Curtsies & Conspiracies (Finishing School, #2)(78)
Sophronia and Sidheag exchanged startled looks. Monique has found herself a new patron in the Westminster Hive already? Powerful connection. She must be involved in Dimity and Pillover’s kidnapping.
Sophronia nodded sympathetically to the footman. “Our condolences on the loss of the female drone.”
“Poor girl. A very talented embroiderer, so fast. I’ve never seen one better or more obsessed with decorating throw pillows.”
Oh, no, Sophronia thought, the school’s spy. The intelligencer who tried to warn us with embroidered cushions. Had the hive figured out she was a spy and killed her in the guise of metamorphosis? She felt a cold sweat spring up all over her body and hoped vampires couldn’t smell fear.
“It’s what happens.” The footman looked philosophical. “Haven’t made a new queen in decades. Not likely to change with drones like that new one. She needs a good deal of refinement.”
Sophronia said sagely, “They always do.”
The footman gave her a look that suggested a man in a red bolero ought not to comment on anyone else’s flaws.
Sophronia was defensive. “We came from a fancy dress ball, my good man.”
He looked mollified.
“No time to change,” added Sidheag.
Sophronia gave her a quelling look. That was more than enough. Gentlemen should not have to explain themselves to footmen! Even if they were all drones. The footman hadn’t earned his rank yet; the dandies had.
The footmen led them to the rear of the hive. The house was remarkable, all beautiful artwork, modern furnishings, inventions of great worth, and priceless Persian rugs. The staff, gliding to-and-fro in expensive black-buttoned shoes and starched aprons, were all young and beautiful. The Westminster Hive, whatever else might be said of it, certainly had taste. Monique would fit right in, visually at least. Yet there was something about the place that troubled Sophronia. It felt like spoiled milk, only less smelly. All that plush carpeting muffled sound so that the servants moved noiselessly. And then there was the dead embroidering agent to consider. But it wasn’t only the silence, or that gruesome body; there was something missing.
In the back parlor sat a beautiful, plump woman, who was the focus of a great deal of attention. To her left stood a tall, reedy man with a reluctant hairline and to her right… Dimity and Pillover. Dimity was stretched out in a dead faint on a velvet ottoman. Pillover, white-faced and trembling, was taking tea.
Sophronia realized what had been bothering her so much about the hive house: there were no tracks, no faint noises of background steam, and no mechanicals. No mechanicals at all. The staff was entirely human. Sophronia had never seen anything like it in all her life.
The footman announced them. “Lord Dingleproops and Lord Mersey to call, my lady.”
Pillover gasped and stared at Sophronia and Sidheag. It was a small mistake, since his shock might be attributed to the egregiousness of their attire rather than previous acquaintance.
The plump woman could only be the Westminster Hive queen, Countess Nadasdy. She was impeccably dressed to the height of style. She had on a gown with a very large skirt and a very tight bodice, although she was a tad round for such an outfit. She looked, Sophronia felt, a little like a milkmaid from a dairy farm—fond of cheese. Her cheeks were rosy and her manners light and gay, but she only seemed frivolous; those cornflower blue eyes saw everything.
“Good evening, gentlemen. Welcome.” Her voice was warm and soft, very ladylike.
Sophronia and Sidheag bowed deeply.
“Good evening, Countess,” said Sophronia. “Our master tenders his warmest regards. Our condolences on your recent”—she paused delicately—“mis-fang.”
“Oh, thank you. And thank him for me, will you please? Pity he could not send more appropriately dressed messengers.” The woman tittered at her own insult.
“We were nearest to your abode when he heard the news. He felt time was pressing and sent us on immediately. We were attending a fancy dress ball over yonder,” Sophronia waggled a hand in an unspecified direction. “Please excuse our eccentricity.”
“Yes?” said the countess. “And what is his lordship’s vaunted news? I did not publicize my intent to bite. Failure is all too often the outcome this century.” Her gentleman companion put a consoling hand on her shoulder. She shrugged him off.
“Ah, no, you are correct—he did not know of that. No, he understands you have visitors.”
“Oh?”
Sophronia wandered over to the couch, took out the smelling salts from her waistcoat pocket, and administered them to Dimity. None of the vampires objected. Dimity revived only to squawk at Sophronia—suddenly there and so peculiarly dressed.
“Hush now, child,” condescended Sophronia.
Dimity’s eyes widened, but she remembered her training and hushed, sitting fully upright.
Sophronia returned to stand next to Sidheag, crossing her arms. “Should you be involving yourself to such an extent? Kidnapping is a tad rude, wouldn’t you say?”
The countess moved to sit next to the revived Dimity and placed a white hand on the girl’s arm. Dimity shivered and looked down at her lap.
“Such harsh vocabulary, Lord Dingleproops. We merely borrowed them for a little. Didn’t we, dears? And we’ve been having a lovely time of it, haven’t we? So educational. Not every mortal gets a chance to witness metamorphosis. Even an unsuccessful metamorphosis.” The countess dabbed at her mouth with an embroidered handkerchief as if remembering the blood that had recently been there.