“Are you certain?”
“You’re as bad as he is.”
“Perhaps I too have designs above my station.”
Which was a terribly enigmatic thing for Sidheag to say. After all, she was the Lady of Kingair, wealthy and aristocratic. Very few were above her station.
Dimity came bouncing over. “My goodness, what an exciting evening. Do you think we still have time to catch the last of Monique’s ball?”
“Oh, Dimity, really!” said Sophronia and Sidheag in unison.
Monique de Pelouse never returned to Mademoiselle Geraldine’s Finishing Academy for Young Ladies of Quality. Her coming-out ball was pronounced a resounding success by those who cared to pronounce such things, and she took her place in society that spring. She was expected to make a very advantageous match, although there was a niggling rumor about her preference for Westminster vampires. No suitors gave it much credence.
Sidheag and Agatha were taken off probation. No explanation was given, and Sophronia was left with the distinct sensation that they had been less circumspect about the monitoring of Monique then they originally thought. She suspected that Monique’s working for Westminster and the potentate’s blatant refusal to believe that the hive was involved was considered embarrassing by the school. Sister Mattie probably argued in their favor. Sophronia also understood what lesson she was to have learned from her ostracism. My strength as an intelligencer is in my friends. But she wasn’t certain whether she was to take that as a need for more independence or less.
She tried several times to visit Professor Braithwope but was forbidden entry. “Enough” was Professor Lefoux’s curt comment the fifth time. Sophronia tried to pass along a home-made card and even snuck onto Sister Mattie’s balcony to pick him a bunch of foxgloves, but no contact was allowed. She wasn’t certain if this was because he was now insane and dangerous to her or if the teachers had some inkling of her involvement with Shrimpdittle and figured she was dangerous to him. Lessons were dull without his inquisitive mustache. She developed an odd sensation behind her eyeballs, like the press of tears, but no tears came. The burn of guilt, she supposed. Something new and unpleasant to learn to live with. She plucked at her meals and began to think much longer and harder about consequences as well as actions.
Genevieve Lefoux disappeared from Mademoiselle Geraldine’s before the airship reached Dartmoor. Professor Lefoux was entirely untroubled by her niece’s absence and began to receive letters, a few months later, from a previously unheard of nephew, Gaspar Lefoux, who had been accepted into Bunson’s.
“Distant relation, you know. I had no idea he had evil-genius ambitions. Of course, I am delighted he has found himself a place. Who wouldn’t be?” Sophronia overheard her say to Sister Mattie.
“Well, Bunson’s is in bed with the Picklemen,” protested the nun. “Even more so now. They won the contract to produce the crystalline guidance valves, did you hear? The potentate is introducing legislation in opposition, but it won’t pass.”
“That is a worry. Well, my nephew knows his own mind. He’ll keep to the proper order.”
“You’d better be careful, or the octopus will have him,” replied Sister Mattie.
Sophronia wondered if Vieve might be doing a little spying for her aunt while she acquired an education. It’d be a good thing, a scout at Bunson’s. Her musings were interrupted.
“Sophronia, get a move on, please. We’re late for breakfast!”
“Oh, yes, Dimity, of course.”
“Post is in, did you hear?” Dimity bustled up alongside her and took her arm.
“Mmmmm?”