Curtsies & Conspiracies (Finishing School, #2)(18)

“What, for aether’s sake, is wrong with Artemisia?” asked Lady Linette, distracted by her cat’s behavior.

Felix followed Sophronia and leaned in to whisper, “Italian design, did you say? I must see about getting my mother one. Then again, if all the best households have one, she may already be blessed.”

Luckily, shortly after that, they were required to switch partners. Then the class got thoroughly distracted by the spectacle of Dimity Plumleigh-Teignmott, normally a placid young lady, positively bristling at a surprised Lord Dingleproops. Their vampire-meets-maiden conversation was full of hissed undercurrents. Sophronia observed that when Dimity flashed her letter at the young man, he shook his head violently, not understanding her ire. He was either a very good actor or had no involvement in the fiasco on the squeak deck. Sophronia was relieved that she had interfered and set the airdinghy falling. But if Lord Dingleproops wasn’t involved, who was? The flywaymen? The Picklemen? How did they get hold of the stationery? And the question still remained, why Dimity?

Sophronia tried to approach her friend after class with her concerns. “Dimity, about that letter…”

Dimity, practically in tears, only brushed by and scuttled off as fast as she could, trailing a worried-looking Agatha and Sidheag in her wake.


Felix, thought Sophronia as she made ready for supper that evening, is liable to be a problem. Despite all due attention to deportment, she could not help thinking of him as Felix, even while addressing him as Lord Mersey. They shared several lessons—including tea and delusions with Mademoiselle Geraldine and portion allotment, puddings, and preemptive poisonings with Sister Mattie. He would keep flirting, despite more tempting prospects like Monique and Preshea, who practically hurled themselves in his direction. I wonder if I should warn him about Preshea. She does so desperately want to murder her first husband. Sophronia had no idea why Felix was so intent upon her. She had not yet received lessons in seduction, or she might have understood the appeal of sharp confidence, a topping figure, and green eyes. All Sophronia’s intellect was directed at something other than attracting male companionship. These things combined to make her particularly appealing to gentlemen. Soap could have told her that.

The boys were permitted to take supper with the girls, distributed among the tables. Lord Mersey, Lord Dingleproops, and Mr. Plumleigh-Teignmott sat with Sophronia’s group because they were the youngest of the gentlemen visitors. Pillover was the youngest of all, at thirteen, and was distressed at having been singled out for special treatment.

“I’m not that good a student,” he confided in Sophronia. “This trip was supposed to be a reward for the top evil geniuses. I’ve no idea why Professor Shrimpdittle chose me. It could be because I’m the only one with a sibling on board. What is going on with you and Dimity, by the by? My sister is a raging pain but not the type to snub a friend.”

Sophronia winced. “Set up, I’m afraid. Some kind of test.”

Pillover nodded. “Ah, well, she’ll come around eventually.”

“I certainly hope so. It’s terribly boring without her constant gossip.”

“Really? I don’t miss it at all. You are an odd duck.”

The supper was served—broiled salmon, hashed mutton, potatoes, parsnips, and baked apple pudding. The young men had passable table manners, but conversation was stilted at best, with the young ladies either flirting or nervously silent at the prospect of using the wrong fork.

Despite his best efforts, Felix was not sitting on Sophronia’s left. She sat isolated at the end of the table next to Preshea, who turned to speak with Lord Dingleproops. Pillover was a godsend, sitting across the way, although he would shovel mutton into his maw as if sheep were soon to be obsolete.

“I must say,” he commented between bites, “you eat better at this school than we do.”

“And in greater style, I imagine.”

Pillover looked at the tablecloth and flower centerpiece as though he had not noticed them before, which he probably hadn’t. “Rather.”

“We are training to handle such things for the rest of our lives. You are training to be evil geniuses. Table settings and the like are regarded, I am sure, as beneath you.”

“You are disposed to see this as careless?” wondered Pillover.

“Some things are more important than they seem. Note, for example, that by having larger flowers in taller vases, you can prevent people from conversing across the table, thus confining them to their dinner partners. Wider arrangements with cascading ferns, and you might even pass notes or objects to a dining companion without anyone the wiser.”

Pillover looked uninterested. Sophronia switched topics.

“I think someone is after Dimity.”

“Well, despite what she claims about that silly letter, it isn’t Lord Dingleproops. I can tell you that.” Pillover appeared to be aware of the situation.

“Have you had any odd encounters?”

Pillover started. “Me? Who would be after me?”

“Well, who would be after your sister?”

“It must be some kind of lark. Or mistake. I wouldn’t put it past the Pistons.”

Sophronia detailed the events on the squeak deck.

Pillover shook his head. “Can’t be Pistons, not that. Even they don’t have access to an airdinghy. No, I think you’re right that someone else wants my sister.”