Sophronia was disappointed. She already knew all that—or at least suspected it. The recommendation for independent action in the field was nice. Most girls finished by coming out and being married into a position of power, the better to uncover information and manipulate society. Most would marry multiple times. It was an odd compliment to be thought capable of something different. It was also an insult to her seductive powers.
“That’s it?” Sophronia pressed.
“That’s about all.” Dimity was holding something significant in reserve.
“Dimity, please?” It was like convincing a cow to lay eggs.
Dimity relented at last. “They know you made a promise to indenture to the dewan.”
“What?”
“It says, right at the end of the file. No comment on how they know, who told them, or whether it’s considered a positive. But they do know.”
“I’m an idiot to think I have any secrets.”
Dimity only looked more smug.
“Go to bed, do,” ordered Sophronia.
Dimity laughed and went, but they both knew who had won that round.
Sophronia repaired to her room to find Bumbersnoot waiting for her.
Agatha had clearly been playing with him. He had one of her lace tucks tied about his head, like a jaunty tiara.
Sophronia picked him up for a cuddle. Not that a metal dog was the best cuddler, being hard, oily, ashy, and hot. But it made her feel better.
She put him on the foot of the bed, washed her face and hands, and slipped into her nightgown. She climbed under the covers, tucking her feet under her mechanimal for warmth, and tried to sleep. If it’s in my record that I promised the dewan, then Lady Linette has been told by someone. She listed the possibilities: Dimity, Agatha, Soap, Captain Niall, or the dewan himself. Of the five, she was absolutely certain of only one person’s loyalty—Soap.
She missed him so much it actually hurt.
TEA EMBARGO
New Year’s Eve dawned damp and disgruntled, a soggy tea towel of a day. But by noon the rain had turned to mist, and by sunset it looked like there might be a clear sky over the evening festivities. The girls were delighted. Rain would keep them all inside the dining hall, but clear skies meant the squeak decks were open territory, and teachers could only chaperone so many couples at once. Mademoiselle Geraldine, proverbial apple cart almost overset by her heavy breathing, issued strict instructions that they were to avoid tête-à-têtes. But while the headmistress didn’t know this was a school of espionage, the other teachers did, and were looking at a long night of tea-related canoodling. Professor Lefoux was positively dour at the prospect.
As the moon, almost full, popped up over the horizon in a cheery manner, Mademoiselle Geraldine’s girls glided into Swiffle-on-Exe to find the Bunson’s boys all standing, waiting, with flowers and other appropriate offerings at the edge of the goat path. Of course, Dimity and Sophronia weren’t waiting with the other ladies on the midship reception deck. But they did have good box seats. They watched it all from the comfort—it must be admitted the deck chairs were quite posh—of Professor Braithwope’s private balcony.
“And so we glide in on the wisps of receding fog, emerging out of the white with the rays of the dying sun highlighting all our puffy majesty.” Dimity was moved by loss to muttering poetic twaddle.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Sophronia would have none of it. “We are a chubby caterpillar with delusions of balloon grandeur.”
Forbidden to attend, they were nevertheless dressed for the festivities. Even Professor Braithwope had rediscovered a measure of his old dapper nature in a suit of deep-purple velvet with a lavender brocade vest and purple cravat. He sat, docile, between the two young ladies, knitting what looked like a tea cozy in the shape of a hedgehog. Bumbersnoot, wearing a black cravat, lounged happily at their feet. Occasionally he wuffed at Professor Braithwope’s yarn basket but so far showed no inclination to nibble it.
“Sophronia, hush. I’m enjoying wallowing in a maudlin humor.”
“Apologies, Dimity. Do carry on.”
They watched the sooties crank down the massive staircase. Billowing steam wafted up. The young ladies milled about in excited agitation.
“There they all are.” Dimity was very good at wallowing. “Like colorful fruit being steamed for the pudding course. I should have so liked to be a piece of fruit on that table.”
“What kind?”
“A peach, of course.”
“Of course.” Sophronia privately felt Dimity more of the gooseberry fool at the moment.
Dimity had optimistic plans to sneak off and visit the party, or at least one edge of it where Lady Linette and Professor Lefoux might not notice her. Dimity was never one to miss an event where tea cakes were on the line. Sophronia intended to try as well—after all, she was under orders to get information out of Felix. She couldn’t very well do that while on vampire nanny duty. Thus both young ladies had dressed in their best gowns. It must be admitted that their attire pushed the edge between ball and dinner dress, but since they didn’t have to pass any kind of inspection, they had both taken risks. Or, more to the point, Dimity had taken a risk and chivvied Sophronia into doing the same.
Sophronia self-consciously tucked her shawl around her shoulders. Perhaps she had taken too much of a risk.