Curtsies & Conspiracies (Finishing School, #2)(45)

They had reached the staircase and could not delay matters to discuss further, as Sister Mattie was watching. Hastily, Sophronia handed Vieve back the guidance valve and said, “Thank you for last night, by the way. It was most helpful. Come by my quarters during luncheon? I feel a terrible headache coming on that may require me to rest this afternoon.”

“I’ll filch some sandwiches,” said Vieve.

“Excellent.”





FINDING FORTUNE





How will you infiltrate Bunson’s without being found out as you get older?” Sophronia asked Vieve, gesticulating elegantly at the front part of her own corset.

“I come from a long line of bony women, so I shouldn’t think that will be a problem. And I managed to fool even you, until you were told.”

“True, but I was more thinking about the fact that some of them must already know you as you at Bunson’s.”

“Only Shrimpdittle and if you can deal with him, I should be in form. So long as my aunt keeps mum, I don’t see as there should be any real difficulty.”

“If you say so.”

“I know so. And I have a wonderful fake mustache I shall begin sporting in a few years time. That will fool most anyone. Mustaches are like that.”

“You’d make a terrible intelligencer,” said Sophronia at that outrageous statement.

“I know. Hence the reason I want to infiltrate Bunson’s, which is far more amenable to my personality.”

“And contact between the schools? How will you handle that?”

“It is more amicable now than it has been before. But…” she trailed off, her small face thoughtful.

“You don’t think good relations will last?”

“You serve different masters.”

Sophronia sat up. “Do you know who is the patron of Mademoiselle Geraldine’s?”

Vieve shook her head. “No, but I know it isn’t the Picklemen, and they’re the backbone of Bunson’s. Those who aren’t Picklemen don’t get along with them, so…” She shrugged her conclusion.

Sophronia didn’t think much of the Picklemen herself. “In that case, are you certain you want to go there? There must be other evil genius schools.”

“None as good as Bunson’s. It’s a feeder to école des Arts et Métiers, the best university. Besides, I don’t mind a Pickleman or two. They have the funds and an interest in technology. Do you think it’s them Professor Braithwope was referencing the other night in the shed as wanting the technology?”

“Must be. Sister Mattie said the intermediary had gone to infiltrate flywaymen, we know the Picklemen are mixed up with them, and… wait a moment, what will I do about Bumbersnoot with you gone? Who will look after him?”

Vieve shrugged. “It’s time you learned mechanimal maintenance, if you will insist on carrying him everywhere like he’s a toy.”

Sophronia grinned at her pet, who was lounging on the end of the couch wearing lace and ruffles. “Oh, he doesn’t mind, do you, Bumbersnoot?”

Tick-tock, tick-tock went Bumbersnoot’s tail in apparent agreement.

“Come here, you charmer,” said Vieve, scooping up the mechanimal and removing his reticule attire. “I’ll show you how to clean and oil him and leave a few tools. You should try it before I relocate, in case you have questions.”

Sophronia prepared to be instructed. If Vieve was set on leaving, she had better learn to fend for herself in the matter of technology. Funny, she thought, I used to love to take things apart.

“Oh, ho ho, looks who’s all chummy.” Monique came into the room and cast herself in an unladylike manner into an arm chair.

“I thought you had a terrible headache, Sophronia. You don’t look like you’re ill,” accused Preshea, following Monique.

Sidheag, Agatha, and Dimity trailed into the parlor after them.

“Oh, Preshea, what do you care? You had Lord Mersey all to yourself at luncheon,” said Dimity.

Vieve looked at the fashionable young ladies surrounding her. She issued an ironic little bow, packed up her things, and made good her escape.

“I don’t know why you associate with that brat,” said Monique. “Older girls shouldn’t patronize younger ones.”

No one replied, but there was a collective arching of eyebrows. After all, Monique was forced to spend most of her time associating with them, and even Sophronia—the eldest of the bunch—was three years her junior.

Monique wrinkled her nose, as if smelling the absurdity in her own words. She quickly moved the subject on. “Preshea, darling, is it only I who have noticed, or has this whole trip to London become excessively dull?”

“Don’t fret, dear Monique. You still have your party to plan.” Preshea was all optimism.

Monique brightened. “Oh, yes, the party. How droll of me to forget. Should we consider refreshments?”

Preshea and Monique then spent a quarter of an hour discussing the delights of the upcoming ball. They listed all the diversions and delicacies in a manner that emphasized the fact that no one else in the room would get to sample any.

Agatha played her role painfully well, pretending interest. Really, thought Sophronia, she is a better intelligencer than the school gives her credit.