“Clearly we are not ‘on Earth’ for much longer, Lady Maccon,” said the inventor, dimpling. “I thought, after our conversation, that I, too, would enjoy visiting Scotland.”
Alexia frowned. To travel so soon after opening a brand-new shop, not to mention leaving both her son and her ghostly aunt behind, seemed unwarranted. Clearly the inventor must be a spy of some kind. She would have to keep her guard up around the Frenchwoman, which was sad, as Alexia rather enjoyed the inventor’s company. It was a rare thing for Lady Maccon to encounter a woman more independent and eccentric than herself.
Alexia introduced Madame Lefoux to the rest of her party, and the Frenchwoman was unflaggingly polite to all, although there might have been a slight wince upon seeing Ivy’s eyeball-searing ensemble.
The same could not be said of Alexia’s entourage. Tunstell and Ivy bowed and curtsied, but Felicity openly snubbed the woman, clearly taken aback by her abnormal attire.
Angelique, too, seemed uncomfortable, although the maid did curtsy as required by someone in her position. Well, Angelique had very decided opinions on proper attire. She probably did not approve of a woman dressing as a man.
Madame Lefoux gave Angelique a long and hard look, almost predatory. Lady Maccon assumed it had something to do with both of them being French, and her suspicions were confirmed when Madame Lefoux hissed something at Angelique in a rapid-fire undertone in her native tongue, too fast for Alexia to follow.
Angelique did not respond, turning her lovely little nose up slightly and pretending to be busy fluffing the ruffles on Lady Maccon’s dress.
Madame Lefoux bade them all farewell.
“Angelique,” Lady Maccon addressed her servant thoughtfully, “what was that?”
“It waz nothing of import, my lady.”
Lady Maccon decided the matter might wait for a later time and followed the steward into her cabin.
She did not remain inside for long, as she wished to explore the ship and be on deck to witness float-off. She had waited years to float the skies, having followed the development of airship technology detailed in the Royal Society papers from a very young age. To be on board a dirigible at last was a joy not to be dampened by French mannerisms.
Once the last of the passengers had boarded and been shown to their respective cabins, the crew cast off the rope tethers, and the great balloon hoisted them slowly into the sky.
Lady Maccon gasped to see the world retreating below them, people disappearing into the landscape, landscape disappearing into a patchwork quilt, and final, irrevocable proof that the world was, indeed, round.
Once they floated through normal air and were high up into the aether, a young man, dangerously perched at the very back of the engines, spun up the propeller, and, with steam emitting in great puffs of white out the back and sides of the tank, the dirigible floated forward in a northerly direction. There came a slight jolt as it caught the aetheromagnetic current and picked up speed, going faster than it looked like it ought to be able to go, with its portly boatlike passenger decks dangling below the massive almond-shaped canvas balloon.
Miss Hisselpenny, who had joined Lady Maccon on deck, recovered from her own awe and began singing. Ivy had a good little voice, untrained but sweet. “Ye’ll take the high road,” she sang, “and I’ll take the low road, and I’ll be in Scotland afore ye.”
Lady Maccon grinned at her friend but did not join her. She knew the song. Who didn’t? It had been a forerunner in Giffard’s dirigible travel marketing campaign. But Alexia’s was a voice meant for commanding battles, not singing, as anyone who ever heard her sing took great pains to remind her.
Lady Maccon found the whole experience invigorating. The air up high was colder and somehow fresher than that of London or the countryside. She felt strangely comforted by it, as though this were her element. It must be the aether, she supposed, replete with its gaseous mix of aetheromagnetic particles.
However, she liked it far less the next morning when she awoke with a queasy stomach and a feeling of floating inside as well as out.
“Air travel takes some over like that, my lady,” said the steward, adding by way of explanation, “derangement of the digestive components.” He sent round one of the ship’s hostesses with a tincture of mint and ginger. Very little put Alexia off her food, and with the help of the tincture, she recovered a measure of her appetite by midday. Part of the queasiness, she supposed, was the fact that she was readjusting her routine to that of daylight folk, after spending months conducting her business mainly at night.
Felicity only noticed that Alexia was getting new color in her cheeks.
“Of course, not just anyone looks good in a sun hat. But I do believe, Alexia, that you ought to make that sacrifice. If you are wise, you will take my advice in this matter. I know sun hats are not often worn these days, but I think someone of your unfortunate propensities might be excused the old-fashioned nature of the accessory. And why do you go gadding about with that parasol at all times of day and yet never use it?”
“You are sounding more and more like our mama,” replied Lady Maccon.
Ivy, who was flitting from one railing to the other, cooing over the view, gasped at the cutting nature of such a statement.
Felicity was about to respond in kind when Tunstell appeared, entirely distracting her. She’d deduced Ivy and Tunstell’s regard for one another and thus was now committed to securing Tunstell’s affection for herself, for no other reason than to show Ivy that she could.
“Oh, Mr. Tunstell, how lovely of you to join us.” Felicity batted her eyelashes.
Tunstell reddened slightly and bobbed his head at the ladies. “Miss Loontwill. Lady Maccon.” A pause. “And how do you feel today, Lady Maccon?”
“The airsickness fades by luncheon.”
“How terribly convenient of it,” remarked Felicity. “You might hope it would hold on a trifle longer given your inclination toward robustness and obvious affection for food.”
Lady Maccon did not rise to the bait. “It would be better if the luncheons were not so consistently subpar.” All food on board the dirigible appeared to favor the bland and steamed approach. Even the much-lauded high tea had been disappointing.
Felicity carefully knocked her gloves off the little table next to the deck chair in which she lounged.
“Oh, how careless of me. Mr. Tunstell, would you mind?”
The claviger stepped forward and bent to retrieve them for her.
Felicity shifted quickly and angled herself in such a way that Tunstell was now bending over her legs, practically facedown in the skirts of her green dress. It was a rather intimate arrangement, and, of course, Ivy came bouncing around the corner of the deck right at that very moment.
“Oh!” said Ivy, somewhat deflated in her bounciness.
Tunstell straightened, handing Felicity her gloves. Felicity took them from him slowly, allowing her fingers to trail over his hand.
Ivy’s countenance looked remarkably similar to that of a bilious poodle.
Lady Maccon wondered that her sister had not gotten herself into trouble before now, with such behavior. When had Felicity turned into such a hardened little flirt?
Tunstell bowed to Ivy. “Miss Hisselpenny. How do you do?”
“Mr. Tunstell, please do not let my presence disturb you.”
Lady Maccon stood up, ostentatiously fixing the ear flaps of her flying hat. Really, it was too vexing: Felicity overly bold, Ivy engaged to another, and poor Tunstell stuck making puppy eyes at the both of them in his confusion.
Tunstell went to bow over Miss Hisselpenny’s hand. The dirigible encountered turbulence in the aether and lurched, causing Ivy and Tunstell to blunder into one another. Tunstell caught at her arm, helping her to stay upright while Ivy blushed like an overripe strawberry, her eyes downcast.
Alexia decided she needed a brisk walk on the forward deck.
Usually uninhabited, the forward deck was the windiest the dirigible had to offer. Both ladies and gentlemen tended to give it a miss, as it upset the hair something dreadful, but Alexia had no such qualms, even knowing she would earn a heavily accented chiding from Angelique upon her return. She turned the muffs down about her ears, donned her goggles, grabbed her parasol, and sallied forth.
The forward deck was, however, already occupied.
Madame Lefoux, dressed as impeccably and as inappropriately as always, stood next to that very same Angelique at the rails to one side, looking down over the patchwork of the British landscape spread below them like
