Etiquette & Espionage (Finishing School, #1)(34)
The girls all stopped what they were doing, which had been preparing—in various states of distress or, in Sophronia’s case, delight—to try their own versions of the somersault, and began patting about for handkerchiefs.
“What did I tell you yesterday? A lady always has her handkerchief on her person. A handkerchief is endlessly useful. Not only is it a communication device, but it can also be dropped as a distraction, scented with various perfumes and noxious gases for discombobulation, used to wipe the forehead of a gentleman, or even bandage a wound, and, of course, you may dab at the eyes or nose if it is still clean. Dab, mind you! Never blow. I don’t tell you these things for my own amusement, ladies. Now, books on heads while I do the inspection.”
The girls produced handkerchiefs from various pockets and held them up, at the same time placing books atop their heads for balance and posture.
Lady Linette, blonde curls bobbing, marched among them examining the offerings closely.
“Very good, Monique. Perfect, as always. Next time, Sidheag, smaller handkerchief. A lady carries embroidered muslin, not—what on earth is that? A square of tweed? Really, girl! Dimity, watch your balance, and red? Dear, not red. You’re not ready for red. Red is only for the advanced deployment of handkerchiefs. Preshea, why the discoloration? Have you been experimenting with poison again? Next time, don’t use your good handkerchief. Agatha!”
Poor Agatha lost her balance while waiting, causing the books atop her head to tumble to the ground. She reeled into Sophronia. Both girls fell over backward.
Sophronia giggled.
Agatha looked both terrified and mortified.
Lady Linette tsked. “Ladies. Ladies!”
So the lessons continued, with Monique garnering the most prais Khe adie, and even being excused from class early on occasion for her good behavior. It was all very vexing.
Once a week, the after-breakfast lesson was deceit with Mademoiselle Geraldine, which the headmistress thought was a “getting-to-know-you session” and which the girls knew was really training in the fine art of engaging in conversation without actually saying anything.
In the afternoon came tea and social discourse. After tea, they practiced various parlor games and played cards among themselves in the dining hall while the teachers either joined in or circulated, offering critique. Sophronia learned quickly that Sidheag was particularly adept at cards and that Agatha was no good at all. Preshea knew by heart all the different flavors of sherry and what ought to be stocked for gentlemen to imbibe, and Monique was a horrible whist partner.
Following this, they had the history of social discourse from one of any number of teachers, which seemed mainly to be comprised of reading in the library.
Then came dinner. This was followed by a seemingly endless round of dancing, drawing, music, dress, and the modern languages with Lady Linette, Sister Mathilde—whom everyone quickly began referring to as Sister Mattie—or, after the sun had set, Professor Braithwope. Incorporated into these lessons were the fine arts of death, diversion, and the modern weaponries.
Supper occurred promptly at ten each night. Then there was a small spate of spare time, which, due to the amount of extra work and rote memorization they were assigned throughout the day, Sophronia soon deduced was purely mythical. A few additional lessons, and the gas was turned off at two.
Sophronia came to realize that despite a near-constant exhaustion in mind and body, she was very much enjoying herself. She loved the lessons in espionage and deceit—so many possibilities!—and remained only a smidge disturbed by the analytical approach to murder. This kind of finishing school was rather more engaging than the one she had imagined, although she couldn’t quite determine why she was there. It occurred to her that perhaps all finishing schools were like this—after all, Preshea discussed poisonings as if they were commonplace—but she rejected that idea. She may not yet be fully educated in the finer arts of being a proper lady, but she was smart enough to realize that her sisters wouldn’t put much stock in finishing schools were they all this subversive.
After two weeks of such lessons, Sophronia drummed up the courage to ask Lady Linette about the matter of her unusual education. She waited patiently until after their lesson with Sister Mattie on buttermilk—for use in whitening lace and coating the stomach—in order to catch the teacher alone. Lady Linette had just finished with a group of the senior students on some mysterious French letter-writing technique that had even the oldest of the girls red-faced and tittering as they left the room.
“Lady Linette, may I have a moment of your time?”
“Oh, Miss Temminnick. Certainly. How may I help you?”
“Would it be terribly forward of me to ask quite a direct question?”
“Well, it would certainly be against your training thus far. We haven’t yet covered the manipulation of conversation by applying provocateur diplomacy. However, I suppose I might excuse an uncontrolled query this once.”
Sophronia took a deep breath. “What, precisely, will I be expected to learn here?”
Lady Linette twirled one curl of blonde hair around the tip of one Khe lea finger. “Information gathering and object retrieval, of course. But mostly, you should learn how to finish.”
“Finish what, exactly?”
“Why, anything or anyone who needs finishing, my dear.”
Sophronia shuffled her feet. When Lady Linette’s forehead creased at the movement, Sophronia stilled and said, “Ah, yes, you see, it is not that I am unaware of the honor of your taking me in even though I haven’t the connections of the other girls, but…”