The mustache drooped. “Ladies, this is vital high-society survival information. Even should your paths take you into a duplicitous union with a conservative family, you must know who sits where in government. Not to mention, who came out of which families into which hives and packs. Did anyone read the articles? Miss Temminnick.” He turned the mustache on Sophronia.
Sophronia looked up at the mercurial little man from the wingback love seat she shared with Dimity. “I think the articles are meant to demonstrate the gradual acceptance of vampires into London society via their image as presented in the popular press. The earlier articles emphasize vampires’ monstrous nature, feeding habits, and visiting hours. Shockingly late, says one line. And regrettable slurping, says another. This article was all about so-and-so being bitten after only three dances. The later columns focus instead on vampire influence on complexion and dress, particularly driven by one Countess Nadasdy of the Westminster Hive. A recluse who never leaves her secret home yet has a significant effect on fashion.”
Professor Braithwope stood silent under this assessment. “Excellent, Miss Temminnick.” His mustache vibrated in approval.
“Do you think you might tell us a little more about the Westminster Hive?” asked Dimity, all innocent and pure. It was the perfect setup, for while she turned wide, honey-brown eyes on the teacher, Sophronia watched Monique. The older girl went still, her expression impassive, which was a giveaway.
Now that the professor has dropped her as drone, I bet Monique wants to trade up to a hive. And she’d want Westminster. It’s clearly the most stylish. Sophronia would lay good money on it.
Monique fished about in her reticule, retrieving a golf ball–sized white powdery object, which she popped covertly into her mouth. She swallowed with the look of a cat forced to eat a carrot.
Professor Braithwope, in animated response to Dimity’s interest, said, “The queen of the Westminster Hive, Countess Nadasdy, is old, mean, and wise. However, her success in making new vampires is no better than any other queen’s. And therein, of course, is the immortal curse. Drones tend to die in the attempt, and she has to kill them. This makes most vampire queens a little funny about the head—all that murder.” He looked pointedly at Preshea and then went on to detail the male members of the Westminster Hive—age, holdings, undocumented trade, technological interests, and rank, if any.
This lesson left the six girls with the distinct impression that it was better to play nice with the Westminster Hive. Or avoid crossing them altogether.
They moved on to discussing the reach of the potentate, a rove vampire but a powerful one, who sat on Queen Victoria’s Shadow Council and advised Her Majesty on the running of the Empire.
The girls were beginning to look glassy-eyed. It was a great deal of information to absorb.
“There is one other rove of interest in London, no matter how frivolous he may appear at first. Lord Akeldama is a unique personage of considerable standing with a propensity to dandification—Miss Pelouse? Miss Pelouse, are you unwell?”
Monique had turned, throughout the course of the lecture, a chartreuse color not unlike that of Agatha’s dress.
“You are sweating, Miss Pelouse, whot. Young ladies of quality are not supposed to sweat!”
“Oh, Professor, I believe I’m unwell.” The blonde got shakily to her feet and then, in a dramatic show, fell forward in a dead faint.
Since they had been instructed many times always to faint backward, this was shocking. A forward faint was, to the best of their assessment, a real faint! Practically unheard of. Preshea bent over her friend, spreading her own lavender-and-blue skirts out prettily.
Professor Braithwope reeled, discombobulated by such frail mortal activity, and then minced out the door. “Matron! Where’s the matron, whot?” Sophronia and Dimity followed him.
At his yell several of the other teachers opened their doors. Sister Mattie’s round, friendly face was concerned. “Professor, may I be of assistance?”
“Miss Pelouse is unwell.”
Sister Mattie bustled across the hall and into the room.