Halfway through the meal, when the main course was to be brought out, Professor Braithwope arrived with a gentleman in tow.
The gentleman was tallish, not overly thin or overly fat. He wore proper dress to the height of style but nothing more elaborate. He had a long face with lines about the eyes that suggested exhaustion, not humor, and the general pallor of an invalid or an accounting clerk. The most remarkable things about him were his hands, which were long and elegant, mothlike in the candlelight. Mademoiselle Geraldine insisted on candlesticks for supper. Gas, she said, was too harsh for food.
The stranger sat next to Professor Braithwope as though it pained him to do so, and took no food, only a little port.
Sidheag, following Sophronia’s gaze, said idly, “So that’s why Captain Niall was so anxious.”
“Captain Niall was anxious?”
“About coming to London. I thought it only that werewolves don’t like town, except the West End. Now I suspect that it has to do with him.”
Sophronia examined their visitor, trying to determine what it was about this man that the school’s werewolf would find objectionable. “Why him in particular?”
“Don’t you recognize our dear fanged member of the Shadow Council?”
“Goodness, no, why should I?”
Sidheag had been raised in Scotland but nevertheless enmeshed in supernatural politics. “True, he likes to stay out of the public eye, but that’s him, all right.”
“Him who?”
Sidheag nodded, firmly. “Funny me having information before you.”
Now Sidheag was simply being obstreperous.
“Are you telling me that is the potentate!” Sophronia hissed the revelation. Things began to click into place in her brain. Not unlike the workings of the oddgob machine. Could this be the school’s mysterious patron? Not just a vampire, not just the government, but Queen Victoria’s pet vampire?
Sidheag chewed a bit of fricassee of rabbit and new potatoes. “Looks like.”
The potentate glanced up and directly at them, as if sensing they were discussing him, although even with supernatural hearing there was no way he could possibly cut through the suppertime chatter all the way to the back of the room. Or could he?
Sophronia raised her water goblet in salute. Sidheag ignored him. As Lady Kingair, she was allied with werewolves. Wolves might shun polite society, but they equaled vampires in status.
Felix, observing this interchange, said from across the table, “Very unpleasantly august company you keep here, for a ladies’ seminary. Now, where’s the pudding course?”
“It doesn’t look like your teacher is too thrilled,” replied Sophronia.
Professor Shrimpdittle was looking bilious. He had a bright paisley scarf tied high about his neck. He was focused on his mutton and spinach with single-minded intent.
Felix said, “In no way are two vampires better than one.”
Especially not if you believe you’ve recently been bitten. “Are you certain it’s not the political power he wields?” Sophronia asked.
“Why, Ria, are you speaking in riddles? That’s sweet. I might almost think you wished to lure me in.” Felix batted long lashes at her.
The meal came to a close, the millet pudding and Norfolk dumplings consumed with gusto, especially by Pillover. Sophronia held back while most of the students crowded out through the door, eager for their brief spate of spare time before night classes began. The teachers let them go, lingering over their sherry or brandy, as nature dictated. In the case of Sister Mattie, nature dictated barley water.
Alone, Sophronia inched her way toward the front of the room. She pretended interest in some leftover nibbles at one of the tables. She watched the teachers out of the corner of her eye.