The queen gave him a reproving look.
He leaned forward and explained further. “It is a political post,” he said. “Lots of arguing and paperwork and books being consulted all the time. It is not at all like BUR, you understand?”
Miss Tarabotti's eyes positively sparkled. “Sounds delightful.” Yet she remained suspicious. “Why me? What could I possibly offer against two such experienced voices?”
The queen was not used to being questioned. She looked at Professor Lyall.
He said, “I told you she was difficult.”
“Aside from breaking a stalemate, our muhjah is the only truly mobile unit of the three councilors. Our potentate is confined to a narrow territory, like most vampires, and cannot function during the day. Our dewan is more mobile, but he cannot travel by dirigible and is incapacitated every full moon. We have relied upon BUR to make up for the Shadow Council's weakness in this regard, but we would prefer a muhjah whose attention is solely on the Crown's concerns and who can come to us directly.”
“So there will be some active duty?” Miss Tarabotti was even more intrigued.
“Uh-oh,” muttered Professor Lyall, “I do not think Lord Maccon fully comprehended this aspect of the position. “
“The muhjah is the voice of the modern age. We have faith in our potentate and our dewan, but they are old and set in their ways. They require balance from someone who keeps up with current lines of scientific inquiry, not to mention the interests and suspicions of the daylight world. We are concerned that this Hypocras Club is a symptom of greater unrest. We are worried that our BUR agents did not uncover it sooner. You have proven yourself an able investigator and a well-read young woman. As Lady Maccon, you would also possess the standing needed to infiltrate the highest levels of society.”
Alexia looked between Professor Lyall and the queen. Lyall looked worried. That decided her. “Very well, I accept.”
The queen nodded happily. “Your future husband indicated you would not be averse to the position. Most excellent! We convene twice a week, Thursday and Sunday nights, unless there is a crisis of some kind, in which case you are expected to be readily available. You will be answerable to the Crown alone. We will expect you to start the week after your wedding. So do hurry it up.”
Alexia smiled foolishly and looked at Professor Lyall from under her lashes. “Conall approves?”
The werewolf grinned. “He recommended you to the job months ago. The first time you interfered in one of his operations and he knew BUR would not be allowed to hire you. Of course, he did not know the muhjah engaged in active investigations on the queen's behalf.”
The queen said, “Of course, initially we objected to the recommendation. We cannot have a single young lady in such a powerful position. It simply is not done.” She looked almost mischievous and lowered her voice. “In all confidentiality, my dear, we do believe the Woolsey Alpha thinks being muhjah will keep you out of his way.”
Alexia slapped a hand to her mouth in an excess of embarrassment. To have the Queen of England thinking of her as an interfering busybody!
Professor Lyall crossed his arms and said, “Begging your pardon, Your Majesty, but I think he wants to set Miss Tarabotti at the dewan and watch the fur fly.”
Queen Victoria smiled. “They never have gotten along, those two.” Professor Lyall nodded. “Both are too much alpha.”
Miss Tarabotti looked suddenly worried. “That is not why he is marrying me, is it? So I can be muhjah?” A little bit of her old insecurity came back to haunt her.
“Do not be ridiculous,” admonished the queen curtly. “He has been mad for you these many months, ever since you prodded him in the nether regions with a hedgehog. It has been driving everyone balmy, all this dancing about. Glad it is finally getting settled. This wedding of yours is going to be the social event of the season. Half the guests in attendance will be there simply to make certain you both go through with it. Outside of enough, that is our opinion.”
Miss Tarabotti, for one of the first and last times in her life, was entirely at a loss for words.
The queen stood up. “Well, that is settled, then. We are most pleased. And now we suggest you go to bed, young lady. You look exhausted.” With that, she swept from the house.
“She is so short,” said Miss Tarabotti to Professor Lyall once the queen had gone.
“Alexia,” said a tremulous voice from the other side of the room, “what is going on?”
Alexia sighed and struggled to her feet, wobbling over to her confused mama. All of Mrs. Loontwill's anger had evaporated upon waking to find her daughter in conversation with the Queen of England.
“Why was the queen here? Why were you discussing the Shadow Council? What is a muhjah?” Mrs. Loontwill was very confused. She seemed to have utterly lost control of the situation.
Me, thought Alexia with pleasure. I will be muhjah. This is going to be such fun. Aloud she said the only thing calculated to shut her mother up. “Do not worry about a thing, Mama. I am going to marry Lord Maccon.”
It worked. Mrs. Loontwill's mouth snapped closed. Her expression evolved rapidly from perturbation to uncontrollable elation. “You caught him!” she breathed in delight.
Felicity and Evylin reentered the room, both wide-eyed. For the first time in their entire lives, they regarded their older sister with something other than mild contempt.
Noticing her other two daughters had arrived, Mrs. Loontwill added hastily, “Not that I approve your methods of catching him, of course. Out all night, indeed. But thank heavens you did!” Then in an aside, “Girls, your sister is going to marry Lord Maccon.”
Felicity and Evylin looked even more shocked, but they recovered quickly enough.
“But, Mama, why was the queen here?” Evylin wanted to know.
“Never mind that now, Evy,” said Felicity impatiently. “The important question is, what will you wear for a wedding dress, Alexia? You look horrible in white.”
The afternoon papers reported the bulk of the news accurately enough. Miss Tarabotti and Lord Akeldama's names were left out, and the exact makeup of the experiments was omitted in favor of emphasizing their sensational grisliness and illegal nature.
The reports threw all of London into a fervor of speculation. The Royal Society scrambled to deny any association with the Hypocras Club, but BUR commenced a whirlwind of undercover operations. A good many other scientists, some with well-known names indeed, suddenly found themselves without funding, on the run, or in prison. No one ever explained the octopuses.
The Hypocras Club was shut down permanently and Its premises impounded and placed on the market. It was bought by a nice young couple from East Duddage whose success in the chamber-pot business had brought them up in the world. The Duchess of Snodgrove regarded the entire affair as a travesty designed solely to impinge on her social standing. The fact that her new neighbors, nice young couple or no, hailed from Duddage and were involved in trade sent her into a fit of hysteria so pervasive her husband removed her instantly to the country ducal estates in Berkshire for the sake of everyone's health. He sold their town house.
As far as Miss Tarabotti was concerned, the worst thing to result from the whole sordid affair was that, although both club premises and Lord Akeldama's house had been searched top to bottom, BUR never did recover her brass parasol.
“Bah,” she complained to her intended as they strolled through Hyde Park late one evening, “I did so love that parasol.”