Agatha had clearly been playing with him. He had one of her lace tucks tied about his head, like a jaunty tiara.
Sophronia picked him up for a cuddle. Not that a metal dog was the best cuddler, being hard, oily, ashy, and hot. But it made her feel better.
She put him on the foot of the bed, washed her face and hands, and slipped into her nightgown. She climbed under the covers, tucking her feet under her mechanimal for warmth, and tried to sleep. If it’s in my record that I promised the dewan, then Lady Linette has been told by someone. She listed the possibilities: Dimity, Agatha, Soap, Captain Niall, or the dewan himself. Of the five, she was absolutely certain of only one person’s loyalty—Soap.
She missed him so much it actually hurt.
TEA EMBARGO
New Year’s Eve dawned damp and disgruntled, a soggy tea towel of a day. But by noon the rain had turned to mist, and by sunset it looked like there might be a clear sky over the evening festivities. The girls were delighted. Rain would keep them all inside the dining hall, but clear skies meant the squeak decks were open territory, and teachers could only chaperone so many couples at once. Mademoiselle Geraldine, proverbial apple cart almost overset by her heavy breathing, issued strict instructions that they were to avoid tête-à-têtes. But while the headmistress didn’t know this was a school of espionage, the other teachers did, and were looking at a long night of tea-related canoodling. Professor Lefoux was positively dour at the prospect.
As the moon, almost full, popped up over the horizon in a cheery manner, Mademoiselle Geraldine’s girls glided into Swiffle-on-Exe to find the Bunson’s boys all standing, waiting, with flowers and other appropriate offerings at the edge of the goat path. Of course, Dimity and Sophronia weren’t waiting with the other ladies on the midship reception deck. But they did have good box seats. They watched it all from the comfort—it must be admitted the deck chairs were quite posh—of Professor Braithwope’s private balcony.
“And so we glide in on the wisps of receding fog, emerging out of the white with the rays of the dying sun highlighting all our puffy majesty.” Dimity was moved by loss to muttering poetic twaddle.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Sophronia would have none of it. “We are a chubby caterpillar with delusions of balloon grandeur.”
Forbidden to attend, they were nevertheless dressed for the festivities. Even Professor Braithwope had rediscovered a measure of his old dapper nature in a suit of deep-purple velvet with a lavender brocade vest and purple cravat. He sat, docile, between the two young ladies, knitting what looked like a tea cozy in the shape of a hedgehog. Bumbersnoot, wearing a black cravat, lounged happily at their feet. Occasionally he wuffed at Professor Braithwope’s yarn basket but so far showed no inclination to nibble it.
“Sophronia, hush. I’m enjoying wallowing in a maudlin humor.”
“Apologies, Dimity. Do carry on.”
They watched the sooties crank down the massive staircase. Billowing steam wafted up. The young ladies milled about in excited agitation.
“There they all are.” Dimity was very good at wallowing. “Like colorful fruit being steamed for the pudding course. I should have so liked to be a piece of fruit on that table.”
“What kind?”
“A peach, of course.”
“Of course.” Sophronia privately felt Dimity more of the gooseberry fool at the moment.
Dimity had optimistic plans to sneak off and visit the party, or at least one edge of it where Lady Linette and Professor Lefoux might not notice her. Dimity was never one to miss an event where tea cakes were on the line. Sophronia intended to try as well—after all, she was under orders to get information out of Felix. She couldn’t very well do that while on vampire nanny duty. Thus both young ladies had dressed in their best gowns. It must be admitted that their attire pushed the edge between ball and dinner dress, but since they didn’t have to pass any kind of inspection, they had both taken risks. Or, more to the point, Dimity had taken a risk and chivvied Sophronia into doing the same.
Sophronia self-consciously tucked her shawl around her shoulders. Perhaps she had taken too much of a risk.
Dimity caught her at it.
“Stop twitching.”
“I’m cold,” protested Sophronia, worried over the expanse of chest she was displaying.
“Rubbish.” Dimity’s dress was equally low cut, but, as she put it, she hadn’t been blessed with Sophronia’s turnips. Admittedly, when compared with Agatha or Mademoiselle Geraldine, even Sophronia was a mere radish, but the dress she had on exposed everything but the tips, so to speak.
Dimity’s gown was peach silk with multiple pleats about the neckline ending in scalloped lace. There was a black bow at the waist, as well as one on each shoulder. It was actually quite elegant. She had accentuated the simplicity with jet jewelry, black gloves, and black slippers. Normally, jet was only for those in mourning, but it was an ingenious pairing. All that black against the peach of her dress and skin made Dimity looked pretty and wealthy.
Sophronia’s dress was very sophisticated, possibly overly so. She could hardly believe Petunia had purchased it for her. Sophronia had objected at the time to its being too grown-up. But her sister, who might have been cautious had Sophronia liked it, had advocated heavily once she saw how afraid Sophronia was of the cut. It had no ruffles, no pleats, no lace—nothing but a fitted bodice and a full skirt. Nothing to hide any sins of the figure. The fabric was what made it shine, a vibrant red with black brocade flowers. The short sleeves did end in tiny puffs, but that was it, except, of course, for the extremely low neckline. It was better suited to a lady twice her age and firmly married. However, Dimity thought they might as well go all in, as they expected few would actually see them. And Sophronia felt that if she was to wheedle information out of Felix, this dress was the best help she could get.
They watched the young men board, picking out their particular acquaintances. Lord Dingleproops was there with Lord Mersey and the rest of the Pistons. Pillover trailed reluctantly at the back of the crowd. Both girls were delighted to find he was attending. It pleased Dimity, mostly because she knew he would be miserable. It pleased Sophronia because Agatha had been so unhappy at having to go to the party without them.
They did not see Vieve among the attendees. Has she gotten into trouble? Worse, has she been exposed as female? Sophronia’s scalp prickled in fear. There was great reassurance in knowing Vieve was their inside agent at Bunson’s—not to mention her useful mechanical talent. If she had been compromised, they were all in trouble.
Professor Braithwope leaned forward as if only now noticing they had visitors, his knitting needles continuing to click.
“What’s that, then? First course?”
“Fruit course.” Dimity grinned.
Sophronia shook her head slightly. “It’s a tea party, Professor. They are coming on board for the New Year’s event, remember?”
“Whoever heard of such a thing? One never serves schoolboys at a tea party. Too disruptive. Only the finest young ladies ought to be consumed, everyone knows that. Like yourselves. With a liver-and-egg butter sauce, of course.” The vampire regarded them each in turn, out of the corner of his eye. There was such a focus on their necks that even Dimity pulled up her shawl to cover the exposed flesh, although it conflicted with the much-vaunted neckline of her lovely gown.