Dimity caught her at it.
“Stop twitching.”
“I’m cold,” protested Sophronia, worried over the expanse of chest she was displaying.
“Rubbish.” Dimity’s dress was equally low cut, but, as she put it, she hadn’t been blessed with Sophronia’s turnips. Admittedly, when compared with Agatha or Mademoiselle Geraldine, even Sophronia was a mere radish, but the dress she had on exposed everything but the tips, so to speak.
Dimity’s gown was peach silk with multiple pleats about the neckline ending in scalloped lace. There was a black bow at the waist, as well as one on each shoulder. It was actually quite elegant. She had accentuated the simplicity with jet jewelry, black gloves, and black slippers. Normally, jet was only for those in mourning, but it was an ingenious pairing. All that black against the peach of her dress and skin made Dimity looked pretty and wealthy.
Sophronia’s dress was very sophisticated, possibly overly so. She could hardly believe Petunia had purchased it for her. Sophronia had objected at the time to its being too grown-up. But her sister, who might have been cautious had Sophronia liked it, had advocated heavily once she saw how afraid Sophronia was of the cut. It had no ruffles, no pleats, no lace—nothing but a fitted bodice and a full skirt. Nothing to hide any sins of the figure. The fabric was what made it shine, a vibrant red with black brocade flowers. The short sleeves did end in tiny puffs, but that was it, except, of course, for the extremely low neckline. It was better suited to a lady twice her age and firmly married. However, Dimity thought they might as well go all in, as they expected few would actually see them. And Sophronia felt that if she was to wheedle information out of Felix, this dress was the best help she could get.
They watched the young men board, picking out their particular acquaintances. Lord Dingleproops was there with Lord Mersey and the rest of the Pistons. Pillover trailed reluctantly at the back of the crowd. Both girls were delighted to find he was attending. It pleased Dimity, mostly because she knew he would be miserable. It pleased Sophronia because Agatha had been so unhappy at having to go to the party without them.
They did not see Vieve among the attendees. Has she gotten into trouble? Worse, has she been exposed as female? Sophronia’s scalp prickled in fear. There was great reassurance in knowing Vieve was their inside agent at Bunson’s—not to mention her useful mechanical talent. If she had been compromised, they were all in trouble.
Professor Braithwope leaned forward as if only now noticing they had visitors, his knitting needles continuing to click.
“What’s that, then? First course?”
“Fruit course.” Dimity grinned.
Sophronia shook her head slightly. “It’s a tea party, Professor. They are coming on board for the New Year’s event, remember?”
“Whoever heard of such a thing? One never serves schoolboys at a tea party. Too disruptive. Only the finest young ladies ought to be consumed, everyone knows that. Like yourselves. With a liver-and-egg butter sauce, of course.” The vampire regarded them each in turn, out of the corner of his eye. There was such a focus on their necks that even Dimity pulled up her shawl to cover the exposed flesh, although it conflicted with the much-vaunted neckline of her lovely gown.
“Pity.” The vampire returned focus to his knitting. “I’m not hungry for either, whot.”
The boys looked a treat. There wasn’t much leeway in the dress of a young man attending a tea party, so they were of a set. A few had gone to the pink, peaking up their collars and donning very tight and very loud plaid trousers and impossibly enormous cravats. These stood out among the rest like peacocks among the chickens. After all, Bunson’s was a school for evil geniuses, and scientists weren’t encouraged to experiment with fashion, only weaponry.
The boys having boarded and the staircase retracted, the school rose slightly. It wasn’t going to drift off for an hour yet, in case there were stragglers. With nothing left to see and the night turning chilly, Sophronia and Dimity prepared to chivvy the vampire indoors. It had taken them an age to get him outside in the first place, so they were ready for a battle.
“Come along, Professor, do,” wheedled Dimity.
The vampire jerked to his feet, head cocked. He sniffed. “Broiled monkey.”
“Later, Professor.” Sophronia opened the door for him.
A cough at their feet interrupted the coaxing.
Dimity squeaked as a small soot-covered face appeared by their toes. A sootie had climbed up to the bottom edge of the balcony and was peering at them through the rails.