“Excellent. Percy?”
“You aren’t going to yell at me again, are you?”
Primrose perked up. “Rue yelled at you? Spiffing. I’m sure you richly deserved it.”
“I probably did.” Percy looked more than ordinarily morose. “But she wasn’t very nice. To me or poor Mr Lefoux.”
“Poor Mr Lefoux, is it? Suddenly you’re all over chummy?” Primrose was not to be taken in by her twin being pathetic.
“More a solidarity in misery. I’m certain I shall return to loathing him shortly.”
Rue was feeling guilty. “While I stand by my opinion of your behaviour, Percy, I might have couched it in somewhat kinder terms. For that, I apologise.”
Percy had many faults, but bitterness wasn’t one of them. “Apology accepted. Now here’s our course.” He laid out the charts and pointed to the various swirling currents.
“Have you informed Quesnel?”
“I have.”
“Without getting into a fight?”
“I suspect that he, too, is smarting from your… uh… lecture.”
Rue turned to Primrose. “Are the staff and supplies in order?”
“Just waiting on a few final necessities but we should be ready by sundown.”
“Are we missing anyone?”
“Virgil,” said Percy promptly. “I sent him after the latest Royal Society Bulletin. I have a subscription but they cannot seem to find the ship to deliver it. I’m waiting on a very important article.” He sounded suspiciously smug.
“Why on earth did you give them the address of a dirigible?” Prim rolled her eyes.
“This is where I keep my stuff. Books, beverages, boots, and so forth.”
“It’s a dirigible, you wiffin. It moves!” Primrose was ever exasperated by her brother’s obtuse belief that the world ought to conform to his whims, rather than the other way around.
He sniffed. “Regardless, I sent Virgil off to collect a copy. I wish to have the latest in hand before float off. There have been several pamphlets warning of the hazards of reading during air travel. The evidence is sadly compelling. I’m quite distressed. I’m considering abstaining from partaking while we are in transit. So I want to read this pamphlet before we leave.”
Rue and Primrose both stared at him, mouths agape.
Primrose put a hand to her cheek. “Not read while we travel? But you’ll die!”
Percy always had a book open, even during mealtimes. The very idea of him abstaining for more than ten minutes was apocryphal.
Percy glared. “I assure you, I have plenty of self-restraint.”
Rue had no more time for his eccentricities. “I shall believe it when I see it. I hope Virgil returns before we are scheduled to depart.” Not only did she like the little chap, but he also seemed the only one able to tolerate Percy for any length of time. And if Percy wasn’t going to read, well, all Virgil’s resources would be required.
“We’ll have to delay.”
Primrose shook her head. “For your valet? Brother dear, that’s hardly a good reason.”
“No, for the pamphlet. Didn’t I just tell you how important it was?”
“What’s so important about it?”
“Never you mind.”
This looked to be deteriorating into sibling bickering, so Rue interjected. “Now, Prim, should we have tea?”
Primrose left off the bicker with alacrity. “Jolly good notion. Shall we take it in the stateroom?”
“My quarters, I think.”
“Ah, that bad, is it?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Abandoning Percy abovedecks, the two young ladies went below together.
SEVEN
In Which a Voyage Is Afloat
Rue filled Primrose in on everything, from her father’s deteriorating condition, to her suspicion that Quesnel had known and her lashing out at him. She told Prim about her fear for her parents and about Dama’s revelations.
Primrose listened patiently, making sympathetic murmurs in all the right places. She held Rue’s hand, squeezing it during the dramatic bits.
“Oh, I say!” was her devout utterance when Rue finished. “And I thought my news was something exciting.”
“Your news? And here I am babbling about my problems.” Rue was arrested. “What news?”
Prim extracted her hand and drew off her gloves. A very expensive-looking ring graced her left hand.
“You’re engaged!” squeaked Rue.
“To the finest gentleman I ever saw. Such nice legs.” Primrose did seem sincere about it.
“Um, to which one, exactly?”
“Lieutenant Plonks.”
“Oh.”
“I know, but that is his only real drawback. Can you imagine me as a Mrs Norman Plonks? It hardly bears repeating. But he is handsome, and respectable, and Queen Mums will adore him. She’s been encouraging me to get married. I’m almost past my prime.”
Rue tried not to let her disapproval show. Primrose was always so supportive. Rue owed her enthusiasm. But Prim had no real model of married life, since her father had died tragically when she was young. Rue had only heard it spoken of in hushed tones. A theatre actor of considerable repute, Mr Tunstell had taken a deep breath before Dionysus’s famous soliloquy to the dancing Minotaurs, inhaled a pickled grape, and perished onstage to resounding applause for a most realistic portrayal. “It’s how he would have wished to go,” was all Lady Maccon ever said at Rue’s prodding, “wearing a loincloth in front of a cheering crowd.”