Manners & Mutiny (Finishing School, #4) by Gail Carriger
In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
Thanks to Kate for starting us all on this crazy float; to Kristin, who piloted the dirigible; and to Deirdre, who landed it. To Sophie, who was my sounding board. To all my lady sooties in the boiler room, making everything go, and to Mac, keeping everything sane. And to Staar Shmellow (and her friend Steve, who donated to Worldbuilders) for her invention of a Most Amazing Hat.
INCOGNITO IN CHARACTER
A ball, at last!” Dimity Plumleigh-Teignmott sank back into her chair in delight.
At the head table, Mademoiselle Geraldine finished her announcement with a similar collapse, stays heaving with repressed excitement. She would not be attending said ball, as she never left school grounds, but she appreciated that her young ladies of quali-tay were about to engage in a social event of great import. Lady Linette put a gentling hand to the headmistress’s arm, wary of a full infection of flutterings.
It was too late. The school erupted into chatter.
“It’s only Bunson’s,” Preshea Buss said to Dimity. “We know all the boys there, and most of the best prospects have gone on to university.”
“Oh, buck up, Preshea, do. That means fresh meat. You should be thrilled, since you prefer your young men innocent and ripe for the plucking,” shot back Sophronia.
Preshea couldn’t refute that—in a way, it was quite the compliment. So she turned her back on Sophronia and her friends.
Sophronia sipped her tea, feeling victorious, green eyes assessing the reactions of those around her. Dimity’s delight was to be expected. Agatha Woosmoss, their other close friend, was notably reticent when confronted with large gatherings involving the opposite sex. She had very flushed cheeks that suggested interest—or possibly paralytic fear. The debuts were in a tight huddle over the Scones of Iniquity and the Jam of Trepidation. Professor Braithwope was bouncing in his chair like a delighted baby, although he would not be attending. Professor Lefoux’s lip was curled in disgust as she stood to make the supervisory rounds.
“What to wear?” murmured Dimity, rolling a Chelsea bun between thumb and forefinger.
Professor Lefoux pounced. “Miss Plumleigh-Teignmott, what are you doing to that bun? Your fingers are all over sticky. Only look at the crumbs. And you’ve misplaced currants. You should know better.”
Dimity dropped the bun.
Sophronia jumped in. “We are working on a language for crumb and currant communication.”
Professor Lefoux was not fooled. “Indeed? Pray continue.”
“The number and location of the crumbs indicates intent.”
“And the currants?”
“Instructions, of course.”
“And how do you propose to control quantity when utilizing less adhesive bread items?”
“That requires further study.” Sophronia was brazen to the end.
Professor Lefoux sniffed. “Perhaps you should stick to less messy forms of communication. But your inventiveness has merit.”
It was, of course, impossible to tell whether this compliment was directed at the idea of a crumb communication system or whether Professor Lefoux was complimenting Sophronia on coming up with an excuse for Dimity’s mishandling of buns. Whatever the case, Professor Lefoux caught sight of one of the debuts actually tossing her bun at another girl and dashed away without further comment.
Dimity ate her sticky treat before it could result in more unwanted attention. She shoved her empty crumb-covered plate in front of Sophronia. “Go on, then, read them.”
Agatha giggled. “Like Madame Spetuna.”
“What do the crumbs say of my future?” Dimity’s round face was eager.
Sophronia bent over the carnage and muttered, “You shall marry well and live a long and happy life. So long as you avoid all contact with…” She drew out the suspense.
Dimity hung on her words. “Yes?”
“Sturgeon.”
“What, the fish?”
“Sturgeon bodes you ill will. Beware, or all will be lost.”
Dimity grinned. “Oh goodness me, how ominous. And how damp.”
Agatha shoved her crumby plate across the table. “Do mine?”
Sophronia assumed a sepulchral tone. “You will cause a stir in high society with your wit and charm.” Agatha blushed. “So long as you allow yourself to speak on occasion. Beware…”
“Beware what?”
“Philosophy!”