“Oh yes? A Lefoux original design?”
“How did you—?”
“Give me some credit, Mr Lefoux. I’m not ignorant of the styles of different inventors. That carapace has your family signature all over it.”
“I shall let my mother know we are becoming predictable.”
“Did I authorise you to install new machinery in my boiler room? No, don’t answer that. I know I did not. It doesn’t match the aesthetic of the teakettles, quite apart from everything else.”
“What if I crocheted a tea-cosy to go over the carapace?”
Rue’s ire was briefly arrested. “You crochet?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. Although that would be my largest endeavour.”
Although Rue conceded that a tea-cosy cover would indeed go much better with the rest of engineering, she wasn’t giving him any quarter. “If you won’t tell me what that tank contraption does, you’re going to have to make a case for keeping it.”
Quesnel blinked at her. It was wildly unfair to have wasted such pretty violet eyes on a man.
Rue crossed her arms. This plumped up her breasts, straining the muslin of the neckline.
The violet eyes fairly goggled.
I do love this dress, thought Rue. At least it’s proving he’s not completely indifferent. “Go on, persuade me.”
“I don’t know what to say, mon petite chou, except that I really do think we may need it. It’s for the preservation of specimens.”
“You think we’ll be collecting samples in the near future, do you?”
“Of a kind.”
At least she’d rung some information out of him. “What makes you believe, Mr Lefoux, that you are still part of my crew?”
Quesnel frowned. “Now, chérie, I didn’t take you for one of those kinds of girls.”
“What kind?”
“Spiteful in response to rejection.”
Rue bit down on a gasp of pain. How dare he! “So it was rejection. Thank you for making your position clear. You could have said before you went to Egypt that you’d rather not be the one in charge of my education. I’m not desperate!”
“Of course you’re not! You’re stunning, exasperating, and occasionally overwhelming. And quite enthusiastic in twisting my meaning. When did I reject you? I thought this was you turning me out onto the streets. Did you not just roust me?”
“Mr Lefoux, you signed on to my crew knowing that it was for one mission. I assumed, given your disappearance and lack of communication since India, that our business arrangement had terminated. You must understand, under those circumstances, that you secretly installing a specimen tank in my hold comes as somewhat of a surprise!”
Rue’s voice had steadily risen. However, it was only on that last line that she realised they had an audience. A croquet match was paused in play to watch a lady of the realm yell roundly at her apparent paramour. At which juncture “specimen tank in my hold” took on an entirely euphemistic meaning. Rue’s face burned.
Quesnel stayed calm. “Oh, no, my darling girl, certainly not! I’ve no intention of abandoning my position as long as you wish me to stay. I love The Spotted Custard. She’s a marvellous ship. Besides, if you’re assuming I’m leaving, why not the Tunstells as well? They only agreed to one trip, but they aren’t going anywhere.”
He gestured behind her to where Percy, Primrose, and several decklings stood watching the show, rather as if they were Wimbledon spectators.
Rue was getting flustered. She wasn’t certain what they were talking about any more: Quesnel’s position under her as chief engineer… or some other amorphous position the details of which – who was under whom – had yet to be determined.
He took her hand. Just like Quesnel to play to an audience. He knew she now couldn’t do anything dramatic, like slap him. “I’m sorry I had to leave unexpectedly. I’m sorry about the tank in the hold but I assure you it’s necessary and explainable. Just not right now. Later? Tonight even, in private? Please, Rue, trust me.”
His hand was warm and strong – and shaking a little bit. His eyes were big compelling pansies of promise and Rue found it all exceedingly annoying. How dare he actually be upset about this, and how dare she worry about his feelings when her own were at risk. And she was in the right!
“I’m sure you can, but right now I’ll settle for what you and Percy were arguing about.”
Quesnel’s winning smile faded.
Rue pursed her lips. “I will get the whole story from the decklings, you realise? You were arguing in public, loudly.”
Quesnel sighed. “I might, just possibly, have published a paper with the Royal Society about the discovery of the weremonkeys.”
“First?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Without including Percy as co-author?”
“I shared with Mrs Featherstonehaugh. But, no, not with Professor Tunstell.”
“No wonder he’s angry with you. That’s incalculably rude.”
“I did think he had already published with the Board of Associated Supernatural Studies or I would have included him. Without a doubt I would.”
“Whose name was first?” Rue raised a hand. “No, don’t answer that. I do not want to get involved. Academics!”
Percy was livid because Quesnel had scooped his discovery. And it wasn’t even Quesnel’s field. He was an inventor. He was supposed to report on new things he had created not found. Frankly, the entirety of the Rights of Discovery and Reportage should have gone to Mrs Featherstonehaugh. Although it was difficult for a lady to be taken seriously in these matters. Nevertheless, if Quesnel was going to co-author any paper on weremonkeys, he ought to have included Percy.