Pillover gasped and stared at Sophronia and Sidheag. It was a small mistake, since his shock might be attributed to the egregiousness of their attire rather than previous acquaintance.
The plump woman could only be the Westminster Hive queen, Countess Nadasdy. She was impeccably dressed to the height of style. She had on a gown with a very large skirt and a very tight bodice, although she was a tad round for such an outfit. She looked, Sophronia felt, a little like a milkmaid from a dairy farm—fond of cheese. Her cheeks were rosy and her manners light and gay, but she only seemed frivolous; those cornflower blue eyes saw everything.
“Good evening, gentlemen. Welcome.” Her voice was warm and soft, very ladylike.
Sophronia and Sidheag bowed deeply.
“Good evening, Countess,” said Sophronia. “Our master tenders his warmest regards. Our condolences on your recent”—she paused delicately—“mis-fang.”
“Oh, thank you. And thank him for me, will you please? Pity he could not send more appropriately dressed messengers.” The woman tittered at her own insult.
“We were nearest to your abode when he heard the news. He felt time was pressing and sent us on immediately. We were attending a fancy dress ball over yonder,” Sophronia waggled a hand in an unspecified direction. “Please excuse our eccentricity.”
“Yes?” said the countess. “And what is his lordship’s vaunted news? I did not publicize my intent to bite. Failure is all too often the outcome this century.” Her gentleman companion put a consoling hand on her shoulder. She shrugged him off.
“Ah, no, you are correct—he did not know of that. No, he understands you have visitors.”
“Oh?”
Sophronia wandered over to the couch, took out the smelling salts from her waistcoat pocket, and administered them to Dimity. None of the vampires objected. Dimity revived only to squawk at Sophronia—suddenly there and so peculiarly dressed.
“Hush now, child,” condescended Sophronia.
Dimity’s eyes widened, but she remembered her training and hushed, sitting fully upright.
Sophronia returned to stand next to Sidheag, crossing her arms. “Should you be involving yourself to such an extent? Kidnapping is a tad rude, wouldn’t you say?”
The countess moved to sit next to the revived Dimity and placed a white hand on the girl’s arm. Dimity shivered and looked down at her lap.
“Such harsh vocabulary, Lord Dingleproops. We merely borrowed them for a little. Didn’t we, dears? And we’ve been having a lovely time of it, haven’t we? So educational. Not every mortal gets a chance to witness metamorphosis. Even an unsuccessful metamorphosis.” The countess dabbed at her mouth with an embroidered handkerchief as if remembering the blood that had recently been there.
Dimity looked as if she might faint again.
At which moment the parlor door burst open and Soap, carrying all those things needed to clean a chimney and a good deal more besides, clattered inside. He was covered in even more soot than usual, shedding it as he walked.
The countess let out a small scream. “My carpets!”
Sophronia was instantly on her guard. Soap wouldn’t make a fuss unless he wanted to warn them of something.
The sootie doffed his cap at the august personages. “Evening, all. I’m here for the chimneys. Said I was to start with this room, if that suits.”
“No, that certainly does not suit,” said the countess.
“But madam, skinny as a pickled gherkin, I am. I fits, I assure you.”
Oh, dear, thought Sophronia, picking up on Soap’s hint, we’ve got Picklemen coming.
Mild chaos ensued, with the countess’s staff trying to hustle Soap out of the room, struggling to stop him from shedding further. Soap dodged them and clanged loudly. The countess issued increasingly strident instructions.
Sophronia and Sidheag took the opportunity to shift closer to Dimity and Pillover.
“What are you doing here?” mouthed Dimity at them.