Lady Linette placed one hand on the gold and lapis handle of the gilt door and paused, giving Sophronia a very odd look. Sophronia supposed she meant it to be significant and sultry; however, she looked as though she had a mild case of indigestion.
“Now remember, dear, discernment and discretion are of the utmost importance here. I shall be watching you carefully. You wouldn’t want us to think we had made a mistake in our selection process, now, would you?” Sophronia rather thought that was a tad caustic. After all, I didn’t ask to come here!
Still, Sophronia nodded, to indicate she was willing to try, and followed Lady Linette through the gilt door and into… paradise.
Behind the excessive tassels was a private suite of the kind one might find in any upscale boarding house. The peculiar, and wondrous, thing was that the walls were lined with shelves. On those shelves were sweets of all shapes and sizes: stacks of petits fours, bonbons, trifles, iced cakes, custards, and any and all other confections that one might desire. Sophronia gaped.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” said a voice.
“Are they… are they real?”
The voice laughed. “No, but they look real, don’t they? Little hobby of mine.” An older female approached. She had rinsed red hair, friendly dark eyes, and a generous mouth. However, one was not prone to noticing any of the aforementioned features first. Oh, no, what was most initially strikingly about the woman was the fact that she was endowed in a manner that suggested operatic tendencies. Sophronia could think of no more delicate way of putting it—her corset was distinctly under stress.
The woman smiled. “Do you like them?”
It took Sophronia a moment to realize she was referring not to her endowments but to the fake pastries on display.
“They are very… realistic.”
“But you would far rather taste than merely look? I understand. Would you take tea with me? I should dearly like to make your acquaintance. It has been so very long since the school took in an outsider.”
“Six years,” added Sophronia helpfully, figuring this was merely another way of saying covert recruit.
“Really, so long? How did you know?”
“Professor Braithwope told me.”
“Have you met the professor? Such a nice man. Definitely qualit-tay. Well, Lady Linette, tell me about our newest addition. Is she qualit-tay?”
“I believe she may do. She has certain advantages.”
“And a definite air of nobility. I like that! Oh, but dear me we’re forgetting our manners already. I am Mademoiselle Geraldine.”
“The real one?” asked Sophronia cautiously.
“Of course, child. Why shouldn’t I be? As if anyone would want to impersonate me!”
“Oh, but—” Sophronia caught Lady Linette shaking her head slightly. Oh, yes, discernment and discretion. Sophronia switched topics mid-thought. “Pleased to meet you, Headmistress. I’m Sophronia Angelina Temminnick.” She executed her subpar curtsy.
The headmistress blanched. “Oh, dear, we will have to do something about that. I’ll be teaching you dance and toilette and apparel selections. How are your steps?”
Sophronia had only had one dance instructor. He’d been hired for all the Temminnick girls, but spent most of his time with the eldest. This had led to the hasty dismissal of said dance instructor. As a result, Sophronia managed to escape the protracted torture of quadrilles. “Absent, I’m afraid, Headmistress.”
“Good! That’s very good. I much prefer a fresh palate. Nothing to unlearn. Now, sit down, do. Have some tea.”
Sophronia sat, and after a moment’s hesitation, began stuffing her face with the little cakes and sandwiches arrayed before her. These proved to be real. And delicious. Now, if finishing school is full of tea cakes, I could certainly grow to love it.
“Well,” said the headmistress to Lady Linette, watching Sophronia eat with ill-disguised horror, “we have our work cut out for us.”
“Indeed we do.”
Sophronia stopped chewing long enough to ask the one question that was still really bothering her. “What was the prototype of?”
Mademoiselle Geraldine looked deeply confused. “Prototype? Linette, what is the child talking about?”
Lady Linette gave Sophronia a fierce look, and then covered it up by toying with a curl. “I have no idea, Geraldine, no idea at all. You know these modern girls—they will have their little joke.”
Oh, dear, thought Sophronia, I might be failing Lady Linette’s discernment and discretion mandate already. Exactly how much am I suposed to be concealing from the headmistress?
“Ah, Linette, sometimes I feel as though I know nothing of what is going on with young persons these days. They seem to talk in cipher. Don’t you find?”
“Indubitably, Geraldine.”
Sophronia, for lack of any other option, gave a huge, guileless smile and stuffed her face with more tea cake.
A knock came at the door. It swung open, and Professor Braithwope’s unstable mustache, followed by its unassuming owner, trotted in.
“Do pardon me, ladies, but Lady Linette, something musically related has come up. It requires your immediate attention.”
Lady Linette stood. “You’d better come with me, Miss Temminnick.”
Sophronia grabbed a handful of finger sandwiches. “Thank you for the tea, Headmistress. It was most illuminating.”
“Very prettily said, my dear. At least we know we won’t have any trouble with your elocution. No, dear, don’t curtsy. I couldn’t bear it—not twice in one night.” With that, the headmistress turned back to her tea. Sophronia surmised that they had been dismissed.