Curtsies & Conspiracies (Finishing School, #2)(30)

Sophronia said hurriedly, “Oh, I don’t think Monique would, no matter what you did. I shouldn’t worry about that, Agatha.”

“Oh, good.”

“So, are you game?” prodded Dimity, titillated at the prospect of gossip.

Agatha straightened and looked pugnacious. “I’ll do my best!”


Sophronia didn’t expect much to come of it, but Agatha did try. She began, with remarkable subtlety, to lurk among Monique’s followers. She inched her way down to that end of the table at meals. She offered to loan Monique her jewelry. Agatha had a great deal of nice jewelry, the real stuff, unlike Dimity.

Unfortunately, her reports were unsatisfactory. “The ball is all she talks of,” she kept saying, and, “When can I stop?”

Then a few evenings later, when Dimity and Sophronia were getting ready for sleep, a demure knock sounded at their door. Dimity, in her nightgown, squeaked and dove for her bed. Sophronia, still dressed, went to answer.

It was Agatha. “Sorry to disturb you so late, but… Monique’s gone.”

“What?”

“I did like you suggested and went to her room just now, pretending I wanted that necklace back. Preshea tried to hide the fact, but Monique’s not there. She’s definitely snuck off. I think it has something to do with a message she got earlier. One of the mechanicals delivered it and she went all red.”

“Oh, goodness. Thank you, Agatha!”

Agatha shuffled away. Sophronia closed the door and headed for her wardrobe.

“You’re going after her?” asked Dimity.

“Here I was, proud all this time that I was out regularly, climbing the hull, visiting sooties, and spying on teachers, not even thinking Monique might be doing the same! She had permission to be out the other night, but I never thought she was a sneak like me….”

“Be fair, she can hardly be visiting sooties.”

“Good point. Oh, none of this will work!” Sophronia slammed her wardrobe door. “I’m going to visit Sidheag. It’s time to follow Vieve’s example.”

“What…?”

Before Dimity could finish her question, Sophronia was away.

She knocked on Agatha and Sidheag’s door, hoping to be let in before Preshea noticed. When Sidheag opened it, Sophronia pushed past and closed the door quickly behind her.

“Sidheag, I need to borrow clothes.”

Sidheag blinked. “Now? It’s one in the morning.”

“So?”

“Nothing I have could possibly fit you. You’re shorter and curvier.”

“Not dresses, silly. I need boys’ clothes. I thought you might have some.”

“What?”

Agatha looked up from the vanity, where she was brushing her hair. “You’re going after her, aren’t you?”

“Yes. And if she’s climbing, I have to climb faster. It’s time to get rid of skirts. Now, Sidheag? Please hurry.”

Sidheag grinned. “How sensible of you.” She dove for her wardrobe, which was in an unholy state. The act of opening the door caused a straw bonnet, a parasol, and a patchwork goose to fall out on her head. The taller girl barely noticed, batting away hats, gloves, and a single red stocking like so many gnats. She ruffled through the contents, hurling items behind her in a deliciously enthusiastic way.

Agatha gave a whimper of distress. Her side of the room was neat as a new penny.

“Aha!” Sidheag resurfaced, triumphant, with a pair of tweed jodhpurs, of the type country squires use for hunting, and a wrinkled man’s shirt.

Agatha helped Sophronia out of her day gown and petticoats. Sophronia pulled on the trousers, buttoning the front and tucking her chemise in at the top. They were scandalously tight about the derriere. She put on the shirt, pushing up the sleeves. For the first time in her life, she was finding it easy to dress herself. Vieve might have something in this garb. But then, she supposed, that was because she was wearing a rather pedestrian outfit. True gentlemen need a valet to help with the cravat.

Sidheag gave her a funny look. “You’re leaving on your stays?”

“Of course! I haven’t lost all sense of propriety!”

Sidheag snorted. “Corsets constrict movement. I always take mine off when I wear that outfit.”

Sophronia gasped. “Bare?”

“We’ve been over this before—raised by werewolves, remember? What do you think they do before they change shape?”

Agatha gasped, then whispered softly, “You’ve seen men with no clothing?”

Sophronia tried to stop herself from blushing, remembering her illicit observation of swimming sooties.

Sidheag did not look ashamed. “Of course, silly.”

Agatha took a deep breath and then blurted, “What’s it like… when they… you know…?”

“The shape-shift? Gruesome. All the bones break and then re-form into wolf shape. Most of them howl in pain. There’s a reason it’s called a curse.”

Sidheag was going to make Agatha say it out loud. The redhead whispered, “No, what’s a man like down there?”

“Oh.” Sidheag wrinkled her nose. “Unimpressive. They have,” she gestured toward her own nether regions with one hand, “a sort of dangly sausage—lacks tailoring.”