Etiquette & Espionage (Finishing School, #1)(33)

Sophronia cracked the door, and the two girls put their ears to the gap.

“But we must be going near Bunson’s before then!” they heard Monique whine.

“Not for three weeks at the very least, miss.”

“But I must get a message home to my mama. It is vital. This season’s glove order!”

“I understand, miss, and yet, the float is away, nothing to be done.”

“Couldn’t Captain Niall…?”

“The captain is not your personal message boy, young lady.”

Monique switched to a more wheedling tone. “Well, could I leave it with you, to send as soon as possible?”

“I can’t make any guarantees, miss.”

Sophronia pushed Dimity away from the door and down the corridor. It seemed like the conversation would be ending soon. They made it round the corner just in time to hear the door open and peek out to see Mon Cut ed lique striding quickly, and in a most unladylike manner, back the way they had come. She was clutching a letter in one hand, clearly having decided against leaving the missive in the dubious care of the steward.

“I bet he has to re





port messages to one of the teachers,” said Dimity.

“Or one of them has him on the payroll,” said Sophronia.

“Bribery? How crass.”

“Useful, though.”

“Shall we still try to send the glove?”

Sophronia considered the dangers and implications. “Best not, I think. Try again later. We’re late for class.”





THE TEACHING HABITS OF WEREWOLVES


The schedule proceeded much of a pace after the chaos of that first day. Sophronia came to accept the un-finishing-school aspects of Mademoiselle Geraldine’s. The lessons were mostly un-lesson-like, the teachers were mainly un-teacher-like, and the routine was more that of a London dandy than that of any proper educational system.

The girls commenced their mornings—which were really early afternoons—with a light repast, nothing too heavy, on the insistence of Mademoiselle Geraldine. “Breakfast,” she said, bosom heaving, “should never be luxurious.” Thus all they had to select from was tea, bread and sweet butter, porridge, ham and broiled mushrooms, rabbit pie, fricandeau of eggs, mayonnaise of prawns, and spiced beef. “Now, ladies,” said the headmistress every day from the front table. “I know this is quite the meager selection, but breakfast comestibles should be undisruptive, nutritive, and effortlessly digested. You must watch your figures. Watch them!”

Sophronia, uncertain how she might do such a thing, ate bites between staring down at her own chest, and selected only what she might have eaten back at home—a little porridge with molasses. They all ate meals together, although separated into tables by age or inclination. The dining hall was stretched to capacity with four dozen or so students, plus assorted teachers. The ship’s complement and personal staff ate beforehand, of course, and the sooties and other menial laborers ate belowdecks.

After breakfast, all the girls stood to recite, with religious solemnity, the school motto—ut acerbus terminus—three times over.

“What does it mean?” Sophronia wanted to know.

“ ‘To the bitter end,’ imbecile,” said Monique de Pelouse.

After breakfast they were separated according to skill level and drifted off to their first set of lessons. Three days a week the debuts took mathematics and household management with Sister Mathilde, along with a number of older girls. They learned more in the manner of lists and organization than sums calculated on slates. There were no apparent exams, and yet Sophronia found herself intrigued into learning simply by the puzzles Sister Mathilde proposed. Algebra was far more interesting when it was a matter of proportioning out mutton chops so as to poison only half of one’s dinner guests and then determining the relative value of purchasing a more expensive, yet more effective, antidote over a home remedy. Sophronia was a mite disturbed by the context, but could not help being intri Fre gued by the macabre nature of the calculations.

On the other two days, they had physical culture with Lady Linette during the first time slot. This involved, much to Sophronia’s shock, climbing, running, and even some light tumbling—in petticoats. There were also battledore and shuttlecock, tennis, croquet, pass the slipper, and wink-wink. Sophronia had the advantage of brothers. Who would have thought I should ever consider them an advantage? Which turned her, as Monique pointed out disgustedly, into rather a sporting lady.

“Ugh, Sophronia, you’re so very country,” she said.

“Well, yes, I was raised there.” At least I don’t have horsey teeth, like you!

“Next you’ll be crying out, ‘Tallyho!’ from the squeak deck.”

“Oh, now, be fair. Only when I have the dogs out after you, dearest Monique.” Sophronia grinned slyly, and Monique gave her a nasty look.

Lady Linette completed a somersault across the carpet, ending in front of them and causing Sophronia and Monique to snap their mouths closed and pay attention. She seemed almost embarrassed as she guided them through the steps. “Now, ladies, remember this is for use only when strictly necessary, and you must be absolutely certain not to muss your hair. For the most part, you should delegate physical exertions to a willing, or unwilling, accomplice. We will discuss bribery and blackmail techniques later. Alternatively, you might arrange things so that fleshy activity does not become necessary at all. However, a lady is always prepared. Speaking of which, show me your handkerchiefs!”