Dimity gasped in appreciation. “A fortune-teller!”
“How very esoteric, Madam G.!” crowed Lord Dingleproops, striding up to the headmistress to clap her on the shoulder, rather as a man would approach a fellow at his club. Mademoiselle Geraldine looked at him as though he were a collapsed soufflé, and he backed away hastily.
The girls tittered in elation. Even Pillover looked pleased, and he was rarely pleased by anything.
We didn’t go down low to retrieve her, thought Sophronia. How did she get on board?
“Very good, Miss Plumleigh-Teignmott. We have indeed been graced with the presence of a fortune-teller.”
Sophronia wondered, “Did you set off the alarm?”
The fortune-teller’s eyes sharpened on her.
Sophronia realized she had revealed more of her personality with that one question than was healthy. She was, after all, the only one who’d jumped straight to logistics rather than the exciting possibility of having her palm read.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please be seated. Madame Spetuna has been retained for the evening to tell your fortunes.” Mademoiselle Geraldine was wearing a lightweight muslin gown of chartreuse with cream stripes. It was a dress that better suited one of her students. Each stripe was patterned with pink roses. There was fringe all up the length of the sleeves and about the low square neckline that displayed the headmistress’s assets to great effect. Said assets heaved as she inhaled, and Professor Shrimpdittle looked as though he might faint.
She continued, “Given that there are ten of you, we must keep the readings brief. So tuck in quickly to the nibbly bits while we do so, and don’t stand on ceremony. If Miss Pelouse would pour the tea? Miss Buss, why don’t you sit first?”
Preshea took the seat closest to the fortune-teller with alacrity.
Madame Spetuna looked her over. “Ze cards, I think, for you, dark child.”
Preshea was made to pick five cards from a deck and lay them out carefully on the damask tablecloth. Madame Spetuna rearranged them a few times before settling on a pattern she liked.
This must be today’s subterfuge challenge. We are to ensure the fortune-teller doesn’t reveal anything to Mademoiselle Geraldine about our real training. Sophronia, nibbling a biscuit, sat back to watch. She wondered about the fortune-teller. Does she know what we do here? Or does she, like Mademoiselle Geraldine, think it is a normal, albeit floating, finishing school?
“Ah,” breathed Madame Spetuna, “this is most interesting. Most interesting indeed. You, my child, will marry well. More than once. A charmed life, so long as you weave a tight net, little spider.” The lady retrieved the cards and shuffled them back together into one stack in an attitude of dismissal.
Taking this as a sign her fortune was complete, Preshea stood. Looking particularly pleased with life, she passed over a few coins and gave Madame Spetuna a nice curtsy.
Mademoiselle Geraldine was fanning herself. “Oh, dear, oh, dear, Miss Buss. Let us hope it is widowhood and not”—she whispered the next word—“divorce that leads to your multiple marriages.”
Preshea sat and sipped from a china cup. “I shouldn’t worry, Headmistress. I am tolerably certain it will be widowhood.”
Mademoiselle Geraldine was reassured by this. Preshea’s future husbands probably wouldn’t have been. Even Lord Dingleproops, ordinarily unconcerned by those around him, looked apprehensively at the beautiful dark-haired girl. She gave him a wicked smile and a coy lowering of the lashes.
Reel it in, Preshea. Sophronia glanced nervously at the headmistress. But Mademoiselle Geraldine was waving the next victim forward.
Dimity took the danger seat. “I admire your fashion sense,” she told the fortune-teller with absolute sincerity.
Madame Spetuna tucked a lock of hair behind her ear—in which there were three earrings!
Dimity’s eyes sparkled.