Curtsies & Conspiracies
Page 33

MISBEHAVING WITH PURPOSE
Captain Niall carried them directly to the hive. Sophronia recognized the neighborhood instantly. He was wise enough to go nowhere near the front door but let them off at a back alley near the kitchen entrance, where merchants delivered goods and servants came and went.
Sophronia marshaled her troops. “Soap, would you go in the back? We will need a warning in case of unexpected visitors. If anyone sees you, how about pretending you’re there to clean the chimneys?”
“At this hour?”
“Best I can think up on short notice. Sidheag and I are going in the front.”
“Barefaced?” Sidheag protested.
“Can you think of a better plan?”
“Who do we represent?” Sidheag asked.
“We’re dandy drones of a local rove vampire. We’ve been sent to find out what’s going on. We heard they kidnapped children, and our master does not approve. It’s worth a try.”
Captain Niall, still in wolf form, looked very worried.
Sophronia, thinking herself quite daring at giving a teacher instructions, even if he did look a bit doglike, said, “If you could stay to assist the retreat, Captain? Or go get the authorities, if you think they would come. Your decision.”
The werewolf sat back on his haunches with an air of decisiveness. He’d wait.
“He can’t carry five of us,” protested Sidheag. “I mean, if we are, by some miracle, successful in retrieving Dimity and Pillover.”
The werewolf growled.
Sidheag understood wolf growls. “Fine, he can carry five of us, but five of us would not be able to fit on top of him.”
Sophronia waved a dismissive hand. “We’ll figure that out later. We really should be getting on.”
The two girls left the alley and made their way down the street to the front door of the Westminster Hive.
Sophronia practiced her walk and her mannerisms, doing her best to be a man of fashion. Sidheag, who looked more like a man, also already walked like one. Sophronia thought they might have applied fake mustaches to good effect, but otherwise they weren’t bad. If only our clothes fit better.
They strode up the steps and pulled the bell rope.
A handsome footman opened the door. “Yes?” His eyebrows raised up nearly into his hairline at the sight before him. “… Sirs?”
“We have come to pay a call,” announced Sophronia, deepening her voice.
“Indeed. And who has sent you?”
Sophronia wiggled her fingers in dismissal. “Oh, you know.”
The footman pursed his lips, eyeing their attire. “Lord Akeldama will have his little jokes.”
Sophronia nodded, connecting the dandy vampire to the name. Professor Braithwope had mentioned that name in class recently. What had he said? Oh yes, that Lord Akeldama was frivolous but had standing.
“Oh, yes, he does like jokes.” She twirled about slightly.
The footman frowned. “Are you in your cups? She won’t like that, you know. It hasn’t been a successful attempt. She’s out of humor.”
Sophronia stopped twirling. “He wants to know what’s going on.”
“He always does. He’s usually more subtle about it.”
Sophronia only looked up at the ceiling of the hallway as if bored by the conversation.
“Are you a new drone?” the footman pressed.
Silence.
“I suppose you had best come in. Who shall I say has called?”
“Lord Dingleproops and Lord Mersey,” said Sophronia.
“Sounds like him,” said the footman.
He took them into the front parlor. “Wait here, if you please? She’s almost done with her current.”
Sophronia and Sidheag waited. The door was left slightly ajar. They watched in horror as two other footmen walked by carrying the comatose form of a young lady with thick honey-brown hair.
“Pity,” one was saying. “She had such neat stitches.”
The girl’s neck was savaged, her hair matted with blood.
Sophronia put a hand to her own mouth in horror, thinking for one terrified moment that it was Dimity.
“She will keep trying for a new queen. I think she’s lost the ability.”
“Wouldn’t let her hear you say that if I were you.”
Sidheag grasped Sophronia supportively by the arm. “Not Dimity,” she whispered.
“No, the dress is too somber.” Sophronia felt like she could breathe again.
The hallway cleared. A moment later they heard a familiar voice say, “I should return right away! It is, after all, my ball. Thank the countess for me, would you please? Such a delightful lady. So sorry the metamorphosis failed. It’s nice to know she has everything to hand. Or should I say, to fang?” A forced giggle.
Sophronia and Sidheag exchanged terrified glances. “Monique!”
They turned their backs to the open parlor door.
Monique, unfortunately, noticed that the vampire’s next callers were two young men of fashion waiting in the front parlor.
“Well, good evening, gentlemen! I do hope your audience is as enjoyable as mine.”
Sophronia pulled out her handkerchief. Never be without one, Lady Linette always says. So wise. She pretended a coughing fit into it and turned slightly to wave her free hand at Monique.
“Oh, dear, sir, are you unwell?” Monique smiled flirtatiously.
Sidheag, meanwhile, bent down to buff a bit lint off her boot.
“Simply a touch of the consumption, miss,” said Sophronia gruffly into her handkerchief.
“Oh, well, do take care.” Monique looked as though she might enter the room to converse further, but the footman, standing behind her, cleared his throat.
“Oh, yes, of course she is waiting. Lovely to meet you, gentlemen. Oh, dear, I suppose we haven’t met. I’m Monique de Pelouse.” Monique was executing the confused-but-coy-and-charming maneuver.
Sophronia and Sidheag both bowed. Sidheag kept her head turned away. Sophronia kept her handkerchief pressed to the lower half of her face.
The footman said sharply, “Miss!”
Monique sparkled at them. “Well, any friend of the countess’s is a friend of mine. I’m having a ball at this very moment at Walsingham House, if you gentlemen would like to join me there later? You’d be more than welcome.”
Sophronia murmured an assent.
Monique clapped her hands. “Capital. Now, do pardon me?” She drifted away.
The footman returned after letting her out into the night.
Sophronia said, in a shocked tone, “Who was that forward bit of baggage?”
The footman was disapproving. “New drone, so green. My apologies, gentlemen. We thought witnessing metamorphosis would dampen her enthusiasm. The metamorphosis failed, and she’s as bad as ever.”
Sophronia and Sidheag exchanged startled looks. Monique has found herself a new patron in the Westminster Hive already? Powerful connection. She must be involved in Dimity and Pillover’s kidnapping.
Sophronia nodded sympathetically to the footman. “Our condolences on the loss of the female drone.”
“Poor girl. A very talented embroiderer, so fast. I’ve never seen one better or more obsessed with decorating throw pillows.”
Oh, no, Sophronia thought, the school’s spy. The intelligencer who tried to warn us with embroidered cushions. Had the hive figured out she was a spy and killed her in the guise of metamorphosis? She felt a cold sweat spring up all over her body and hoped vampires couldn’t smell fear.
“It’s what happens.” The footman looked philosophical. “Haven’t made a new queen in decades. Not likely to change with drones like that new one. She needs a good deal of refinement.”
Sophronia said sagely, “They always do.”
The footman gave her a look that suggested a man in a red bolero ought not to comment on anyone else’s flaws.
Sophronia was defensive. “We came from a fancy dress ball, my good man.”
He looked mollified.
“No time to change,” added Sidheag.
Sophronia gave her a quelling look. That was more than enough. Gentlemen should not have to explain themselves to footmen! Even if they were all drones. The footman hadn’t earned his rank yet; the dandies had.
The footmen led them to the rear of the hive. The house was remarkable, all beautiful artwork, modern furnishings, inventions of great worth, and priceless Persian rugs. The staff, gliding to-and-fro in expensive black-buttoned shoes and starched aprons, were all young and beautiful. The Westminster Hive, whatever else might be said of it, certainly had taste. Monique would fit right in, visually at least. Yet there was something about the place that troubled Sophronia. It felt like spoiled milk, only less smelly. All that plush carpeting muffled sound so that the servants moved noiselessly. And then there was the dead embroidering agent to consider. But it wasn’t only the silence, or that gruesome body; there was something missing.
In the back parlor sat a beautiful, plump woman, who was the focus of a great deal of attention. To her left stood a tall, reedy man with a reluctant hairline and to her right… Dimity and Pillover. Dimity was stretched out in a dead faint on a velvet ottoman. Pillover, white-faced and trembling, was taking tea.
Sophronia realized what had been bothering her so much about the hive house: there were no tracks, no faint noises of background steam, and no mechanicals. No mechanicals at all. The staff was entirely human. Sophronia had never seen anything like it in all her life.
The footman announced them. “Lord Dingleproops and Lord Mersey to call, my lady.”
Pillover gasped and stared at Sophronia and Sidheag. It was a small mistake, since his shock might be attributed to the egregiousness of their attire rather than previous acquaintance.
The plump woman could only be the Westminster Hive queen, Countess Nadasdy. She was impeccably dressed to the height of style. She had on a gown with a very large skirt and a very tight bodice, although she was a tad round for such an outfit. She looked, Sophronia felt, a little like a milkmaid from a dairy farm—fond of cheese. Her cheeks were rosy and her manners light and gay, but she only seemed frivolous; those cornflower blue eyes saw everything.
“Good evening, gentlemen. Welcome.” Her voice was warm and soft, very ladylike.
Sophronia and Sidheag bowed deeply.
“Good evening, Countess,” said Sophronia. “Our master tenders his warmest regards. Our condolences on your recent”—she paused delicately—“mis-fang.”
“Oh, thank you. And thank him for me, will you please? Pity he could not send more appropriately dressed messengers.” The woman tittered at her own insult.
“We were nearest to your abode when he heard the news. He felt time was pressing and sent us on immediately. We were attending a fancy dress ball over yonder,” Sophronia waggled a hand in an unspecified direction. “Please excuse our eccentricity.”
“Yes?” said the countess. “And what is his lordship’s vaunted news? I did not publicize my intent to bite. Failure is all too often the outcome this century.” Her gentleman companion put a consoling hand on her shoulder. She shrugged him off.
“Ah, no, you are correct—he did not know of that. No, he understands you have visitors.”
“Oh?”
Sophronia wandered over to the couch, took out the smelling salts from her waistcoat pocket, and administered them to Dimity. None of the vampires objected. Dimity revived only to squawk at Sophronia—suddenly there and so peculiarly dressed.
“Hush now, child,” condescended Sophronia.
Dimity’s eyes widened, but she remembered her training and hushed, sitting fully upright.
Sophronia returned to stand next to Sidheag, crossing her arms. “Should you be involving yourself to such an extent? Kidnapping is a tad rude, wouldn’t you say?”
The countess moved to sit next to the revived Dimity and placed a white hand on the girl’s arm. Dimity shivered and looked down at her lap.
“Such harsh vocabulary, Lord Dingleproops. We merely borrowed them for a little. Didn’t we, dears? And we’ve been having a lovely time of it, haven’t we? So educational. Not every mortal gets a chance to witness metamorphosis. Even an unsuccessful metamorphosis.” The countess dabbed at her mouth with an embroidered handkerchief as if remembering the blood that had recently been there.
Dimity looked as if she might faint again.
At which moment the parlor door burst open and Soap, carrying all those things needed to clean a chimney and a good deal more besides, clattered inside. He was covered in even more soot than usual, shedding it as he walked.
The countess let out a small scream. “My carpets!”
Sophronia was instantly on her guard. Soap wouldn’t make a fuss unless he wanted to warn them of something.