, her head cocked to one side. “Would you mind stopping now?
It is most aggravating. There is nothing of import in the case, you do realize?”

“But I am still eager to know where you hid it.”

“Mmm, ask Ivy about lucky special socks.”

Lord Maccon gave his wife a funny look.