Lady Maccon sighed, then asked the best question she could, given Lord Akeldama’s evasiveness. “What can you tell me about Queen Matakara?”
The vampire raised his gem-studded monocle and looked at her through the clear glass. “Not quite the right question, sweetling.”
“Oh, very well. What will you tell me about Queen Matakara? Given that I will be taking your adopted daughter into her hive whether you like it or not.”
“Hard line, my little marmalade pot, but better. I will tell you that she is very old, and her concerns are not that of the shorter lived.”
“No advice at all, not even for Prudence’s sake?”
The vampire looked at her, a slight smile on his face. “You are not above playing all the cards you have been dealt, are you, my darling girl? Very well. You want my advice? Don’t go. More than that? Be careful. What Queen Matakara says is never the whole truth, and what Queen Matakara is has been hidden by the sands of time. It is not that she no longer cares to win; it is that she does not play the game at all. For you and I, my dear, who live for such petty diversions, this is practically impossible to comprehend.”
“Then why ask to see Prudence? Why involve herself?”
“There you have the real danger, my clementine, and the real question, and, of course, there is no way for us to understand the answer.”
“Because she is outside of our understanding?”
“Precisely.”
“Unusual woman.”
“You haven’t yet seen the way she dresses.”
While Lyall tracked down dirigible possession records, and Lord Maccon dashed about looking for clues, Lady Maccon planned her trip. Or, to be precise, she told Floote what she wanted and he made the necessary arrangements and procurements. The Tunstells were accounted for, and much to Alexia’s disgust, Countess Nadasdy insisted on sending one of her drones along as ambassador for the English hives.
“She only wants to keep an eye on me,” she objected to Floote while they contemplated which traveling gowns were best suited to an Egyptian climate. “Do you know who she’s sending? Of course you do.”
Floote said nothing.
Lady Maccon cast her hands up into the air in exasperation and began pacing about the room, gesticulating wildly in accordance with her Italian heritage.
“Exactly! Madame Lefoux. That woman simply cannot be depended upon. I’m surprised the countess trusts her so far as she can throw her. Although, I suppose being a vampire, she could throw her quite far. Then again, perhaps she is sending her along because she doesn’t trust her. I mean, who is Genevieve favoring these days? Me, the vampire, the OBO, or herself?”
“A woman of conflicted loyalties, madam.”
“To say the least! She must live a very complicated life. I’m certain I could never be so duplicitous.”
“No, madam, not in your nature. I shouldn’t let it concern you.”
“No?”
“You can be guaranteed of at least one thing, madam. This time she doesn’t want you dead.”
“Oh, yes? How can I know this?” Alexia huffed, and sat on her bed, her lace robe floating out around her in a waterfall of opulence. “You know, Floote, I really enjoyed her company. That’s the difficulty.”
“You still do, madam.”
“Don’t be familiar, Floote.”
Floote ignored this, in the manner of long-time family retainers everywhere. “It will be good for you to have someone like her along, madam.”
“Like what? What do you mean, Floote?”
“Sensible. Scientific.”
Alexia paused. “Are you speaking as my butler or as my father’s valet?”
“Both, madam.”
Floote’s face was, as always, practically impossible to read. But after days of packing and organizing, Lady Maccon was beginning to get the distinct impression that he did not approve of Egypt.
“You don’t want me to go, do you, Floote?”
Floote paused, looking down at his hands, perfectly gloved in white cotton, as was appropriate to upstairs staff.
“I made Mr. Tarabotti two promises. The first was to keep you safe. Egypt is not safe.”
“And the second?”
Floote shook his head ever so slightly. “I can’t stop you, madam. But he wouldn’t want you to go.”
Alexia had read her father’s journals. “I have done a great deal in my life he would not have approved of. My marriage, for one.”
Floote went back to packing. “He would want you to live as you wished, but not in Egypt.”
“I am sorry, Floote, but it’s time. If you won’t tell me the missing parts of my father’s life, perhaps someone there will.” Alexia had always thought Floote’s loyalty was absolute. Floote had stayed with her pregnant mother when Alessandro abandoned them. He had changed her nappies when she was a babe. He had left the Loontwill household to attend Alexia after her marriage to a werewolf. Now, she thought for the first time, perhaps it was his loyalty to her dead father that was unshakable and she was merely a proxy player.
Later that night, when her husband came home, Alexia curled against him rather more fiercely than she ordinarily might. Conall knew his wife well enough to sense the confusion and offer physical comfort of the kind she had given him only a few evenings earlier. In his touch, Alexia found reassurance. She also realized that with both Conall and Ivy along, she was leaving her home interests unsupervised. Lyall owed his loyalty to Lord Maccon, and she considered him an unreliable source ever since she found out he was behind the Kingair assassination attempt. Lord Akeldama’s motives were always his own. Who did that leave her?
Things remained excitedly on the go all that week. Biffy carved out what time he could for his precious hats but nevertheless found himself drawn into the excitement of Dubh’s murder investigation and Egyptian travel. He simply couldn’t abstain. He was overly intrigued by the affairs of others.
He did manage to return to his duties as lady’s valet. He rather adored Lady Maccon, and had from the moment she first appeared in Lord Akeldama’s life. She had such an endearingly practical way of looking at the world. He had once described her to a colleague as the type of female who was born a grande dame. Everyone and everything had a proper place or she would see they were put into one of her own devising. Although she did require his guidance in the manner of her toilette. So far as Biffy was concerned, that, too, was an admirable quality in a lady. He enjoyed being needed, and Lady Maccon would be lost without him.
Which was precisely what she said as he fussed about with her hair. “Oh, Biffy, how do you do it? So lovely, you know I should be utterly lost without you.”
“Thank you very much, my lady.” Biffy finished cleaning the curling tongs and placed them into a drawer, standing back to take a critical look at his masterwork.
“That will do, my lady. Now, what would you like to wear this evening?”
“Oh, something sensible I think, Biffy. I won’t be doing anything more exciting than packing.”
Biffy went to look at her row of dresses. “How are preparations coming along for the trip?” He selected a day gown of cream striped in red with a cuirasse bodice of black velvet and a matched black underskirt. He paired this with a forward-tilting wide-brimmed hat with masculine overtones counteracted by a great array of feathers. Alexia thought the hat a little much but bowed to Biffy’s judgment and allowed herself to be trussed up.
“Admirably, I believe. All of us should be prepared to leave the day after tomorrow. I am rather looking forward to it.”
“I do hope you enjoy yourself.”
“Thank you, Biffy. There was one more thing. I was wondering if I might prevail upon you. That is…” Lady Maccon paused, as though embarrassed or unable to find the words.
Biffy immediately left off fastening all the copious small buttons at the back of her gown and circled around to stand next to her, meeting her eyes via the looking glass. “My lady, you know you have only to ask.”
“Oh, yes, of course. But this is a matter of some delicacy. I want it to be your own choice. Not one driven by pack or status.”
She turned so they could look at each other face-to-face and took one of his hands in hers. He felt the effect of her touch instantly, an awareness of mortality, a dimming of his supernatural senses. It was a little like dropping out of the aether into the lower atmosphere, a sinking sensation in the stomach. He had learned to ignore the feeling. What with dressing and arranging Lady Maccon’s hair, he experienced it frequently.
“I have a little private consortium. I was wondering if, perhaps, you might be persuaded to join.”
Biffy was fascinated. “What kind of consortium?”
“A sort of secret society. I will, of course, require a vow of silence.”
“Naturally. What do you call yourselves?”
“The Parasol Protectorate.”
Biffy smiled. “I am enthralled by the concept of a society named after an accessory. Do go on, my lady.”
“I am afraid you would be only our third member. Currently, the society consists of myself and Ivy Tunstell.”
“Mrs. Tunstell?”
“She was rather invaluable in a matter of some considerable delicacy just before Prudence was born.”
“What is the purpose of this society?”
“I suppose the root of the Protectorate is to seek truth and protect the innocent. In as polite and well accessorized a way as possible, of course.”
“That seems quite glamorous enough to me.” Biffy was rather taken with the idea of being in a club with the estimable Lady Maccon. It sounded most diverting. “Do I make a pledge?”
“Oh, dear. I did invent one for Ivy, but it is a tad ridiculous.”
“Splendid.”
Lady Maccon giggled. “Very well. Fetch me one of those parasols, please. I’m afraid the original pledge required my special parasol, but one of those will do as a replacement.”
“Your special parasol, my lady?”
“Oh, just you wait. I’ll have something made for you. Perhaps a particular top hat?”
“Particular?”
“Lots of hidden gadgets, concealed compartments, covert weaponry, and the like.”
“What a horrid thing to do to a perfectly nice top hat!”
“Cane, then?”
Biffy tilted his head in consideration. Then he remembered Lord Akeldama’s gold pipe that was actually a glaive. “Perhaps a cane. Now, about that pledge?” He was not about to allow Lady Maccon to deny him ready amusement.
His mistress sighed. “If you insist, Biffy. Spin the parasol three times and repeat after me: I shield in the name of fashion. I accessorize for one and all. Pursuit of truth is my passion. This I vow by the great parasol.”
Biffy couldn’t help it; he started to laugh, but he did as he was bid.
“Do try to keep a straight face,” said his mistress, although she said it around her own grin. “Now pick the parasol up and raise it open to the ceiling.”
Biffy did as instructed.
“Ivy insisted we seal the vow in blood, but I hardly think that necessary, do you?”
Biffy raised his eyebrows. It was fun watching Lady Maccon squirm.
“Oh, I had no idea you would be so difficult. Very well.” She retrieved a small knife from her armoire. It was not silver, so in order to make the cut, she had to hold on to Biffy’s wrist with her bare hand, keeping him mortal.
“May the blood of the soulless keep your own soul safe,” she intoned, cutting a tiny slice in the pad of her thumb and then in his and pressing the two together.
Biffy had a moment of panic. What might her preternatural blood do to his werewolf blood? But the second she let go, his cut healed instantly, leaving no remnant mark behind.
“Now, Mrs. Tunstell goes by the sobriquet Puff Bonnet.”
Biffy let out an uncontrolled bark of laughter.
“Yes, yes. Well, I go by Ruffled Parasol. What would you like your moniker to be?”
“I suppose it ought to be another accessory of some kind?”
Lady Maccon nodded.
“How about Wingtip Spectator?”
“Perfect. I will inform Ivy of your indoctrination.”
“And now, my lady, I assume there is a reason for your recruiting me at this particular time?”
Lady Maccon looked at him. “You see, Biffy? That’s what I mean. You are an adorably smart thing, aren’t you?”
Biffy raised an eyebrow.
“I require someone to monitor London while Ivy and I are abroad. Keep me informed as to the nature of the murder investigation. Keep an eye on Channing’s behavior—and Lyall’s for that matter. And the vampires, of course.”
