“No. Didn’t you say your aunt and the visiting professor were holed up there?”
“You want to see what they are up to?” Vieve changed course and headed toward the teaching area outside the tassel zone, rather than across to student residencies. Soon, they found themselves at the classrooms. The dark hallway was lit only by a small beam of light emanating from the crack under Professor Lefoux’s lab door.
Sophronia went for Sister Mattie’s room.
Vieve, confused, followed.
Sister Mattie never locked her door. She maintained that if a student needed to pollute, cure, or improve nutritional health, she should do so with impunity. Or, as she put it, “One woman’s petunia is another one’s poison.”
Sister Mattie’s classroom abutted Professor Lefoux’s. Sophronia made her way through it in the dark. This was not difficult, as she knew which plants were thorny and which were sticky. She ended up behind the rubber tree, where a small door let out onto a balcony covered in large pots of rhubarb and tomatoes, alongside foxgloves and rhododendrons. Sophronia brushed through, mindful that tomato leaves would deposit telltale yellow streaks on her dress. She climbed up and balanced precariously on the railing so she could lean over to the small round window of Professor Lefoux’s lab.
She peeked inside. Under bright gas lighting, Professor Lefoux and Professor Shrimpdittle stood together over a large table spread with the parts of some disassembled apparatus. They were not working on the gadget. They were arguing. Sophronia fished in her reticule and brought forth her latest prized acquisition, an ear trumpet. It had taken a good many letters to persuade her mother that she was losing her hearing and in desperate need of the medical device. It was invaluable for eavesdropping, and she’d decorated it to look like a morning glory flower. She pressed the flared end to the glass and the nozzle to her ear.
“… needs to be done!” Professor Lefoux was saying. Her words were almost indecipherable, her French accent was so strong.
“That’s ridiculous. Breathing is irrelevant!” Shrimpdittle objected. His voice was one of upper-crust education, all toffy-nosed and toothy.
A knock sounded at the door.
Professor Lefoux went to open in.
Monique de Pelouse came inside. Holy smokes! thought Sophronia. What’s she doing here? She whispered to Vieve, “Monique’s turned up. I thought she was in disgrace. Why on earth would they let her wander around after hours?” Sophronia felt unsettled, possibly even a little jealous. Monique knew more about what was going on than she did!
The professors were obviously expecting Monique. For a moment, Sophronia wondered if the dismembered gadget was meant for her.
“I’m to ask if it’s ready,” the blonde said. “Is it?”
“Not yet,” Professor Lefoux answered.
With no further exchange, Monique pirouetted to leave.
“Wait a moment, Miss Pelouse. Was that you who set off the alarm?”
Monique stuck her nose in the air. “Of course not. I have permission to be out. You know that; you gave it to me.” She gestured rudely with her thumb at Professor Shrimpdittle. “A couple of his charges thought it’d be fun to sneak out.”
Professor Shrimpdittle looked contrite. “Oh, dear. I do hope Lady Linette isn’t upset.”
Monique smiled evilly. “Not at all. She sent Professor Braithwope to handle the matter, knowing how little Bunson’s cares for vampires.” With that, she let herself back out of the room.
Professor Shrimpdittle whirled on Professor Lefoux. “If your bloodsucker has harmed one hair on any of my boys’ heads!”
“Professor Braithwope is a perfectly respectable teacher. Your boys should not have been out! You were told. They were told!”
“I wager they only did it because your girls taunted them.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Algonquin. It’s what boys do!”
“Who’s he feeding from? That’s what I want to know.”
“As if I should inquire into your personal life and diet!”