Curtsies & Conspiracies (Finishing School, #2)(31)

Sophronia blinked in surprise. That sounded worse than Sidheag’s description of a werewolf shift. She hadn’t seen any of the sooties that close up. “Really?”

“Yes, like it wasn’t fitted into its casing properly. And hairy.” Sidheag was enjoying shocking them.

Agatha thought Sidheag was pulling her leg. “I don’t believe you.”

Sophronia interrupted this fascinating subject. “Ladies, thank you very much for your help. But I really must be off.” She managed a creditable bow, scuttling away before Sidheag could say anything more licentious.





WIELDING A BALLISTIC EXPLODING STEAM MISSILE FIRE PRONG





It was much easier to climb about the airship in masculine garb; Sophronia regretted not trying it sooner. True, petticoats had saved her life once, but this! This was liberty. She resolved, once they reached London, to acquire gentleman’s dress, upper-and lower-class. Plus a fake mustache. Where does one purchase a mustache in London? Fleet Street? Not that she would ever wear such things in public, but for midnight jaunts to visit sooties, why be modest?

She skirted the outside of the residential areas, then the classrooms, and soon she was outside the tassel section. It was a bit challenging to climb surrounded by a cloud of dense white damp. Twice her foot slipped, and she thought fondly of gentleman’s riding boots and then wondered if that might be taking things too far. Footwear, after all, was a serious commitment.

She moved as quickly as she could; with all the white she wouldn’t know she’d found Monique until she was right on top of her. Then, as Sophronia was jumping from one balcony to another, she caught a flicker of skirts above her doing the same.

The blonde was heading toward the upper front starboard section of teacher residences. Sophronia knew the area well, even which balconies belonged to which teachers. She usually avoided them assiduously.

She took out her grappling rope and swung it up onto a balcony above. It caught and hooked. She shimmied up—so much easier in trousers!—and retracted the hurlie, taking a moment to run her hand along the railing. There were little scrapes and nicks—some fresh, some ancient—indicating other grappling hooks had been used. Why should I be surprised? This is a school of espionage, after all. She swung, hurlied, and climbed up another level so that she was above Monique and could follow her from there.

Monique was not the most graceful climber. She was wearing an evening dress and was hindered by the length and fullness of her skirts. Even at her most prudish, Sophronia wore her shortest dress with only one or two petticoats when climbing. Nevertheless, Monique moved as if she did it regularly and was following a pattern. She did not look around to see if she was being pursued. Eventually, she stopped at a balcony, climbed over the railing, and knocked on the door. All the other quarters nearby had attractive French doors with stained glass. Professor Lefoux’s glass was all gears in grays and blues, Lady Linette’s was roses in reds and pinks, and Sister Mattie’s was vines and flowers in greens and yellows.

This door had no glass, and the porthole window to the room was blacked over—Professor Braithwope’s rooms. Vampires did not like sunlight, and floating high above cloud cover, the sun beat down on Mademoiselle Geraldine’s more than anywhere else in England.

The door swung open, and Monique entered the vampire’s nest.

Sophronia made her way over. It was a risk, but the only way to listen was via the cracks in that door. She’d have to be particularly quiet, given Professor Braithwope’s supernatural hearing. Hopefully, Monique would be talking loudly about herself, as usual.

Sophronia hooked her grapple over the railing, then unstrapped and lowered the wristband end of the hurlie, careful to let the excess come to rest without slapping. Then she swung herself over and by slow degrees climbed down.

Her weekly visits to the sooties and other extracurricular excursions had given her arm muscles no young lady of quality ought to have. She’d had to let out the seams on most of her sleeves. Thus far, no one had noticed. She was certain to get a lecture on her diet if Sister Mattie did. Mademoiselle Geraldine’s young ladies were not supposed to become portly.

Sophronia attained the balcony and padded to the door. Taking out her ear trumpet, she pressed it against the crack between the hinges.

“… there must be something you can do!” Monique’s tone was wheedling.

“I’m afraid not. She is not my queen, even were I hive bound, whot. The words of a rove hold little weight. It’s too bad you gave Lady Linette a reason to send you down. You pushed her too far with that prototype business, and then poor testing marks. They have a legitimate excuse that can be justified to the trustees, and your parents.”

“But I’ve given you years of my blood!”

Monique is Professor Braithwope’s drone, Sophronia realized. Somehow she wasn’t surprised. He would be a perfect advocate. It was a little creepy that he fed on a student. But then again, the very idea of him sticking those fangs into anyone’s neck was creepy.

“Nothing I can do about it, whot. You should have stayed in everyone’s good graces until this Giffard nonsense passed, as I instructed. I will have a better standing with all hives after. Now, you must leave the ship as soon as you come out. Our contract together ends the moment we land in London.”

I wonder if Professor Braithwope is the reason we’re called to town, Sophronia thought. It would make perfect sense. He is the only teacher who can’t travel there on his own. The whole school has to go with him. He is, after all, tethered to the airship.