Etiquette & Espionage (Finishing School, #1)(28)

They were crowding the doorway, but had not followed her beyond leaving their own seats.

“What happened?” Dimity asked breathlessly.

“Someone seems to have exploded something black and powdery in a room near ours.”

“Professor Lefoux and the senior girls,” said Monique, no doubt preferring to have been among them herself, explosion or no.

Sophronia returned to her couch and took a seat, crossing her hands demurely in her lap.

Dimity plopped down next to her. “Was it the…?” she hissed.

“Yes.”

“What could explode like that?”

“Lots of things, I suspect.”

“Sometimes I wish Pill were still with us. He knows all about accidental explosions. Then again, he is my brother, so it’s nice to be away from him.”

“I managed to extract a bit of the black powder.” Sophronia showed Dimity the fingertip of one of her gloved hands, which she’d purposefully run along the wall inside Professor Lefoux’s classroom.

“I wonder if we could send it to Pill for analysis. Or, uh, drop it to him, I guess is a better way of putting it.”

“Do we get post on board this thing?” Sophronia wondered. “If no one even knows where the school is at any given time, how would mail find us?”

“Mummy said she would send me some of my favorite emulsified biscuits, so it must. She mentioned Pillover as well, so perhaps we pick ours up from Bunson’s.”

“Oh, dear, Sophronia, your glove is dirty! Let me help you with that.” Preshea looked more distressed by the black on Sophronia’s white fingertip than she had been by the explosion.

Monique said, “You aren’t permitted to have a soiled glove, not at Mademoiselle Geraldine’s!”

Sophronia quickly placed her hand in her lap and tucked the offending digit under a fold of skirt. “Oh, I believe I have the glove under control, thank you.”

“Right, ladies, shall we get back to our studies?” Professor Braithwope said as he reentered the room. “We are going to try to





address first the best and most deadly application of wooden stakes, hatpins, and hair sticks. If we have time, I will move us on to how to properly judge a gentleman by the color and knot of his cravat. Believe you me, ladies, the two subjects are far more intimately entangled than you might first suppose.”

Sophronia straightened her spine and prepared to be educated.





THE PROPER PLACE FOR SOOTIES


The rest of the evening proceeded in a much milder manner. They moved from classroom to classroom, each room having been arranged to that teacher’s particular taste. Each time the lesson was more in the manner of a visiting call or an intellectual salon than any school lesson Sophronia’s siblings had ever relayed to her.

Sister Mathilde Herschel-Teape’s room, which led out onto a small deck, was half potting shed, half manor-house kitchen. Their lesson was on emuhe wlsification and the fine art of egg whites as applied to sugared violets, fake eyelashes, skin care, and poison control. She left them with the wise, if somewhat confusing, “Now, remember, my dears, a separated egg is worth two in the bush.”

Lady Linette’s room was a combination conservatory, boudoir, and house of ill repute. It featured a good deal of red; three chubby, long-haired cats with funny, scrunched-up faces; fringe wherever fringe might be stuck; and some highly questionable artwork. The girls sat in prim rows on long velvet fainting couches. A stuffed duck in a lace mobcap stared austerely down at them from the mantelpiece.

By the end of Lady Linette’s lesson on how to faint properly at any event and in a manner to cope with varying types of undergarments, Sophronia was yawning hugely. It had, after all, been a long day full of travel, excitement, and now classes that persisted well past her regular bedtime.

“Ladies don’t yawn in public,” Monique said loudly, so as to draw Lady Linette’s attention to the transgression.

“You’ll get used to the London hours eventually, country girl,” Preshea added.

“I suppose you’re from London?” Sophronia had a countryside suspicion of towns.

“My parents keep progressive hours,” the girl replied, avoiding the question in a manner that suggested this was a sore point.

“Miss Temminnick, Miss Buss, Miss Pelouse, if you’re quite finished? Miss Buss, it is as embarrassing to remark upon a behavior as it is to enact it. Of course, Miss Pelouse is, as always, correct, Miss Temminnick. Perhaps, Miss Pelouse, as you know everything so well, you would like to demonstrate fainting in a crowded ballroom in a manner that might attract only the attention of a specific gentleman? Without wrinkling your dress.”

Sophronia was enthralled by the odd way in which the teachers treated Monique. They made it clear her demotion was a punishment, yet sometimes it was almost as if Monique had a kind of control over them. Which must tie into how she has gotten away with not revealing the prototype’s location. Then there were times like this, when she was called out and made an example of.

Monique stood and did as instructed.

Lady Linette critiqued the faint closely as Monique executed it.

“Note both hands raised to the forehead. A classic maneuver, but perhaps overly dramatic for a large crowd; you might draw too much attention. Try only one, pressed to the breast. That has the added benefit of drawing a gentleman’s gaze to your décolletage. Not that you younger ladies have any yet, but we can hope. No, not pressed so hard. Miss Pelouse, you’ll skew your gown’s neckline. Very nice. Now, a short breath and a small sigh. Eyes rolling slightly back. Only slightly! Otherwise one looks like a dying sheep. Flutter the eyelashes. Flutter them! More fluttering. Lovely. And sag back slightly. Always backward, ladies, never topple forward. And be certain to situate yourself so that if the gentleman does not respond appropriately, you can pretend to catch yourself against the wall or mantelpiece and make a recovery. Very nice, Miss Pelouse. Very realistic.”