Curtsies & Conspiracies (Finishing School, #2)(49)

Sophronia palmed three shillings, ready to complete her end of the bargain.

Madame Spetuna was about to say more when a knock on the door interrupted her.

“Who could that possibly be?” wondered Mademoiselle Geraldine. “Everyone knows I am in an important session.”

As if this tea were a meeting of Parliament.

“Come in,” yelled the headmistress.

Vieve poked her head in. “Sorry to disturb, Mademoiselle Geraldine, but I heard… oh, yes! Bully! A fortune-teller! May I have mine done, please?”

“Oh, I don’t think we have the time—”

Professor Shrimpdittle delicately interrupted the headmistress by rising to his feet. “By all means, let the child take my place.”

“If you don’t mind, Professor?”

Vieve trotted over and sat, little legs dangling.

The fortune-teller looked the scamp over and then looked at her palms briefly. “You are too young, as yet, to be fully formed. I can tell you only one thing. You are doomed to be lucky in matters of the head and unlucky in matters of the heart.”

Vieve grinned. “That’s good enough for me. I’d rather the first over the second.”

The fortune-teller shook her head sadly. “Which only proves how very young you are. And now, I am fatigued. Mademoiselle Geraldine, if I might beg to rest before the next session?”

“Of course, my boudoir is just there. Please, avail yourself of the amenities.”

Madame Spetuna left the room with barely a nod at her former customers. She brushed past Sophronia and scooped up the three coins, which Sophronia held casually behind her seat back. It was as if Madame Spetuna had been conducting covert operations her whole life. Very professional.

Sophronia turned to watch the fortune-teller retreat. The lady was quite short, and she moved slowly. I must remember that kind of garb as a good disguise. I should invest in colored scarves. My list of necessities gets ever longer. Perhaps I should also take the time to learn the basics of fortune-telling to go alongside. It seemed a matter of making statements vague enough to be possibly true or predictions far enough in the future to be irrelevant.


The girls discussed their precognitive tea later that evening. After much analysis of their own fortunes, and everyone else’s, Sophronia brought the subject around to the fortune-teller herself.

“Of course, she can’t possibly be a real fortune-teller.”

“Why ever not?” wondered Agatha, who wanted to believe in what she had been told. Whatever that had been. She was keeping her own council on the matter, despite Sophronia’s needling.

“Don’t you think she’s one of ours?” Sophronia was casual in her assertions. “Returned to report in person on some dangerous matter?”

“Oh.” Dimity was impressed. “You think she is an agent in disguise?”

Sophronia nodded.

“How do you know?” Sidheag demanded. “She realized that I’d had my fortune told before. She seemed genuine.”

Sophronia did not want to tell them about the bribe and Professor Shrimpdittle. Discrediting a man’s reputation was shabby work. They’d been taught a little of it, but it was considered dirty, even by Lady Linette. Character sabotage was morally hazardous to both parties. Sophronia was outside her depth with this operation, and her friends would take her to task for it. Especially as she was campaigning against an adult. Monique was one thing, but a teacher?

But there was something about the fortune-teller. A broach hidden among her scarves in the shape of an onion. The fact that she had come aboard in secret and while they were floating. Combined with something Sister Mattie had said about the intermediary, the one who missed the shipment of pillows. She had to take the opportunity to infiltrate the flywaymen. Flywaymen were supposed to be very superstitious, so fortune-teller would make a great cover for a spy.





HOW TO GRACIOUSLY RECEIVE A GIFT





The next morning at breakfast, there was a postal delivery waiting. Captain Niall was still gathering the mail diverted to inns along the way. The offerings consisted of flowery letters from beaux and the occasional familial missive. Sophronia watched Pillover carefully, pleased to see him receive a letter addressed in aggressive black script.

Their six-month review marks must have gone out, for the girls in Sophronia’s year all had correspondences from parents. Agatha was in tears over hers. Sidheag snorted at her missive and lit it on fire with a nearby candle.

Dimity nibbled her lip over a boldly scripted note. “Oh, dear, Mummy is disappointed.”

Her brother looked up from his own letter. “What did you do?”

“It’s more what I didn’t do.”

Pillover stared gloomily into his giblet pie. “I suggest you become accustomed to the sensation. I showed interest in their work, and they’re still critical.”

Dimity peeked over his shoulder. “Anything significant?”

Sophronia squinted at both of them. They were attracting attention with their sibling fussing. “Later!”

If Monique’s parents cared that she’d been sent down, she showed no sign. Instead, she said in a loud voice to Preshea, “See? Daddy has written to the trustees, questioning Lady Linette’s leadership. That should yield interesting results. Oh, look, and Mama has rented Walsingham House Hotel’s Tea Room for my coming-out ball! It is not quite so grand as I had hoped, but…”