Etiquette & Espionage (Finishing School, #1)(31)

The tall one didn’t seem overly impressed by the eyelashes. “How-d’ye-do, miss? I’m Phineas B. Crow.”

Sophronia gave him a curtsy, and for the first time since she’d arrived at Mademoiselle Geraldine’s Finishing School for Young Ladies of Quality, no one commented on its poor implementation.

“Though everyone calls me Soap,” added Phineas B. Crow. “Because I needs it more than most.”

Sophronia continued batting her eyelashes at him.

“You got some soot in your eye, there, miss?”

Clearly I haven’t mastered the art yet. “No, practicing.”

“What, miss?”

“Never you mind.”

“That india rubber you got wrapped about them little stompers?” Soap’s tone was full of avarice.

“Yes. Got it off a dumbwaiter. But you can’t have it; I need it.”

“What’s an Uptop need with india-rubber shoes?”

“Climbing, of course.”

“That how you got here? Never heard of a girl who climbed afore.”

Sophronia shrugged, pleased at the compliment. Soap, she thought, has a pleasant smile.

A yell came from behind them. One of the large men—Supervisor, most likely—marched in their direction.

“Oh, blast it,” said Soap. “Greaser. Scatter!”

The boys ran in various different directions. Soap tugged Sophronia after him, to crouch down together behind a huge mound of coal.

“We ain’t got long back here afore they suss us out.”

“Is this what you do all day—shovel coal?”

“Ain’t a bad life. Used to work Southampton docks,” replied Soap with one of his grins. “Still can’t eat fish.”

Sophronia said, “You know, it is nice to meet you, Mr. Soap. I got myself an unexpected mechanimal, so I imagine I might have to pop down here regularly.”

“After the coal, are ya?”

“Rather. Poor Bumbersnoot; he must be starving by now.”

“I thought them mechanimals weren’t allowed.”

“Said he was unexpected, didn’t I?”

Soap let out a bark of laughter that was sure to attract attention even in the noise of the boiler room. “You’re all right for a girl, Miss Sophronia. Prett Chrork of lauy, too.”

Sophronia snorted. “I only recently made your acquaintance, Mr. Soap. No need to fib.”

“Whoa ho ho,” said a booming voice, “what have we here?”

Soap stood immediately, his back ramrod straight. Sophronia followed his lead.

“Just taking a breather, sir.”

“Soap, you ain’t never doing just nothing. Who’s that you got with ya?”

Sophronia stepped forward. “How do you do, sir? Sophronia Angelina Temminnick.”

“An Uptop? Down ’ere? Best get her along right quick, before the Junior Sixth Assistant Engineer sees ya. I’ll pretend you was never ’ere, shall I?”

“Thank you very much, sir,” said Sophronia with a curtsy.

Soap led her back to the hatch. “He’s not a bad kind of greaser, Old Smalls.”

“It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Soap.”

He twinkled at her. “Aye, it was, miss. Supposing I’ll be seeing you again.”

“Perhaps.” Sophronia let herself out.

Before she could close the hatch, Soap’s dark head stuck out. “Oh, miss, best change that pinafore. Wouldn’t want people knowing you went south.”

Sophronia looked down at her front. The crisp white of her apron was covered in smudges. “You’re probably right.”

In the bright light of the morning sun, Sophronia noticed something else about her new friend. He wasn’t simply dirty; he was actually black. Sophronia had heard, of course, of people with odd-colored skin, but she’d only seen pictures in her papa’s books. She’d never actually met one before. But Soap is just like a normal boy!

She wasn’t certain it was polite to mention, but she couldn’t help herself. “Why, you’re all over soot-colored by nature!”

“Yes, miss. A creature from darkest Africa. Wooo, wooo.” He weaved his head around, pretending to be a ghost.

Sophronia had read about Africa. This was a subject upon which she was fully conversant. “Oh, my, is that where you’re from?”

“No, miss. Tooting Bec, South London.” At which he returned to the noisy, musty darkness of the boiler room.


Sophronia made her way back to her quarters safely from balcony to deck, spending only a brief time running through the hallway. No one was awake upon her return except Bumbersnoot. He was absolutely delighted by the piece of coal and dish of water she placed before him. He nibbled and slurped away happily, tooting small gusts of appreciative steam. Sophronia changed her pinafore and checked the state of her face and hands. Luckily, the maids had brought in the washing water and, being mechanicals, had not registered her empty bed. After much scrubbing, most of the boiler room’s smudges were eliminated.

She practiced batting her eyelashes in the small hand mirror for the next half hour, until Dimity finally awoke.

“You’ll never guess what I did!” said Sophronia while her friend blinked blearily and stretched.