Curtsies & Conspiracies (Finishing School, #2)(27)

Dimity let out an uncontrolled giggle. Everyone else in the class looked either surprised or amused, according to their nature.

“Whot, whot? I hardly see how she might have done that. She hasn’t moved.”

Monique sputtered. Then, knowing she could not defend herself to the teacher, she sat back down and hissed in Sophronia’s ear. “You certainly won’t be invited to my ball!”

Sophronia smiled. “My dear Monique, I never for one moment believed that I would.”

“Unnatural girl!” Monique turned to glare across the room at Dimity, who had one gloved hand pressed to her mouth and dancing eyes.

“And you! Why would I let you come either? Who are your parents? Nothing more than scientists who can’t decide which side they’re on. Not to mention the way you dress, like some market doxy!”

Dimity’s eyes instantly filled with tears, and she let out a whimper, mouth still hidden under her hand.

Sophronia sprung to Dimity’s defense. “As opposed to an eighteen-year-old girl who is only now having her coming-out ball, who failed to finish properly, and whose parents are quite probably in trade?”

All the girls in the room gasped. Even Professor Braithwope was rendered momentarily speechless by such cutting remarks.

The vampire recovered his power of speech. “Ladies! Manners, whot?”

Dimity mouthed “Thank you” at Sophronia, which earned her a harsh look from the vampire.

After that, class settled down, but something in the atmosphere had changed. As the class practiced walking up and down hatboxes, swinging skirts to conceal weapons in as elegant a manner as possible, Dimity came to stand firmly next to Sophronia.

Professor Braithwope noticed and was perturbed, but he continued the lesson. “Any vampire may be addressed properly as ‘venerable one.’ Alternatively, you may use his title, if an aristocrat. All queens have titles; they are given a baronetcy if not already holding, although that has not been necessary for centuries. Very few women survive being bitten, so rarely is there a new queen. This is why there are always fewer female drones than males.”

Sidheag raised her hand at that and asked, “Why bother?”

“Whot? Oh, to be a female drone? Well, the reward is unparalleled. Aside from immortality, if a woman survives metamorphosis, she is automatically a queen. But there are other reasons, before the bite. Drones are protected, fed, and cared for by their vampire. After a period of menial service, they are given patronage to pursue their own desires. Vampires tend to be wealthy and powerful, so they make very good friends, whot. There are drawbacks, of course.” The professor touched his own neck, hidden under the high collar.

After prancing up and down the stacked hatboxes several more times, Sophronia decided she could risk one more inquiry. “Could you tell us a little something about tethers, Professor?”

Professor Braithwope considered both Sophronia and her question. “Tethers, whot? Very well, I will indulge in a digression, but only because you’ll never understand vampire etiquette if you don’t understand our limitations. Queens cannot leave their hive house, and hive-bound vampires cannot leave the vicinity of their queen. How far they can go depends mainly on age, but it’s generally no more than a borough. Rove vampires usually have the range of an entire city, but they also remain tethered to their home. They will not stray into a hive’s territory unless invited and never enter a hive house unless they have petitioned for one of their drones to be bitten by its queen.”

Sophronia prodded further; she was wildly curious. “How does this work for you, Professor?”

“I am tethered to this ship, but I can leave it to walk around the moor.”

She pressed. “Are there other vampires tethered to airships?”

“No, we are social creatures, and mine is now such a solitary life. None have followed my example. Although you ladies make it interesting, whot.”

“What about your drones?”

“Ah, now, ladies. This brings us back to etiquette, and the purpose of this lesson. It is rude to ask after a vampire’s drones, either in courtesy or curiosity. Drones are a bit of an embarrassment. After all, you would not ask a lady about the nature and quality of her pantry, would you?”

All the girls in the class shook their heads emphatically.

The vampire turned cold eyes on Sophronia, his mustache stiff with accusation. “Anything else, Miss Temminnick?”

“What happens when a vampire goes beyond the limit of his tether?” Sophronia knew she was pushing the bounds of propriety.

Professor Braithwope paled and stilled. If a vampire could be said to go pale. Sophronia hoped never again to see a teacher whom she respected look so frightened.

The room hushed. Normally the vampire was such an easygoing teacher. Even Monique looked up, her coming-out ball forgotten for one brief moment.

Eventually he said, “Nothing good, Miss Temminnick.”

Class ended, and the girls gathered up their reticules, hats, parasols, and shawls in subdued silence. Dimity held back when the others left and waylaid Sophronia with a hand on her arm.

“Professor Braithwope, might I have a private word?” she asked their teacher once the room cleared. “Sophronia, please stay, this concerns you.”

“Yes, Miss Plumleigh-Teignmott. How may I help?”

“It’s this matter of our orders from Lady Linette. You’re aware of them?”