Waistcoats & Weaponry
Page 34

“I am the Lady of Kingair, after all. There is power in the title.” Sidheag sounded confident.
“What good could you possibly do?” Felix asked. The others would have simply supported Sidheag, however illogical or emotional her choice. She was their friend and they would do what was needed.
Sidheag spoke, peer to peer. “You don’t understand. Pack is more than a group; it is a container. Like a jug of water that can hold a great deal if it is intact. Without an Alpha, the jug fractures and the water drains away.”
“You think you can patch the leak?” Felix’s lip curled slightly in genuine disbelief.
Sidheag snorted. “Bad analogy. But, yes, in a way I do. I think I am more than a little Alpha by nature. My uncles, they trust me.”
“To become a kind of Alpha yourself? Or help one of your uncles take the position?” Sophronia was confused as to what Sidheag thought she could do.
“Either, both, I don’t know, something. Just offering emotional support I’m sure would help.”
Sophronia thought this was foolhardy. But she had no better plan. She didn’t know werewolf dynamics well enough to predict their reaction to Sidheag’s interloping. But if this was what would make Sidheag feel better, to commit a mad dash across England to Scotland, then Sophronia would arrange a mad dash or die trying.
Sophronia had made her decision before she’d even finished that thought. “We’ll need to get to a train station. Mumsy will have all the horses tied down, but I have an idea that I think will work.”
Sidheag looked relieved. She herself was a decent leader, but under current conditions she trusted Sophronia to get the details sorted. “Good, I like trains.”
Sophronia continued to scheme. “I think it’d work best if we went as young men, fewer questions.”
“We?”
“I’m coming with you, of course.”
Dimity said, instantly, “Then I’m coming, too!”
Felix Mersey added, “I as well. Sounds like a lark. Besides, can’t have you ladies running around the countryside without some kind of supervision. Especially not if werewolves are involved.”
“If he’s going, I’m going.” Soap’s tone of voice brooked no argument.
Sophronia did weight sums in her head.
Everyone else turned to look at Pillover, the only one still silent.
“No, thank you,” said Pillover primly. “I loathe adventures. I’m sure Bumbersnoot will join you, though.”
Bumbersnoot blew smoke out his ears in agreement.
Sophronia said, “That’s good, because I don’t think it can take six.”
“You don’t think what can take six?” Sidheag seemed to be perking up now that the others had agreed so readily to her need to head north.
“The airdinghy, of course.”
Dimity knew exactly what Sophronia was talking about. “The one we stole and stashed? It still works?”
“Don’t see why not. Mumsy hasn’t lit her floating lanterns yet; we could steal the helium meant for those.”
She was interrupted by a rattling at the door.
“Sophronia! Let me in this instant,” said an autocratic female voice.
“Oh, dear,” said Sophronia. There was nowhere for the boys to hide; they were about to get in serious trouble.
The knob rattled again. Then the door crashed open with a splintering sound, overturning the chair Dimity had wedged against.
In strode Mrs. Barnaclegoose.
Mrs. Barnaclegoose was a dear friend of Mrs. Temminnick’s. A country lady much feared by gentlemen of all ages because she was decided in her ways, firm in her opinions, and interested in impressing both upon everyone around her. She was an inveterate gossip who favored stylish gowns designed with far less substantial figures in mind. Tonight’s ensemble was a blue-and-white-plaid dress with a wide collar from which dangled an impressive quantity of fringe. The fringe shook much in the way a finger of reprimand might.
Everyone was terrified by the intrusion. Mrs. Barnaclegoose had an aura of imminent discipline. She was the type of female who would report to Sophronia’s mother on the situation in the family parlor in such vibrant terms as to make it seem a veritable orgy.
“Oh, there you are,” she said calmly to Sophronia, completely ignoring the others.
“Good evening, Mrs. Barnaclegoose. I did not see you arrive at the ball, or I would have tendered my regards immediately.”
“Very prettily said, dear. As you can tell, I’m not dressed for a masquerade. I hadn’t intended to come. I’m only here to deliver something. Oh, there’s the nice little doggie! Good evening, Bumbersnoot, how do you do?”
Bumbersnoot submitted good-naturedly to having his leather ears scratched. Mrs. Barnaclegoose loomed over him, br**sts heaving, stays creaking alarmingly.
“Such a good little man,” said Mrs. Barnaclegoose to Bumbersnoot. She straightened and handed Sophronia a long, thin package. “Just this once, mind you. A similar request from anyone of less standing and I should have considered it an insult. Imagine asking me to deliver a gift as if I were a messenger boy.”
She turned to leave the room, trailing a strong scent of lavender in her wake. At the door she paused to say, “Now, dear, you will be careful with that one? He’s too old for his own good.”
It must be from Lord Akeldama. Sophronia seized the opportunity. “You would recommend against his offer of patronage?”