She must be alluding to the smokiness of the blend. “The muhjah is very advanced in her tastes. There will be mixing.”
The woman’s thick eyebrows arched in shock. No wonder that, for Lapsang-style teas were thought beyond the British palate. Only recently had they become accepted in the best drawing rooms, and even then it had been confined to Chinese imports. This woman, even if she were the proprietor of a very respectable tea export business interested in cutting out Dama’s interests, would not yet be privy to such information.
“Very well. As a gesture of good faith, we are prepared to negotiate with you in parental absentia. And even that concession took all of my persuasive power. Tread carefully, skin-stalker.”
Rue nodded. “Anything else?”
“If you could wear a recognisable colour?”
Rue considered both her and Prim’s wardrobes. “Purple, I think.”
“Very well. That is all.”
Rue nodded to Spoo and Virgil. “Let her go.”
“But, Lady Captain!” protested Spoo.
“Can’t we keep her?” Virgil wanted to know. “She’s so pretty.” As if she were a stray cat.
“Virgil, don’t be rude,” remonstrated Rue.
Reluctantly, the two relinquished the woman’s legs. Miss Sekhmet stood gingerly, then stretched slightly as if working out Spoo-induced kinks. She made a polite little bow to all three and then hurried at an indecently eager pace off The Spotted Custard.
Rue considered. “I think, my dear Spoo, you might activate the gangplank drawback mechanism. No more unexpected visitors today. Do you concur?”
Spoo snapped to attention. “Yes, Lady Captain.” And went to round up the necessary decklings to assist her in this task.
“Virgil?”
“Yes, Lady Captain?”
“Keep an eye to the accessories, please. There may be a lioness around with a taste for parasols.”
“Is that some kind of code, Lady Captain?”
“My dear young man, I only wish it were.” With which Rue returned to her nap and dreamed of cold tea.
CHAPTER EIGHT
IN WHICH PERCY ENCOUNTERS A PEPPER
T
o the surprise of everyone, including himself, Percy agreed to attend the garden party that evening. Rue forbade him to bring any books. Quesnel looked as if he could not decide whether to be amused or distressed. Primrose disappeared with her brother in order to monitor his apparel choices. Virgil was in a near panic. He’d never dressed his master for an actual event before, even something as casual as a garden party. Prim provided a most necessary service, for Percy emerged looking almost respectable.
Of course, while his sister finished her own toilette, the professor mucked about in the library and managed to get covered in dust, skew his cravat, and wrinkle his waistcoat. A very long-suffering Virgil marched him abovedecks.
“Hopeless,” pronounced his sister in exasperation before turning her ire on Rue.
Without Dama to impose upon her, Rue leaned in favour of ease rather than style. She had selected a gown of pale lilac muslin that was startlingly plain and nearly four seasons old. It had no train and only a single band of dark purple velvet at the hem and collar. There was a demure pattern of cream appliqué on the bodice and over the forearms, and dark purple puff sleeves. That was all. It had a matching velvet hat with silk sweet peas in the same lilac colour and a ribbon like an undertaker’s down the back. Without a lady’s maid, Rue had resorted to twisting her mass of hair up quite simply. Dama would have disowned her on the spot.
Prim was moved to tisking disapproval. “And here I thought Percy was the only one who required assistance.”
Rue smiled at her. “This is a working event for me, my dear.”
“What if you get run over? People would read about what you were wearing when you died in the papers.”
“Don’t tempt fate, Prim. Besides, I need something practical.”
“There is absolutely no call for you to use that horrible word. And what do you mean, working? You’ve never worked a day in your life, I’m happy to say.”
Rue detailed, with some suppressed excitement, her naptime encounter with Miss Sekhmet.
Prim was, as ever, an excellent sounding board. “But why did this female feel it necessary to approach you on the ship and not wait until you were out in the city?”
Rue had no answer, only adding, “And why such urgency? Dama implied it was a secret economic concern. Admittedly, if he’s right and this new variant of the plant takes, others will be interested, but to go to such lengths for tea?”
“Be fair, tea is important,” Primrose remonstrated.
“And why mention my mother?” Rue continued. “To be sure, her job revolves around securing the safety of the empire, but that could hardly be a matter integral to a rove vampire’s tea concerns.” Percy and Prim, because of their mother’s intimate friendship and vampire state, knew of Rue’s mother’s position on the Shadow Council. So Rue felt she was not betraying any confidences by involving them. Percy wasn’t paying attention anyway.
Primrose looked serious. “You’re certain about that?”
Rue considered the ramifications of her mission. “Perhaps these new plants are more significant than even Dama thought? Or perhaps he misled me as to their nature.”
“Oh, now, Rue, dear, I hardly think your Dama would let you walk blindly into a labyrinth of intrigue.”
Rue didn’t entirely agree. Already one agent had contacted her using the name Puggle, a name only Dama used. “I’m his beloved daughter, true, but he is still a vampire and he doesn’t perceive danger in quite the same way as we mere mortals.”
Quesnel appeared, looking stupefyingly gorgeous in a grey suit, purple cravat, and crisp white shirt. The ladies fell silent.
He fingered his cravat. “You see, I went with the theme.” He’d obviously heard Rue ask Prim to wear purple.
Rue wasn’t certain why she felt it necessary to run a scheme – perhaps it was simply in her nature to enjoy chaos. Plus any chance to perform was not to be missed.
Prim’s dress was far more Lady Akeldama-ish, so she would probably get the lion’s share of any attention in that regard. Those who had only heard of them were always easy victims. Prim’s gown was stylish and modern with a slit-front bodice over a fine Chantilly lace shirtwaist and a lavender and gold brocade jacket matched to the skirt. Everything was cut simply to showcase the beautiful pattern of the fabric – and Prim’s excellent figure. A wide sash emphasised Prim’s narrow waist, several inches smaller than Rue’s own. Yes, they looked alike in basics but, side by side, Rue was darker of complexion and substantially curvier. Prim lamented this frequently for it meant she could not borrow Rue’s dresses, thereby doubling the size of her own wardrobe.
In keeping with her mother’s wishes, Prim also wore a cream lace hat, perfectly matched to her dress, decorated with lavender ribbon and a bouquet of silk violets. Of course, the event was to take place after dark, and the sun was beginning to set in orange profusion over the Arabian Sea – thus hats were not strictly necessary. But custom dictated that a garden party meant hats, so hats they would wear. No doubt Aunt Ivy would learn of the breach if they didn’t, even thousands of leagues away.
Rue’s party elected to walk. The ladies utilised closed parasols as walking sticks. Fortunately, as they had absolutely no idea where they were going, Lieutenant Broadwattle was waiting for them on the shore.
Primrose took the lieutenant’s proffered arm with alacrity. Rue thought she saw the young officer cast her a wistful look. She dismissed it as highly unlikely – for no young man of sense preferred Rue over Prim – and accepted Quesnel’s all-too-casual offer. Percy slouched after them without any effort to participate in the social niceties of ambulation. Why had he bothered to come?
It turned out to be only a short way along the outside of the barracks to the impressive, almost church-like structure of the officers’ mess. As they walked, of all out-of-place things, the sound of bagpipes permeated the air. Rue had never visited the Scottish Highlands, but she suspected nothing could be more different than Bombay. Without explaining the noise, the lieutenant led them through the mess and out the other side into a beautiful walled garden boasting overarching trees, a square pond, copious graceful – if flimsy – chairs and tables, and the milling throng of Bombay’s resident elite.
Rue bounced in happily. Everything was so pretty and colourful. She and Prim were dressed to confuse. Tea espionage was afoot. This was going to be fun.
No one announced them but it was clear that the unvarying nature of society abroad made four newcomers a welcome curiosity. There was no doubt that they had been the talk of the party prior to their arrival. Rue felt rather like the pudding course of a fancy meal, viewed with desire by some, suspicion by others, and discomfort by those who had already partaken too freely. She adored it of course, delighting in engendering discomfort. It was, after all, her forte.