“I’ll filch some sandwiches,” said Vieve.
“Excellent.”
The 10th test
FINDING FORTUNE
How will you infiltrate Bunson’s without being found out as you get older?” Sophronia asked Vieve, gesticulating elegantly at the front part of her own corset.
“I come from a long line of bony women, so I shouldn’t think that will be a problem. And I managed to fool even you, until you were told.”
“True, but I was more thinking about the fact that some of them must already know you as
“Only Shrimpdittle and if you can deal with him, I should be in form. So long as my aunt keeps mum, I don’t see as there should be any real difficulty.”
“If you say so.”
“I know so. And I have a wonderful fake mustache I shall begin sporting in a few years time. That will fool most anyone. Mustaches are like that.”
“You’d make a terrible intelligencer,” said Sophronia at that outrageous statement.
“I know. Hence the reason I want to infiltrate Bunson’s, which is far more amenable to my personality.”
“And contact between the schools? How will you handle that?”
“It is more amicable now than it has been before. But…” she trailed off, her small face thoughtful.
“You don’t think good relations will last?”
“You serve different masters.”
Sophronia sat up. “Do you know who is the patron of Mademoiselle Geraldine’s?”
Vieve shook her head. “No, but I know it isn’t the Picklemen, and they’re the backbone of Bunson’s. Those who aren’t Picklemen don’t get along with them, so…” She shrugged her conclusion.
Sophronia didn’t think much of the Picklemen herself. “In that case, are you certain you want to go
“None as good as Bunson’s. It’s a feeder to Ecole des Arts et Metiers, the
“Must be. Sister Mattie said the intermediary had gone to infiltrate flywaymen, we know the Picklemen are mixed up with them, and… wait a moment, what will I do about Bumbersnoot with you gone? Who will look after him?”
Vieve shrugged. “It’s time you learned mechanimal maintenance, if you will insist on carrying him everywhere like he’s a toy.”
Sophronia grinned at her pet, who was lounging on the end of the couch wearing lace and ruffles. “Oh, he doesn’t mind, do you, Bumbersnoot?”
“Come here, you charmer,” said Vieve, scooping up the mechanimal and removing his reticule attire. “I’ll show you how to clean and oil him and leave a few tools. You should try it before I relocate, in case you have questions.”
Sophronia prepared to be instructed. If Vieve was set on leaving, she had better learn to fend for herself in the matter of technology.
“Oh, ho ho, looks who’s all chummy.” Monique came into the room and cast herself in an unladylike manner into an arm chair.
“I thought you had a terrible headache, Sophronia. You don’t look like you’re ill,” accused Preshea, following Monique.
Sidheag, Agatha, and Dimity trailed into the parlor after them.
“Oh, Preshea, what do you care? You had Lord Mersey all to yourself at luncheon,” said Dimity.
Vieve looked at the fashionable young ladies surrounding her. She issued an ironic little bow, packed up her things, and made good her escape.
“I don’t know why you associate with that brat,” said Monique. “Older girls shouldn’t patronize younger ones.”
No one replied, but there was a collective arching of eyebrows. After all, Monique was forced to spend most of her time associating with them, and even Sophronia—the eldest of the bunch—was three years her junior.
Monique wrinkled her nose, as if smelling the absurdity in her own words. She quickly moved the subject on. “Preshea, darling, is it only I who have noticed, or has this whole trip to London become excessively dull?”
“Don’t fret, dear Monique. You still have your party to plan.” Preshea was all optimism.
Monique brightened. “Oh, yes, the party. How droll of me to forget. Should we consider refreshments?”
Preshea and Monique then spent a quarter of an hour discussing the delights of the upcoming ball. They listed all the diversions and delicacies in a manner that emphasized the fact that no one else in the room would get to sample any.
Agatha played her role painfully well, pretending interest.
Sophronia and her friends remained unaffected by the barbs. She and Sidheag played tiddlywinks while Dimity knitted. Dimity was fond of knitting and was currently attempting to craft small yellow booties for Bumbersnoot. She claimed this was practice for her future as a charitable lady of means. Sophronia secretly worried that the mechanimal would slide all over the floor—not to mention, why did a metal dog need warm feet?—but the act was kindly meant.
Then, in a twist of topic, Preshea and Monique began to discuss boys. “Lord Mersey, of course, is the cream on the cake. Getting him to attend can only be to the betterment of all concerned.”
Monique was confident. “I’m assured he will come. As will Lord Dingleproops. Of course, we can’t have young Vullrink, not after last night’s supper. Imagine using a knife for fish? And Mr. Plumleigh-Teignmott is right out.”
Preshea nodded sagely. “Too young?”
“Too ill connected.” Monique looked pointedly at Dimity.
Dimity glanced up from her needles. “He’ll only thank you for it. Pillover hates parties.”
“Oh, wonderful. It’s always so nice to know the unwelcome are also uncaring of their social standing,” sneered Monique. She probably would have gone on with her commentary until their next lesson, but the perimeter alarm trumpeted.
Dimity put down her knitting.
The girls stayed in their parlor, as they had been instructed. Even Sophronia, who was inclined to take to the hull to investigate, remained seated. With all the manufactured fog it would be impossible to see who approached, a fact that was worrying in and of itself. If someone had managed to spot and attack the school despite their cloud disguise, that someone had superior technology.
They waited with bated breath for the ship to shake with cannon fire, for the fateful lean and sway of a balloon collapsing. Nothing happened. They listened for the sound of timber splitting. Still nothing. In short order, the trumpeting stopped with no apparent reaction from ship, mechanicals, or staff.
“Must have been a false alarm,” said Dimity into the ensuing silence.
The girls, with nothing better to do, prepared for their next lesson. Even Monique was sobered by the strange experience.
They had foreign languages and lipreading with Lady Linette next. None of the boys were present. Apparently, gentlemen didn’t require foreign tongues. They moved from there on to tea and subterfuge with Mademoiselle Geraldine. Since the headmistress had no idea of the true nature of her own school, the exact kind
