Prudence (Page 37)

The sail was raised in no time and Rue definitely approved of Spoo in her new position. As soon as it hooked the breeze, the Custard stopped shaking and smoothed out.

Rue relaxed but only for a moment, for her ship began to spin. The Spotted Custard was still floating upright with the current, east – the aetheric particles told them that much – but the sail had caused her to start rotating like a sedate top, slowly, clockwise, round and round. It was disconcerting.

Rue leapt to help Percy with the helm but her navigator shook his head.

Rue was incredulous. “This is it?”

“They don’t call it the Tripoli Twister for nothing.”

The sensation, while not unpleasant, did make Rue slightly dizzy. “And how long are we in this waltz?”

“Three days, I’m afraid. Best not to look out into the grey, they say.”

Rue could believe it – the sensation was perturbing, to say the least.

“Very good. I shall head below. If you’re well up here? I believe your sister would like her chance to lecture me now.”

Percy’s eyes twinkled. “Aye aye, captain. Although I think it’s jolly unfair I must miss the spectacle.”

“You have the deck, Professor Navigator, sir.” Rue made her way over to Primrose who seemed recovered from her deck-chair slide. “Things are tip-top up top – to the stateroom for a scolding?”

But Prim no longer looked like she wanted to lecture Rue – instead, she was wiggling the little pink book as though it were some strange new species of musical instrument worthy of further examination in order to make it toot.

“That can wait. First, Rue my darling, my sweet, my precious…”

“You sound like Quesnel – what has your bloomers in a twist?”

“Language,” said her friend without rancour.

“I await your pleasure.” Rue’s voice was laden with sarcasm.

“What are you doing with my mother’s book?”

Rue felt a tingle of shock. Instinctively, she looked around to see if Prim had been overheard. Apparently not, so she hissed: “Aunt Ivy wrote a book? Wait, wait. Aunt Ivy can write?”

CHAPTER SEVEN

HONEYSUCKLE ISINGLASS’S SECRETS REVEALED

“I believe I can quite confidently claim that Aunt Ivy has never written anything more strenuous than a note to the butcher in her entire life.” Rue was circling the meeting table, her main sensation being near-paralytic confusion. Although, obviously not exactly paralytic as she was quite definitely circling.

Primrose sat placidly, hands crossed in her lap, eyes crinkled in amusement. “Terrible dark family secret. I hardly dare spill…” She allowed herself to trail off, heightening the suspense.

“Aunt Ivy is really Honeysuckle Isinglass?” Rue gave up confusion in favour of the thrill of discovery.

“Well, to be perfectly correct, Honeysuckle Isinglass is really my mother, the Baroness of Wimbledon. The hive thought it was beneath a vampire queen to publish a travel memoir, so she had to take a pen name. You know how vampires are – the respectability of the supernatural mystique, the gravitas of the blood, the nobility of the fang, all that rot. Pity, really – the book might have done better if people knew who penned it.”

“Oh, was it received poorly?” Rue tried not to grin.

“Very badly indeed. Why on earth did you buy it, Rue? It’s about Egypt not India, you do realise?”

“Primrose Tunstell, do not change the subject. Explain Honeysuckle Isinglass.”

Prim elucidated further. “Queen Mums wrote it a few years after her metamorphosis. It’s supposed to be based on notes she took while visiting Alexandria, you know, with the acting troupe and your parents back in 1876. When we were still in nappies.”

“Aunt Ivy takes notes?”

Prim ignored this and continued. “It is an alarming piece of literature. Percy is particularly embarrassed by its existence.”

“I suppose Aunt Ivy is ridiculously proud of it?”

“Ridiculously. Of course, no one else ever mentions it if they can possibly help it, and Queen Mums rarely manages to bring it up in casual conversation. Not that she doesn’t try.”

“But, honestly – Honeysuckle Isinglass?”

“I believe that was your mother’s invention.”

“My mother will have her little bouts of fun.”

“The two of them must have been holy terrors in their day.” Primrose puffed out her cheeks at the idea.

“If that book is any indication, they were certainly something – probably unholy.” Rue paused to consider. Aunt Ivy was so silly and mother so powerful, they must have been such an odd paring. She snorted. “Honeysuckle Isinglass indeed.”

Rue picked up the slim travel memoir in question and paged through it. “The amber sun sinks slowly into the tourmaline sea, a blooming peony of beauty surmounting the waving undulations of the silken sapphire depths. All unobserved, our heroine wanders along the wave-licked shores, a young lady with a soul overfilled with sentiment for the pulchritude of the bejewelled landscape radiating before her, her feet attired in Mademoiselle Membrainoux’s finest kid slippers. The slush slush slush of the sparkling iridescent waves marries to the breathless beating of her engorged heart––” Rue had to stop. “Crikey, Prim!”

Prim was giggling into her hand. “I know. It’s so bad.”

Why, wondered Rue, has a supposed acquaintance named Anitra given me a badly written slim travel memoir authored by a vampire? And does it have anything to do with my parasol being stolen by a lioness? And who’s Goldenrod? Rue snapped the book shut and turned it about in her hands, shaking out the pages, hoping for a hidden message, a dried flower, something. But there was nothing there, not even a suspicious stain.

“I should read it for clues but, Prim, I don’t think I could bear it.”

Prim said, “I do understand. And they are unfortunately ubiquitous. I mean, Queen Mums insisted they print simply thousands of them. They were so resoundingly disparaged by the critics, they were somewhat taken to heart by those who eschewed the intellectual set. Now all the very worst libraries have one. I can’t believe you haven’t encountered it before.”

“Neither can I. I can only speculate that my mother prevented copies from entering my sphere for fear of linguistic contamination.”

“Why did you buy it?” Prim pressed.

“I didn’t – it was given to me by an old friend.”