Agatha explained further. “Preshea can’t wait until she gets to poison her first husband. She’s a great admirer of Mary Blandy’s work.”
“Oh, you flatter me.”
So we are being trained to be assassins? Or are they joking with me? Sophronia looked back and forth between Preshea and Agatha. Agatha didn’t look like she knew how to joke.
“And Professor Braithwope. What does he teach?”
Preshea went quiet at the name, her face once again dour and sulky. Which was odd, because Sophronia had liked Professor Braithwope best of the bunch.
“He’s history.” Agatha plucked at a ruffle on her skirt. Her voice shook slightly. “Some deportment and etiquette as well.”
“But in actuality?” Sophronia prodded.
“Well, vampire lore and defense. What else?” Preshea pretended impatience, but she was clearly a little scared.
Sophronia thought quickly. Professor Braithwope had said he was just getting up when she disturbed him, yet it was after dark. He’d sneezed at garlic mash. He’d got the cork stuck on his fang, not his tooth! Of course. My first vampire, she thought, disappointed in herself for not realizing it at once and in Professor Braithwope for not being more… well… vampiric.
Preshea stood. “Speaking of Professor Braithwope, we ought to get ready, ladies.”
The girls began to rummage about, gathering up lesson books and putting on bonnets. Monique reappeared, looking lovely and pulled together in a sweeping day dress of rose silk. With a good deal of bustle they filed out of the room, following Monique, who assumed the position of preeminence without challenge.
Sophronia summoned Bumbersnoot with an imperious gesture. The mechanimal bumped into her shoe and looked up. “Stay!” she said firmly, and then, “Sleep.” The mechanized dog sat back on its haunches and made a little whistling hum before relaxing down, all internal components stilled. Gracious me, it worked!
Sophronia trotted after the group, ending up behind Sidheag and next to Dimity. “Where are we going?”
“Lessons, I suppose.” Dimity grinned at her.
“At night?”
“Apparently the academy keeps London hours. Might as well get us accustomed to the Season. Or so Sidheag says.”
“I like Sidheag,” said Sophronia, not caring if the tall girl could hear her. “She reminds me of my brother Freddy. Freddy never pinched as hard as the others.”
Dimity lowered her voice. “She’s not very ladylike.”
“I don’t think that is necessarily a character flaw. Some of the most disagreeable people I know are the most ladylike.”
“Oh, I like that!” Dimity pretended offense. She clearly liked to think of herself as a proper lady.
“Present company excluded, of course. Look at Monique. Speaking of which, she and I have an agreement. She won’t tell the teachers about Bumbersnoot if I don’t correct her version of the flywaymen rescue.”
Dimity did not look pleased. “Oh, but Sophronia, she’s such a pollock!”
“I didn’t say you would also hold your tongue. But if you could confine yourself to gossiping with students about it, that would mollify her. And it prevents everyone else from figuring out the real reason for her demotion.”
“Oh, are we keeping the prototype secret, too?”
Sophronia slowed, forcing Dimity to fall back with her and allowing distance to develop between them and the others. “Did you hear the alarm?”
Dimity nodded.
Sophronia explained, “It was flywaymen again. A whole bunch of airdinghies this time, after the prototype. They gave the teachers three weeks to find it. Professor Braithwope and Professor Lefoux are trying to build a fake in the interim. Monique won’t tell them the location of the real one. But I think the teachers are allowing her to keep it secret for some reason.”
“Remind me, why are we so interested?”
“It lost us our luggage. Also, it would prove we were better than Monique if we could produce the prototype for the teachers, now wouldn’t it?”
“But what if Monique stashed it before we even got on board the school?”
“Well, then, we will have to determine a way to sneak off and find it.”
“Already? But we just got here! I haven’t even had my supper.”
All the while they talked, they wended their way through the hallways of the school. As the young ladies were dressed to the height of fashion, this had to be done two by two; any more than that would not fit in the passageway due to the fullness of their skirts. Only Sidheag had a narrow gown, one that looked like it properly belonged on a governess. Sophronia could respect its practicality. Her own Sunday best was not used to such activity as it had seen over the past day. It was beginning to chafe, and she could but wish she had something more sensible to wear.
“What does ‘London hours’ imply?”
Dimity grinned. “Breakfast at noon, morning calls around three, tea at five, supper at eight, entertainment all evening, and bed by one or two. Doesn’t it sound the pip? I’d love to be a London lady. Do you think my parents would be awfully mad if I married a nice politician and gave up on a life of crime? Then I’d get to throw dinner parties all the time.”
Sophronia, country girl, for all she was gentry, found the very idea of London hours shocking in the extreme. “Rise at noon, you say?” Why, that sounds positively decadent!
Much to her shock, Sophronia actually enjoyed the lessons. They were nothing like she expected from either a finishing academy or an ordinary grammar school. She’d had, at varying times in her life, a host of indifferent governesses. They were either overwhelmed by the number of children in the Temminnick household or in possession of the remarkable ability to nap through most everything—including lessons. Education, therefore, had been a matter of Sophronia’s own interest and access to her father’s library, rather than instruction. Consequently, she knew a good deal of ancient history and mythology, something on the fauna of Africa and native hunting practices, and all the rules of cricket, but little else.