Imprudence (The Custard Protocol #2)(41)

Finally, Percy was moved to exasperation. “For goodness’ sake, Tiddles, you don’t have to talk simply because it is mealtime. We are all friends here. Could we not eat in silence?”

Quesnel leapt to Prim’s defence. “Now, Mr Tunstell, that’s not fair. Societal conventions dictate—”

“Blow societal conventions. A little less chatter once in a while would be to everyone’s benefit.”

Primrose looked as if she might weep: a mark of exhaustion, for normally her twin’s snide remarks rolled off her.

Rue could not tolerate having to mediate between Percy and Quesnel again. While the rabbit stew was delicious, she opted to leave the rest and escape. She stood abruptly.

Both men scrambled to stand as well.

“I’m for bed. Sleep well, everyone. I’ll no doubt see you at supper. It’s likely my mother will be joining us. Perhaps we could all try to follow Prim’s example and behave in a polished manner for a change?”

“Thank you, Rue.” Primrose sounded less like she wanted to cry.

Rue left them to it. She was at the door to her quarters, imagining the glory of soft sheets and a puffy coverlet, when her mother’s voice stopped her.

Somewhere, somehow, Rue found the reserves needed to turn around.

“Mother.”

“Infant. Report.” Lady Maccon was not happy about finding herself in transit.

Rue took some satisfaction in that. Lady Maccon always autocratically arranged things for her daughter, like a squishy benevolent cyclone. It was somewhat pleasing for Rue to find herself in the position of tyrant for a change.

“We’ve safely attained flotsam en route to Egypt. Quesnel says Paw is fine, in perfect preservation and seemingly untroubled by aetherosphere transition. I haven’t checked on him myself. You are welcome to do so. Although, please do not distract my crew.”

Lady Maccon looked relieved. “You decided to transport us immediately?”

“It seemed the best course of action given Paw’s deteriorating condition. And you were both already aboard.”

“I should have liked to say goodbye to some friends. And there’s packing to consider.”

“The clavigers sent over three massive trunks. Dama’s drones sent eight hatboxes, three jewellery rolls, a cravat case, and a large Spanish sausage. Your butler sent one very old and battered portmanteau. All appear to be stuffed to the gills and are located in the storage hold. I’ll have them brought to your quarters, if you like.”

“It’s not about the objects.” Lady Maccon’s voice cracked a little.

“Dama said to bid you farewell.”

Her mother’s eyes went wide and shiny. But she would not cry in front of her daughter. Rue knew this because she hated crying in front of her mother.

Rue felt a pang. Perhaps she had been too dictatorial. How would she like it if Lady Maccon unilaterally removed her from Primrose and Percy? But knowing Mother, she’d been prepared for this for months and already made her goodbyes.

“I will never see Ivy again.”

“Oh phooey, Mother, don’t be histrionic. Paw may be unable to leave Egypt for the rest of his life.” Rue choked a little but soldiered on. “You, however, are not equally trapped. You can leave him alone once he’s safely installed within the God-Breaker Plague. Or that’s the working theory. Nothing prevents you from returning to London for a visit.”

Lady Maccon nodded. “Fair point.”

“Speed is our priority, especially if Quesnel’s tank fails. Let’s concentrate on getting Paw to Egypt. Everything else can be sorted later.”

“Quite right, quite right.”

The fact that Mother was ceding ground to her floored Rue. She was determined to retire in possession of the field. Before Lady Maccon could find anything else to get annoyed about, she said, “There is food in the stateroom if you’re hungry. Cook’s laid on smelts, calf’s heart, and stewed rabbit with cauliflower, and Norfolk dumplings.”

Lady Maccon was preempted. “How divine! Now that you mention it, I’m fading away for the lack. You’re napping?”

“Mmm,” said Rue indistinctly.

Rue’s mother didn’t require an answer. She was already heading down the hallway. Very little diverted Lady Maccon from partaking of a decent meal.





EIGHT





In Which There May, or May Not, Be French Lessons



Rue dressed for supper with more care than normal. She told herself this was certainly nothing to do with her mother. She was quick about it, buttoning the appliqué front of her red travel dress with nimble fingers. The skirt was red, too, without embellishment except for three ruffles at the hem. Primrose had insisted Rue buy the dress. She felt like a tomato in it, but red was a commanding colour and she needed the confidence.

Primrose was the only one at the table when Rue arrived. Prim felt it her sacred trust to hold court the entirety of any given mealtime. Sometimes when duty, lugubriousness, and sleep schedules aligned, she could be in the stateroom, pouring tea and sympathy, for something on the order of three hours. Loving every minute of it.

Rue helped herself to a plate of kippers and eggs. Kippers were served at every meal, fish being Tasherit’s favourite. The werecat required fresh raw meat at full moon but the rest of the time smoked haddock and the occasional pickled herring seemed to keep the beast pacified.