Sidheag explained the werewolf’s behavior, “He won’t leave anyone behind. It’s not the military way.”
“We don’t fit!” protested Sophronia.
“I’ve an idea,” said Dimity, hopping back off and pulling down her petticoat right there in a public street.
Dimity handed the stiff horsehair garment to Sophronia. “Use this as a sling.” She climbed back on.
With a shrug, Sophronia and Soap sat down in the street on top of the skirt. Embarrassed by her own temerity, Sophronia curled about her tall friend, Bumbersnoot between them, wrapping up in the big purple petticoat like a cocoon.
Soap said, “I’ll get you all over with soot, miss,” clearly mortified by such intimacy.
“That’s all right, Soap. It’s Preshea’s jacket and Sidheag’s clothes.”
Captain Niall gathered up the edges in his teeth and levered. They were only a hairbreadth above the ground, but it was enough.
Thus burdened, the werewolf leapt away, looking more ridiculous than he ever had or ever would again in all his long life.
Duke Hematol, being a vampire, might have caught up to them. But fair sportsmanship must be considered. Technically, they had gotten away, right and proper. Plus the duke was not the kind of man to go running after anyone through the streets of London without his coat and hat. Lord Ambrose might have followed, but he was still at Monique’s ball. If Hematol had given chase, Captain Niall would have been required to fight him, and that would have been far too messy. Why involve the werewolves in such a shameful business? It was, in the end, impolite to borrow another man’s children. So the Duke of Hematol returned to his queen empty-handed.
Consequently, the overburdened werewolf attained the safety of Mademoiselle Geraldine’s without incident. His passengers tumbled off his back, or out of the petticoat sling, and then climbed up the rope ladder with a collective sense of giddy freedom.
“I cannot believe that worked,” said Sidheag, her Scottish accent broadened by shock.
“Do you two have any idea how ridiculous you look?” said Dimity, still appalled by the dandy outfits.
“That was jolly,” said Soap, grinning widely and hoisting Dimity’s purple petticoat over one shoulder.
Vieve was waiting for them. “What happened? Tell me all!”
“Well,” said Dimity, “where to start? I was held hostage by a vampire queen!” She and Pillover and Sidheag all began talking at once and on top of one another, detailing the events of the last few hours.
Sophronia stood silent, clutching her mechanimal reflexively to her breast.
Soap shuffled over to her. “Are you well, miss?”
Sophronia was embarrassed to find herself shaking.
“Oh, now, miss.” Soap put his arm about her, awkwardly patting her back. As if she hadn’t just spent a sling ride wrapped about him like a streetside doxy. “There, there.”
Sophronia turned her attention on Bumbersnoot. She was enjoying Soap’s comforting embrace too much for her own peace of mind. She’d liked it in the sling, too. He did have very nice muscles. And he smelled good under all that soot. To distract herself, she mock chided the mechanimal. “Bumbersnoot, you horrible creature! Premature exploding is not done!”
“Oh, now, miss, he did his best,” Soap joined in.
“Thank you for rescuing him, by the way.”
“Thank him with a kiss,” suggested Sidheag, coming over. She had left the storytelling to Dimity and Pillover and was watching Sophronia and Soap through narrowed yellow eyes.
Sophronia tried to back out of Soap’s embrace, but his arm tightened. She looked up in confusion. His laughing brown eyes were unusually serious.
“Go on,” encouraged Sidheag.
Sophronia stood up on tiptoe, intending to peck him on the cheek.
Soap leaned in, grabbing her chin gently, and kissed her. A proper kiss, on the lips.
Sophronia blinked and sputtered. His lips were very soft.
Sidheag said, “Excellent.”
“Good night, miss,” said Soap, and before Sophronia could recover her faculties, he wisely scampered off. This left Sophronia with one hand pressed to tingling lips and no plan, for once in her life.
Eventually, she recovered and glared at Sidheag. “Why do you encourage him? You know it’s not possible.”
“What’s not possible?”
“A sootie and an Uptop.”
“Now, Sophronia, don’t be snobbish.”
Sophronia sighed. “He’s a good friend, Sidheag. I don’t want to ruin that. I don’t think of him in that way.”
“Are you certain?”
“You’re as bad as he is.”
“Perhaps I too have designs above my station.”
Which was a terribly enigmatic thing for Sidheag to say. After all, she was the Lady of Kingair, wealthy and aristocratic. Very few were above her station.
Dimity came bouncing over. “My goodness, what an exciting evening. Do you think we still have time to catch the last of Monique’s ball?”
“Oh, Dimity, really!” said Sophronia and Sidheag in unison.
Test results
Monique de Pelouse never returned to Mademoiselle Geraldine’s Finishing Academy for Young Ladies of Quality. Her coming-out ball was pronounced a resounding success by those who cared to pronounce such things, and she took her place in society that spring. She was expected to make a very advantageous match, although there was a niggling rumor about her preference for Westminster vampires. No suitors gave it much credence.
Sidheag and Agatha were taken off probation. No explanation was given, and Sophronia was left with the distinct sensation that they had been less circumspect about the monitoring of Monique then they originally thought. She suspected that Monique’s working for Westminster and the potentate’s blatant refusal to believe that the hive was involved was considered embarrassing by the school. Sister Mattie probably argued in their favor. Sophronia also understood what lesson she was to have learned from her ostracism.
She tried several times to visit Professor Braithwope but was forbidden entry. “Enough” was Professor Lefoux’s curt comment the fifth time. Sophronia tried to pass along a home-made card and even snuck onto Sister Mattie’s balcony to pick him a bunch of foxgloves, but no contact was allowed. She wasn’t certain if this was because he was now insane and dangerous to her or if the teachers had some inkling of her involvement with Shrimpdittle and figured she was dangerous to him. Lessons were dull without his inquisitive mustache. She developed an odd sensation behind her eyeballs, like the press of tears, but no tears came. The burn of guilt, she supposed. Something new and unpleasant to learn to live with. She plucked at her meals and began to think much longer and harder about consequences as well as actions.
Genevieve Lefoux disappeared from Mademoiselle Geraldine’s before the airship reached Dartmoor. Professor Lefoux was entirely untroubled by her niece’s absence and began to receive letters, a few months later, from a previously unheard of nephew, Gaspar Lefoux, who had been accepted into Bunson’s.
“Distant relation, you know. I had no idea he had evil-genius ambitions. Of course, I am delighted he has found himself a place. Who wouldn’t be?” Sophronia overheard her say to Sister Mattie.
“Well, Bunson’s is in bed with the Picklemen,” protested the nun. “Even more so now. They won the contract
