Etiquette & Espionage (Finishing School, #1)(24)

Dimity blushed. “Ah, yes. Oh, dear. Introductions. Let me see if I can remember. I only recently became acquainted myself. You already know Monique; she’s the oldest—which I guess gives her some status. But precedence, who has precedence?”

The young ladies looked about at one another, and then, as one, gestured to the tall girl in the far corner.

Speaking as though the words pained her, the pretty brunette said, “Sidheag, if you would believe it. She’s a proper lady. Laird or something like.”

Sidheag took a little more interest in the conversation once her name was mentioned. Not enough to move close—but her head came up. “Aye?”

“How do you do?” said Sophronia.

“Lady Bacon, this is Sophronia Angelica Tendency. Sophronia, this is Lady Bacon,” Dimity struggled to say.

The girls all laughed.

The one called Sidheag said, in a profoundly Scottish accent, “I’m Sidheag Maccon, Lady Kingair, by rights. But you can call me Sidheag; everyone else does.”

“Sophronia Angelina Temminnick,” said Sophronia, gently correcting Dimity.

Everyone laughed again.

“Oh, sorry.” Dimity was mortified by her blunder.

“Perhaps if we skipped standards, this once, and introduced ourselves?” suggested Sophronia, trying to protect Dimity from further humiliation.

“Oh, I don’t know about that! It isn’t done,” said the pretty one, looking with relish at Dimity. “I’d like to see her try the rest of us.”

Lady Sidheag Maccon straightened up, revealing that she was a good deal taller than any girl of thirteen ought to be. She strode over to Sophronia. Her hair lay in a thick plait down her back. Her face was masculine in a way that no one would ever call attractive, but her eyes were a lovely tawny yellow color.

Sidheag turned those eyes, filled with flinty disregard, upon the pert brunette. “That is Preshea Buss. She thinks she’s smarter than everyone, when really she’s just meaner. As to ranking, forgive me, Preshea, but don’t your parents engage in trade?”

Preshea made a face like a fish with a digestive complaint. “Daddy dabbles with the East India Company, thank you very much. That’s hardly trade.”

Sidheag turned to the redhead. “Agatha Woosmoss, daughter of the noted railroad baron.” The chubby girl looked up quickly from her shoes, nodded, and then returned to her intense scrutiny of her own feet. Sophronia thought that, even at thirteen, poor Agatha looked like she ought to be someone’s maiden aunt. All she lacked were spectacles and a lapful of ugly but philanthropic crochet.

“A lively and engaging bunch,” said Monique nastily.

Sidheag shrugged, like a boy, upsetting the fall of her gown. “We’ve only just started. Give us time.”

Preshea gestured primly with one thumb. “Sidheag here was practically raised by wolves. One need only look at the way she behaves.”

Sidheag laughed. “Practically? What does that matter? I still outrank you.”

“Lady Linette says style is everything; one’s shoes are as important as one’s thoughts, and possibly more powerful in the correct context,” said Preshea, sounding as though she were reciting from a broadsheet.

At this, Monique stood up pointedly. “Well, this has been most scintillating. If you would excuse me? I must unpack.” Her lip curling at the very idea that she must now live among the debuts, Monique left the room.

Preshea immediately gestured at Sophronia to join them and huddled forward. She lowered her voice. “We understand Monique failed to finish while retrieving you. Professor Lefoux demoted her. Did you witness it?”

“Did we ever!” Dimity had clearly been waiting patiently for ages to answer this very question. “We were the cause!”

The girls gasped in titillated horror. “No!”

“Oh, yes, yes! Well, it’s more Sophronia who’s the cause. She saved the day and brought down the flywaymen, while Monique fainted and cried in the street.”

Preshea’s dour face brightened. “As if Monique had no training at all. That’s certainly not how she told the story.”

“So I gathered, but if she did so well, why the demotion?” said Dimity.

Sophronia glanced warily at Monique’s closed door. She figured she hadn’t promised to keep Dimity quiet on the subject; only to hold her own tongue and not go whining to the teachers. And at least Dimity wasn’t blabbing about the prototype.

Sidheag slapped Sophronia on the back, hard enough to cause her to lurch forward and cough. “Good on you! If you had to make an enemy of anyone, Monique is certainly a high-end choice. Top-quality bite on that one. And many thanks—now we’re all stuck with her.”

“It wasn’t my idea! It was Professor Lefoux’s,” replied Sophronia. “What exactly does she teach, anyway?” It was a blatant effort to change the subject, but it worked.

Dimity, bless her, was ever eager to be of use. She was clearly full to bursting with useful information garnered while Sophronia had been otherwise occupied. “She’s modern languages, but Preshea says that’s not all.”

“Of course not.” Sophronia took a seat facing Preshea, looking as wide-eyed and innocent as possible. She imagined herself sitting at the feet of genius and tried to give the impression of profound admiration.