Imprudence (The Custard Protocol #2)(7)

With which she was about to whisk dramatically out of the room, except that at that precise moment the front doorbell rang. Dama had recently had the latest style installed, which tolled deeply rather than a proper ringing. It sounded a bit like a death dirge. But Rue supposed that even Dama needed the occasional undead wallow.

She paused and cocked her head; a familiar voice was chatting with the drone at the door.

Moments later, Primrose Tunstell came trotting into the drawing room trailing Virgil in her wake.

“Oh, Rue, were you heading out?”

“Only in a huff. What is it, Prim? You look positively overcome. And what are you doing with your brother’s valet? Much as I respect you, Virgil, you’re hardly an ideal chaperone for someone in Miss Tunstell’s position.”

Virgil didn’t take offence. Despite being a jaunty lower-class stripling, he was well versed in proper etiquette. He knew he was the worst possible escort for a lady of Prim’s rank. Since he was also an inveterate snob, he would have been the first to tell her so.

Primrose is usually good about such things.

Rue examined her friend.

Despite her odd companion, everything else seemed in order. She was perfectly dressed in an elegant cherry gown patterned in cream mignonette with ribbon detail exactly on point, right down to the wide sash at her enviably small waist. Her rich brown hair was swirled atop her head and crowned in the latest gentleman’s inspired boater hats. She wore a not-too-ostentatious brooch at her throat, below which fell a quantity of not-too-ostentatious lace. She held leather gloves in one hand and a decorative fur purse in the other. Decorative because Primrose would never be so crass as to actually carry money on her person. The only thing even remotely out of character was the fact that she was trailing her brother’s valet. However, Rue was confident that a perfectly sensible explanation would be forthcoming.

The net over Prim’s face did nothing to disguise her worried expression. Primrose was an even-tempered little thing. On those few occasions when sentimentality overwhelmed her, Prim was ever willing to share her feelings with her dearest friend. In fact, it was practically a requirement of their relationship.

“Prim, my sweet, what is it?” Rue rallied round. This was exactly what she needed right now. Prim’s worry was something Rue could manage. Prim would tell her what was wrong, with no attempt at redirection or miscommunication, and Rue would find a way to fix it. Whatever it was.

“It’s Percy. Virgil says that he stormed off in a temper several hours ago. You know I wouldn’t ordinarily trouble you, but he left his club, unaccompanied, at night. I understand that he dashed out of the reading room leaving behind an unfinished manuscript!”

“Oh dear.”

“Oh yes! You know my brother. He is not equipped to handle London, even during the off-season. I’m certain he forgot his hat. Virgil, did he?”

Virgil nodded.

“You see? There he goes, outside, into society, without a hat. Did he at least have a cravat on?”

Virgil shook his head.

Primrose went white. “Oh. Oh no. No.”

Dama, until that moment lurking quietly in the background, could not repress a gasp. “I must apologise, darling ladies, but I simply cannot listen any further. It’s too bad.”

Primrose looked at him, eyes shining with tears. “No, of course not. Nor should you. I do apologise, dear Lord Akeldama. And if you could try to keep the shame of this from getting out? For as long as supernaturally possible. Perhaps Rue and I can find him and convince him to return indoors before anyone of any importance sees him.”

Dama came over all severe behind his monocle. “Yes, I think you had better. But surely your mother will have her drones posted to follow him?”

“Oh, dear me. Imagine what Queen Mums would say if she heard Percy was gallivanting about without a hat in public? This is a catastrophe; hats are all she loves best in the world. Rue, we really must go now.”

“But he was staying at his club. Where would he go? Any ideas?”

Prim shook her head so violently she nearly dislodged her own hat from its position, exactly where it ought to be.

Rue looked into the forlorn face of Percy’s young valet. “Virgil, we don’t blame you, of course we don’t. But can you recall anything that might help us track your master?”

He felt this keenly, naturally he did. Virgil was a gem. He took more care of his master’s reputation than the Honourable Percival Tunstell warranted. But even a fully grown valet could only control his master so much, and Percy at the best of times was eccentric in both his manners and his dress. Still, Rue could hardly have supposed even Percy to be so rash as to head out at night… hatless.

“He read an article, Lady Captain. Got quite steamed up about it. I’ve never seen him so pipped.”

“He does have red hair. You know those rumours about the temper.” Rue tried to console him.

“Yes, Lady Captain, I do. But this was more serious than red hair.”

Rue frowned. “What was the paper about?”

“It was a recent publication from the Royal Society. You know, the type that announces the latest discoveries. I didn’t see the particulars.”

Rue didn’t press the matter. It was Virgil’s job to take care of Percy’s person, not his mental stability – questionable as that may be.