Over a light repast of giblet pie, boiled whiting, brawn, cold roast capon, and broiled haddock together with tea, brown bread, and sweet butter—the teachers did not approve of a heavy breakfast—Mademoiselle Geraldine informed them that they were headed to Swiffle-on-Exe for a brief stopover and that they could expect company once they arrived. The headmistress did not look pleased. Mademoiselle Geraldine might boast the rinsed red hair, loud voice, and well-upholstered figure of a former opera singer, but she took deportment seriously. Whoever their passenger was going to be, Mademoiselle Geraldine did not approve.
Accordingly, they arrived at the outskirts of Swiffle-on-Exe the next evening after dark. Instead of taking up their customary mooring point, off a goat path west of town, they went south and put down lines near the banks of the Exe.
The girls were all atwitter over this shift in tradition. Only Sophronia knew it was because they must take on boiler water. When everyone else was asleep, she crept out of quarters. It was dangerously busy in the hallway; the tracks were screaming with maid mechanicals, bustling to and fro carrying extra linens and washbasins. Sophronia had to flatten herself behind doors and inch along the walls at a pace so slow they wouldn’t register her. She decided not to visit the sooties, who would be too busy, and instead headed out onto a mid-level balcony. She leaned over the railing to watch as the airship sunk down and nested, nose first, over the river, rustling the willow trees along the bank. Eventually, the front section, which housed the teachers’ residence and engineering, bridged the water.
With a belch of smoke out the stacks and a loud rumbling, a huge articulated metal pipe ejected from the lower front of the hull. Standing on a mid-level deck, Sophronia was in good position to observe under the light of a half-moon.
The pipe was massive. Near its end was a set of four small inflated balloons. These rested atop the river and held the pipe, presumably, at exactly the right angle. Round steps collapsed out like flower petals as the pipe telescoped down. Sooties in the boiler room must have been cranking up a storm to create suction, for with a slurping noise the pipe shuddered and began to take on water. It looked as though the airship were drinking up the river through a flute.
This task complete, sooties, tiny figures below her, ran down the finger keys of the flute. There were a few joyful whoops and splashes. Mortified, Sophronia realized they were bare. Having left their soot-covered clothes above, they were taking this as a rare opportunity to bathe. The water must be freezing, but they looked to be having a rollicking good time. Sophronia supposed Soap was among them, but she couldn’t distinguish individuals and wasn’t certain she should. Nevertheless, she was so taken with the spectacle she nearly fell over the railing. There might have been some small part of her that wished for Vieve’s binoculars.
The next morning, the airship was back in its customary position, hovering over a hill west of town. The hodgepodge of buildings and mixed architecture that made up Bunson’s school was in view down the path. Sophronia blushed to think upon what she had seen the night before, and regretted not having Dimity to share it with.
When Sophronia entered the communal parlor wearing a carriage dress because she could not do up the back of her day gowns by herself, Dimity was in huddle with Sidheag. Sophronia walked over to their group with an open expression, but the girls stopped talking and only smiled back. Fake, unfriendly, cutting smiles of the kind Lady Linette had made them perfect over the course of six lessons. Sophronia sighed. Still not forgiven? But I have such interesting things to tell.
Then, before breakfast commenced, Mademoiselle Geraldine made a most shocking announcement, one that clearly distressed her.
“Ladies,” she said. “We will be taking a trip. A great trip.”
A collective gasp met this statement. The girls stopped reaching for crumpets and jam and looked up expectantly.
Sophronia sat back in her seat and looked at Monique out of the corner of her eye. Monique’s genuine surprise suggested she hadn’t known. Monique supposedly had an advocate among the teachers, and yet she hadn’t been told? The girl’s expression changed from shock to annoyance. Oh, ho, she thinks she should have been told. Very interesting.
“You knew.” Dimity was giving Sophronia an exasperated look.
Well, at least she’s talking to me. Sophronia nodded.
“Of course she knew! She’s the best, remember? Better than any of us,” Preshea interfered.
Dimity looked away, flushing.
“We are going to…” Mademoiselle Geraldine made an expansive gesture and left a pregnant pause, her stage training in action. “… London!”
Squeals of delight met that. Every girl wanted to go to London, even the ones who had been already. The shopping alone!
Sophronia’s dining table erupted into hushed exclamations.
“Think of it, town in March!”
“Directly before the Season. All the new gloves will be in!”
“I must write to Mummy and Daddy immediately to ask for an increase in my allowance.”
“Will there be balls? Oh, I do hope there will be balls!”
“There must be balls.”
Sophronia nodded to herself. That explained all the extra fuel. But their school never left the moor. The fact that Mademoiselle Geraldine’s was actually a massive airship was supposed to be secret. No one would believe it was a real finishing school if they knew it bobbed about shamelessly midair. Sophronia’s mind jumped to the problem of staying covert. Can we avoid populated areas all the way to London? She ought to be excited. She’d rarely had an opportunity to visit the capital. But what fun could she have in London if all her girlfriends were angry at her? It was hardly as though she and Soap could go tripping about Regent Street, cooing over lace tucks.
Mademoiselle Geraldine called for silence. It took awhile. “Now, now, ladies. Ladies! There will be plenty of time to talk among yourselves later. It will take us four days to get there. Classes will, of course, continue.” The headmistress took a deep breath, straining her stays alarmingly. “And that is not all!”
The girls quieted in anticipation of more delicious news.
“We will be joined by company on this excursion.” Mademoiselle Geraldine waved at the back of the room. The girls turned in their seats.
The dining hall doors opened and in walked… boys.
Mademoiselle Geraldine’s young ladies did not squeal at this, although it was certainly an even more squeal-worthy moment. Their training took over, and not a peep was to be heard. But there was the faint sucking hiss of multiple indrawn breaths, like helium escaping the big balloons.
Again, Dimity turned to Sophronia, as if she could not help herself. “Did you know about this?”
“Dimity!” reprimanded Preshea.
Sophronia had not known, but she wasn’t about to tell Dimity that. She merely tightened her lips.
“Oh, Sophronia!”
There were some ten young men in all and one teacher. The teacher was a boyish-faced blond gentleman, wearing a seriously scholarly expression.
Sophronia recognized a few of the boys. Dimity’s younger brother, Pillover, gave their table a glum nod from under the brim of his oversized bowler. There was the infamous Lord Dingleproops who, outrageously, tipped his hat at them. Dimity blushed and then stuck her nose in the air. Next to Lord Dingleproops walked a pale, dark-haired boy wearing a little kohl about his eyes and possessing a certain sullen restlessness. Sophronia and he had once danced together but had never been properly introduced. She’d had to cut him unkindly at the time, abandoning him alone in the middle of a dance. There had been prototypes and cheese pies to deal with, but he would probably never forgive her.
He caught her staring and held her gaze in a forward manner. Then he lowered long eyelashes, ridiculously long for boy, and gave her a small smile.
I know that trick. We learned it our first week here. Sophronia lowered her own lashes at him and glared. Some traitorous part of her was thinking, At least he doesn’t resent me for that dance.
The boy’s smile became genuine, and he gave her a little nod.
“Great,” muttered Sophronia. “We got us Pistons on board.”
“What’s wrong with Pistons, Miss Know-It-All?” Monique asked, driven to break her silence. “They come from some of the finest families in England.”
“And some of the wealthiest,” added Preshea, emphasizing the t at the end of the word like a bullet.
Agatha said to Dimity, “Imagine Lord Dingleproops tilting his hat at you! After what he did!”
Monique narrowed in on this. “What did he do?”
Dimity said, “Ask Sophronia, why don’t you?”
“Oh, it can’t be that important.”
Mademoiselle Geraldine interrupted further discussion. “Please welcome Mr. Algonquin Shrimpdittle and a selection of the top-ranked students from Bunson and Lacroix’s Boys’ Polytechnique. They will be joining us for the journey to London. I’m convinced you will make them welcome. Don’t fuss; you will get the opportunity to socialize after tea.”
The silence that met that remark practically wobbled with excitement, like aspic jelly.
“The young gentlemen will be joining you for some of your lessons. I expect you all to behave and conduct yourselves like the ladies of qualit-tay I know you are!”
Another thrilled gasp met this. Mademoiselle Geraldine narrowed her eyes at Lady Linette, as though this were all her idea, and continued, “Now, don’t you desire to know why we are headed into London?”
Truth be told, most of the girls had entirely forgotten that there need be a reason. Sophronia was interested to hear what excuse had been given to Mademoiselle Geraldine. Almost as interested as she was in the truth behind their trip. She turned her gaze away from the boys, now lined up at the front of the room. The abominable dark-haired one was staring at her. So rude.
“Henri Giffard is scheduled to float, from France, in the very first transcontinental dirigible!”
This was of little consequence. After all, they spent all day every day floating about in an overlarge dirigible. Sophronia waited to be impressed.
“And he has said he will do it in under an hour using aether currents.”
This was met with pure shock. Even some of the boys looked surprised.
Float inside the aetherosphere? Inside the currents that swirled above the air itself? Unheard of!
“Those with the scientific know-how”—Mademoiselle Geraldine gestured at Professors Shrimpdittle and Lefoux—“tell me that he is most likely to succeed due to some exciting new valve technology. It is deemed that such a monumental historical occurrence is worth uprooting our entire establishment to witness in person.”
Sophronia was caught up in the metaphor of uprooting a floating school.
“And now, if you gentlemen will take a seat,” the headmistress continued, gesturing to an unoccupied table laid with a damask tablecloth and fine china, “we can get on to breakfast at last.”
FLIRTING WITH CONSPIRACIES
The first aether-borne dirigible flight, and we get to witness it! Do you realize, if Giffard’s calculations are correct, this could halve float times? Can you believe it? We could get all the way to Scotland in four days! I wonder how he is handling aether-current monitoring. Can you imagine being that high up?”
Sophronia was not as impressed as Vieve thought she should be. “It is still faster by sleeper train.”
“Yes, but this is floating. Floating! Using aether currents! The possibilities are endless. It’s so exciting!” Vieve bounced up and down on Sophronia’s bed.
The young inventor had stopped by for a visit after breakfast. Sophronia had no idea where the scamp ate, but clearly it was within hearing distance of the assembly.
“As you’re here, do you think you could help me dress?” she asked.
“You’re dressed already,” protested Vieve.
“In something nicer?”
“Not you, too!”
“Well, everyone is putting on their best because of the visitors. I don’t want to be known as that girl in the carriage dress.”
Vieve sighed. “Oh, very well.” The ten-year-old eschewed female clothing herself, but she had the French eye for apparel on others, and opinions to go with it. She mooched over to Sophronia’s wardrobe and selected a dark blue-and-green plaid, two seasons old, with a narrow skirt.
“This one,” she pronounced with all the authority of youth.
“Really?”
“It complements your eyes.”
“If you say so.”
“With the straw shepherdess bonnet.” Vieve was always very assured on the subject of hats. Not to be trifled with.
“Well, you’ll have to help me put it on. Dimity still isn’t speaking to me.”