The Tunstells’ troupe had already struck up a rousing chorus of “Shine Your Buttons with Brasso,” an extremely bawdy tune entirely ill-suited to the first-class compartment of the Morning Express to Southampton.
Lady Maccon looked at her husband as if he might be one to justify such behavior.
He shrugged. “Actors.”
Prudence, lacking in all sense of dignity and decorum, squeaked in delight and clapped along with the song.
Madame Lefoux immersed herself in some papers from the Royal Society, humming along.
Tunstell demanded ale, despite it being early morning. One of the young ladies from the supporting cast began to dance a little jig in the aisle.
“What will the steward think of us?” said Alexia to no one in particular. “This is going to be a very long trip.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Biffy Encounters a Most Unsatisfactory Parasol
In the years that followed, when Lady Maccon had occasion to recall that nightmare morning, she would shudder at the horror of it all. She who has not traveled in the company of ten actors, three toddlers, a werewolf, and a French inventor cannot possibly sympathize with such torture. The chaos of the train station was a mere appetizer to the main course of utter insanity that was the Maccon party’s attempt at boarding the steamer at Southampton. Miraculously, they managed to do so with few actual casualties. Ivy lost one of her hatboxes to the briny deep and had a fit of hysterics. The man playing the villain, a fellow named Tumtrinkle, barked his shin on the side of the entrance ramp, an occurrence that, for some strange reason, caused him to sing Wagnerian arias at the top of his lungs to withstand the pain for the next three-quarters of an hour. The wardrobe mistress was in a panic over the proper treatment of the costumes, and the set designer insisted on handling all of the backdrops personally, despite the fact that he had a dodgy back and a limp. One of the understudies was not pleased with the size and location of her room and began to cry, claiming that in her country, ghosts were tethered near water, so she could not possibly be in a room that overlooked the ocean… on a boat. Percy spit up on the captain’s lapel. Primrose ripped a very long feather out of a lady passenger’s hat. Prudence squirmed out of her father’s grasp at one point, toddled over to the railing, and nearly fell over the edge.
Lady Maccon felt, if she were the type of woman to succumb to such things, a severe bout of nerves might have been called for. She could quite easily have taken to her apartments with a cool cloth to her head and the worries of the world far behind her.
Instead, she oversaw the loading of the mountain of luggage with an iron fist, distributed cleaning cloths to the captain and Percy, rescued and returned the feather to its rightful owner, sent a steward to Ivy’s room with restorative tea, insisted Tunstell comfort the hysterical understudy, distracted the wardrobe mistress and set designer with questions, corralled her daughter with one arm and her frantic husband with the other, and all before the steamer tooted its departure horn and lurched ponderously out into a dark and choppy sea.
Finally, once everything was settled, Alexia turned to Conall, her eyes shining with curiosity. “Who did you order it from?”
Lord Maccon, exhausted, as only a man can be when put in sole charge of an infant, said, “To what could you possibly be referring, my dear?”
“The parasol, of course! Who did you order my new parasol from?”
“I took a good hard look at the available options, since Madame Lefoux was off the market, and thought we needed someone who at least knew something of your character and requirements. So, I approached Gustave Trouvé with the commission.”
“My goodness, that’s rather outside his preferred practice, is it not?”
“Most assuredly, but out of fond regard, he took the order anyway. He has, I am afraid to say, encountered some difficulty in execution. Hasn’t Madame Lefoux’s touch with accessories.”
“I should think not, with a beard like that. Are you quite certain he is up to the task?”
“Too late now—the finished product was supposed to arrive just before we departed. I left instructions with Lyall to send the article on as soon as it appeared. It was meant to be a surprise.”
“Knowing Monsieur Trouvé’s taste, I’m certain it still will be. But thank you, my love, very thoughtful. I have felt quite bereft these past few years. Although, thank goodness, I have had very little need of it.”
“Comparative peace has been nice.” Conall moved Prudence, who had dozed off, to drape more artistically over one massive shoulder and shifted closer to his wife. They stood at the rear of the ship, watching the cliffs of England retreat into the mist.
“But?”
“But you have been getting restless, my harridan. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You wanted to come to Egypt for a bit of excitement, if nothing else.”
Alexia smiled and leaned her chin on his vacant shoulder. “You’d think Prudence would be excitement enough.”
“Mmm.”
“And don’t place this all on me—you’re harking after some adventure yourself, aren’t you, husband? Or have you Egyptian interests?”
“Ah, Alexia, how do you know me so well?”
“Are you going to tell me?”
“Not yet.”
“I loathe it when you do that.”
“It’s only fair. You practice the same policies, wife. Case in point: were you going to tell me about Biffy?”
“What about him?”
“You said something to him before we left. Didn’t you?”
“Good gracious me, how could you possibly know that? Biffy has far too much circumspection to reveal anything to you.”
“I know, my dear, because he changed. There was a lightness about him. He fit correctly into the pack, a role he has been reluctant to fill heretofore. What did you do?”
“I gave him a purpose and a family. I told you all along that was what he needed.”
“But I tried that with the hat shop.”
“I guess it had to be the right purpose.”
“And you aren’t going to tell me any more until I tell you about my reason for visiting Egypt.”
“My love, now it is
Lord Maccon laughed, jiggling Prudence quite violently. Fortunately, much like her father, she was difficult to awaken.
It was a gray, wintry day, and there was little to see now that they had taken to the open ocean.
Alexia was beginning to feel the chill. “So long as we understand each other. And now let’s get our daughter inside. It’s a mite cold out here on deck, don’t you think?”
“Indubitably.”
Biffy felt the absence of his Alphas as a kind of odd ache. It was difficult to describe, but the world was rather like a tailored waistcoat without buttonholes—missing something important. It wasn’t as though he could not function without buttonholes; it was simply that everything felt a little
He returned from the station in good time only to find a stranger at the door to his hat shop. A well-rounded stranger with a narrow wooden box tucked under one arm, an indifferent mode of dress, and an abnormally proactive beard. From the quantity of dust about his person, Biffy surmised the man had been traveling. Without spats, he noticed in alarm. There was a certain cut to the stranger’s greatcoat that suggested France, and from the
