Curtsies & Conspiracies
“What lovely earrings, Monique.”
“Yes, aren’t they pretty? My father purchased them in Spain. Such an expense for little me!”
“Did you do your hair differently this morning, Monique?”
“No, but it is looking quite shiny, isn’t it?”
Pillover glanced up from his plate of sausage. “What a revolting spectacle.”
Sophronia privately agreed and contemplated breaking from her normal dietary routine and eating a sausage in order to cope.
Monique, mistress of the British Empire at that moment, seemed willing to gratify all sycophants. Most of the older girls, cronies of hers, were told right off that of course, she could not do without them in attendance. A few of the middle girls were told they might be allowed in, but the debuts—who shared her table and chambers—were left in suspense.
Preshea, at Monique’s right hand, smirked, anticipating an invite. “Can I pass you the butter, Monique? Would you care for a little more tea, Monique?”
Agatha looked terrified and Sidheag indifferent; they’d rather not be invited. Dimity kept glancing in Sophronia’s direction as if she wished they were on speaking terms so they could discuss this new kink in the workings of life.
Lord Dingleproops, Monique’s dining companion, paid her marked attention—to her evident enjoyment. Sophronia felt sorry for Dimity. Whatever false hopes he had once given her must now be crushed.
The ordeal of breakfast eventually ended. As they rose and made their way toward the exit, Sophronia snaked up behind her erstwhile best friend and whispered, “I shouldn’t be too upset. Lady Dimity Dingleproops sounds quite ridiculous, anyway.”
Dimity smothered a giggle and turned, eyes animated, prepared for a bit of a gossip—in that instant all ill feelings were forgotten. But Agatha, of all people, swooped in and linked arms with Dimity, practically dragging her away down the hall.
Through the course of that day, Monique became increasingly intolerable. She had Preshea and others running errands for her, bringing her little gifts. She would send one girl off and then make some snide comment about the poor thing’s appearance and lack of funds. Then she was all sugar when the girl returned, bearing a posy of violets or glass of barley water.
By the time Professor Braithwope’s etiquette class rolled around after sunset, everyone was beginning to show strain. The boys escorted the girls to the vampire’s door, but they had a lesson with Professor Shrimpdittle instead. Their presence made Monique worse. She latched herself onto Felix’s arm when he tried to leave her.
“Abandoning me to monsters, my lord?”
Felix chuckled. “Now, now, Miss Monique, I’m not so bad as all that. I never said they were monsters, only predators.”
“You’re so wise,” simpered Monique, still clutching.
Lady Linette paused in the hallway at the sight. “Miss Pelouse! How can you be so forward? Have you learned nothing? Lord Mersey, let go of her this instant!”
Felix lounged against the wall insolently, still attached to Monique. “I’m afraid, my lady, you must persuade her to let go of me.”
“It’s my ankle, Lady Linette. It’s feeling poorly,” professed Monique.
“Oh, is it? Should I send you to matron?”
“Oh, I shouldn’t trouble yourself. It isn’t that bad.”
“I’m certain it isn’t. Now, let go of the young viscount this moment and behave like a proper lady!”
Monique, pouting prettily, let go of Felix and marched into the vampire’s classroom with no sign of a limp. Felix made good his escape with a wink at Sophronia. Sophronia, smiling at both the rebuke and the wink, followed Monique.
Monique sat down on a fainting couch next to Preshea, and before anyone else could take the opportunity, Sophronia sat down on her other side. She wasn’t really planning anything; she only wanted to make the older girl uncomfortable.
Monique didn’t register Sophronia at first, engaged in an animated discussion with Preshea. The topic appeared to be Lord Dingleproops’s chin and whether its absence was all that important to the state of the Empire. When she turned to her left to find Sophronia sitting there primly, Monique twitched and made as if to rise.
But Professor Braithwope started class, so the blonde contented herself with turning her back on Sophronia. Sophronia had Bumbersnoot the reticule with her and placed him on the carpet behind her feet, well concealed by copious skirts.
If asked afterward, she would have explained, that there was no technical way to train a mechanical into any action outside its initial basic protocols. So it must have been without her knowledge that Bumbersnoot made his way from her skirts to Monique’s. She could never have known he would belch steam up the older girl’s drawers and deposit a pile of ash on her very expensive pink kid slippers. Never have known.
Monique got the most peculiar expression on her face and let out a muffled squawk.
She leapt to her feet and turned to glare at the obvious culprit. “Sophronia!”
Realizing that Bumbersnoot must have done something, Sophronia used her foot to shift him back to his starting position behind her own skirts and looked up innocently at the raging Monique.
Professor Braithwope whirled from where he was demonstrating entering and exiting a hive house with grace and concealed weaponry. He’d been using an arrangement of unstable top-hat boxes as steps and was not happy at being distracted. The act of whirling caused him to go through the side of one of the hatboxes in a manner most clumsy for a vampire.
“Sit down this moment, Miss Pelouse!” he barked.
“But Sophronia squirted steam up my drawers!”
Dimity let out an uncontrolled giggle. Everyone else in the class looked either surprised or amused, according to their nature.
“Whot, whot? I hardly see how she might have done that. She hasn’t moved.”
Monique sputtered. Then, knowing she could not defend herself to the teacher, she sat back down and hissed in Sophronia’s ear. “You certainly won’t be invited to my ball!”
Sophronia smiled. “My dear Monique, I never for one moment believed that I would.”
“Unnatural girl!” Monique turned to glare across the room at Dimity, who had one gloved hand pressed to her mouth and dancing eyes.
“And you! Why would I let you come either? Who are your parents? Nothing more than scientists who can’t decide which side they’re on. Not to mention the way you dress, like some market doxy!”
Dimity’s eyes instantly filled with tears, and she let out a whimper, mouth still hidden under her hand.
Sophronia sprung to Dimity’s defense. “As opposed to an eighteen-year-old girl who is only now having her coming-out ball, who failed to finish properly, and whose parents are quite probably in trade?”
All the girls in the room gasped. Even Professor Braithwope was rendered momentarily speechless by such cutting remarks.
The vampire recovered his power of speech. “Ladies! Manners, whot?”
Dimity mouthed “Thank you” at Sophronia, which earned her a harsh look from the vampire.
After that, class settled down, but something in the atmosphere had changed. As the class practiced walking up and down hatboxes, swinging skirts to conceal weapons in as elegant a manner as possible, Dimity came to stand firmly next to Sophronia.
Professor Braithwope noticed and was perturbed, but he continued the lesson. “Any vampire may be addressed properly as ‘venerable one.’ Alternatively, you may use his title, if an aristocrat. All queens have titles; they are given a baronetcy if not already holding, although that has not been necessary for centuries. Very few women survive being bitten, so rarely is there a new queen. This is why there are always fewer female drones than males.”
Sidheag raised her hand at that and asked, “Why bother?”
“Whot? Oh, to be a female drone? Well, the reward is unparalleled. Aside from immortality, if a woman survives metamorphosis, she is automatically a queen. But there are other reasons, before the bite. Drones are protected, fed, and cared for by their vampire. After a period of menial service, they are given patronage to pursue their own desires. Vampires tend to be wealthy and powerful, so they make very good friends, whot. There are drawbacks, of course.” The professor touched his own neck, hidden under the high collar.
After prancing up and down the stacked hatboxes several more times, Sophronia decided she could risk one more inquiry. “Could you tell us a little something about tethers, Professor?”
Professor Braithwope considered both Sophronia and her question. “Tethers, whot? Very well, I will indulge in a digression, but only because you’ll never understand vampire etiquette if you don’t understand our limitations. Queens cannot leave their hive house, and hive-bound vampires cannot leave the vicinity of their queen. How far they can go depends mainly on age, but it’s generally no more than a borough. Rove vampires usually have the range of an entire city, but they also remain tethered to their home. They will not stray into a hive’s territory unless invited and never enter a hive house unless they have petitioned for one of their drones to be bitten by its queen.”
Sophronia prodded further; she was wildly curious. “How does this work for you, Professor?”
“I am tethered to this ship, but I can leave it to walk around the moor.”
She pressed. “Are there other vampires tethered to airships?”
“No, we are social creatures, and mine is now such a solitary life. None have followed my example. Although you ladies make it interesting, whot.”
“What about your drones?”
“Ah, now, ladies. This brings us back to etiquette, and the purpose of this lesson. It is rude to ask after a vampire’s drones, either in courtesy or curiosity. Drones are a bit of an embarrassment. After all, you would not ask a lady about the nature and quality of her pantry, would you?”
All the girls in the class shook their heads emphatically.
The vampire turned cold eyes on Sophronia, his mustache stiff with accusation. “Anything else, Miss Temminnick?”
“What happens when a vampire goes beyond the limit of his tether?” Sophronia knew she was pushing the bounds of propriety.
Professor Braithwope paled and stilled. If a vampire could be said to go pale. Sophronia hoped never again to see a teacher whom she respected look so frightened.
The room hushed. Normally the vampire was such an easygoing teacher. Even Monique looked up, her coming-out ball forgotten for one brief moment.
Eventually he said, “Nothing good, Miss Temminnick.”
Class ended, and the girls gathered up their reticules, hats, parasols, and shawls in subdued silence. Dimity held back when the others left and waylaid Sophronia with a hand on her arm.
“Professor Braithwope, might I have a private word?” she asked their teacher once the room cleared. “Sophronia, please stay, this concerns you.”
“Yes, Miss Plumleigh-Teignmott. How may I help?”
“It’s this matter of our orders from Lady Linette. You’re aware of them?”
The vampire looked back and forth between the two girls and then nodded.