arrangements. For the rest, this is an educational jaunt, not a pleasure cruise.”
Preshea was upset. “But the shopping! I have been given an extra allowance in anticipation of this trip!” She emphasized the final
“It will wait, Miss Buss.”
“But Monique’s party!”
“That’s enough, Miss Buss.”
Preshea looked sulky.
Monique was smug. Her parents were in town preparing for the ball. She would be allowed to shop as much as she pleased.
So they lodged in Hyde Park, and their classes continued despite the tempting activities outside the windows. The view included the aristocracy taking the air, hackney cabs rolling by, and the certain knowledge that, just out of reach, were all the luxuries and privileges afforded by town.
It was maddening, for everyone except Sidheag. Even Agatha, normally reticent, yearned to take in a theatrical performance. “Or perhaps an opera. I do adore the opera.”
Sophronia ruminated over whether the ban was intended to drive them into transgression, or if there was some serious threat to the students that warranted keeping them holed up. The teachers were not revealing any secrets, and with only a few attempted escapes by some of the older girls, the day passed smoothly.
The only odd occurrence was later that night, when instead of Professor Braithwope for evening lessons, they were put in with the older girls under Professor Lefoux. This was their first experience with Vieve’s aunt as an instructor.
Professor Lefoux was patiently brilliant and moved through the topic—industrial sabotage, tea, and supply trains—with such rapidity it left most of the class, regardless of age, utterly confused. Then she began to fire off questions in such a way as to make them all feel stupid. It was a traumatic experience and left them fervently wishing for the nice, easygoing, friendly vampire of their ordinary schedule.
Professor Braithwope was a dedicated teacher, and he didn’t like to change his routine. A monster of habit, the vampire. What, then, could possibly draw him away?
His place was empty at the head table at supper, as was a guest spot set next to it.
“He has a visitor,” said Sophronia, nibbling at some fried haddock.
“Oh, you think so?” Dimity was much less interested in the goings on of teachers than Sophronia.
“I do. An important visitor.”
Halfway through the meal, when the main course was to be brought out, Professor Braithwope arrived with a gentleman in tow.
The gentleman was tallish, not overly thin or overly fat. He wore proper dress to the height of style but nothing more elaborate. He had a long face with lines about the eyes that suggested exhaustion, not humor, and the general pallor of an invalid or an accounting clerk. The most remarkable things about him were his hands, which were long and elegant, mothlike in the candlelight. Mademoiselle Geraldine insisted on candlesticks for supper. Gas, she said, was too harsh for food.
The stranger sat next to Professor Braithwope as though it pained him to do so, and took no food, only a little port.
Sidheag, following Sophronia’s gaze, said idly, “So that’s why Captain Niall was so anxious.”
“Captain Niall was anxious?”
“About coming to London. I thought it only that werewolves don’t like town, except the West End. Now I suspect that it has to do with
Sophronia examined their visitor, trying to determine what it was about this man that the school’s werewolf would find objectionable. “Why him in particular?”
“Don’t you recognize our dear fanged member of the Shadow Council?”
“Goodness, no, why should I?”
Sidheag had been raised in Scotland but nevertheless enmeshed in supernatural politics. “True, he likes to stay out of the public eye, but that’s him, all right.”
“Him who?”
Sidheag nodded, firmly. “Funny me having information before you.”
Now Sidheag was simply being obstreperous.
“Are you telling me that is the
Sidheag chewed a bit of fricassee of rabbit and new potatoes. “Looks like.”
The potentate glanced up and directly at them, as if sensing they were discussing him, although even with supernatural hearing there was no way he could possibly cut through the suppertime chatter all the way to the back of the room.
Sophronia raised her water goblet in salute. Sidheag ignored him. As Lady Kingair, she was allied with werewolves. Wolves might shun polite society, but they equaled vampires in status.
Felix, observing this interchange, said from across the table, “Very unpleasantly august company you keep here, for a ladies’ seminary. Now, where’s the pudding course?”
“It doesn’t look like your teacher is too thrilled,” replied Sophronia.
Professor Shrimpdittle was looking bilious. He had a bright paisley scarf tied high about his neck. He was focused on his mutton and spinach with single-minded intent.
Felix said, “In no way are two vampires better than one.”
“Why, Ria, are you speaking in riddles? That’s sweet. I might almost think you wished to lure me in.” Felix batted long lashes at her.
The meal came to a close, the millet pudding and Norfolk dumplings consumed with gusto, especially by Pillover. Sophronia held back while most of the students crowded out through the door, eager for their brief spate of spare time before night classes began. The teachers let them go, lingering over their sherry or brandy, as nature dictated. In the case of Sister Mattie, nature dictated barley water.
Alone, Sophronia inched her way toward the front of the room. She pretended interest in some leftover nibbles at one of the tables. She watched the teachers out of the corner of her eye.
Professor Braithwope stood to take his leave, and the potentate clapped him on the shoulder in a fair imitation of jocularity. There was no real friendliness to the touch.
She heard the potentate say, “For blood, queen, and country, Aloysius. You take a grave risk, my boy, a grave risk. You are to be commended.”
Professor Braithwope replied, mustache under control for once, “Thank you, sir. I shall do my best.” This was said in the tone of a son to his military father on the eve of battle.
Feeling she was pushing her luck, Sophronia drifted toward the exit, only to find herself accompanied by Professor Braithwope.
“Sir,” she said, politely.
“I don’t like how obsequious they all get when he is around,” said the vampire, as though answering a question she hadn’t asked.
“He is a very important person.”
“More than you will ever know, I hope. Don’t try any of your tricks on him, Miss Temminnick. He won’t put up with them the way I do.”
Sophronia’s mind was whirring.
“So he says, Miss Temminnick. So he says.”
Sophronia had always enjoyed the idea of intelligencer work but been worried about who she might be an
