Etiquette & Espionage (Finishing School, #1)(57)

Monique snorted. “Oh, really, Sophronia, don’t you know anything? Fan and sprinkle is for young ladies coping with werewolf attack while gentlemen are away. There have been pamphlets published!”

Sophronia looked to Agatha for further explanation, but the portly girl had lost all her pluck and retreated to a corner with a book on the language of parasols.

“Dimity, do you know what this maneuver is?”

Dimity hedged. “Well, I’ve heard of it, of course, but never seen it applied.”

“And you didn’t this evening, either. Really, Dimity, you must learn to time your faints with greater accuracy.” Preshea’s tone was condescending; rooming with Monique was turning out not to benefit her character.

Monique tsked. “It’s very simple, really. Distract the werewolf.”

“In this case, with a well-applied vampire,” interjected Preshea, to Monique’s annoyance.

Monique continued. “Then approach to within sprinkling distance. Sprinkle the werewolf, or his near proximity, liberally with noxious perfume—anything herbaceous does the trick, though basil is best, of course—as well as smelling salts, to encourage the inhalation. They have a heightened sense of smell, werewolves. Then everyone takes up their fans and blows the fumes in the direction of the beast. The creature begins to sneeze uncontrollably, allowing one to escape. Voilà!”

“And is that what happened?” Sophronia looked to Preshea for confirmation. After all, Monique hadn’t been on the theater excursion, either.

“Essentially. Although poor Professor Braithwope also got a big dose of perfume. But still, it distracted Captain Niall long enough for the professor to get the upper hand and drag him away. We managed to board the airship with impunity using the grand stairs.”

Stairs? thought Sophronia. This ship has stairs?

Preshea concluded, “A very exciting end to the evening. But that’s enough rough talk. Did you ladies see how many beaux I had surrounding me at the theater?”

“Not nearly so many as I might have had,” shot back Monique. “I’ve already managed to make half of Bunson’s fall madly in love with me; this year I shall get the other half.” She looked about magnanimously. “Of course, you are allowed some, Preshea. I’m no glutton.”

Preshea smiled in a way that had nothing to do with pleasure. “And then there’s Lord Dingleproops; he’s clearly in Dimity’s pocket.”

“I know, so peculiar. Well, I suppose there is no accounting for taste. No offense meant, of course, Dimity.”

Dimity could clearly think of nothing to say to that. She looked as though she had swallowed a live eel.

Monique and Preshea continued to chat about the young men Preshea had met at the theater. Boys whom Monique already knew and about whom minutiae of appearance, financial situation, and stuahe youngsocial connection had to be told to Preshea in a most condescending way.

With the other girls thus distracted, Sophronia turned to Dimity and said in a low voice, “Do you like this Dingle personage?”

Dimity blushed in such a manner as indicated she might. Either that or she didn’t like him at all. “He is quite tall for his age.”

Sophronia tried to be sympathetic. “A good start, I suppose. Has he any other qualities of note?”

“He has a very nice nose.”

“Good, a nose, excellent.”

Dimity, who was rarely silent, fell quiet again at that juncture.

Sophronia tried to think of some other attribute a boy of interest to Dimity might possess. “Was he wearing anything sparkly?”

“He had a brass pin on his hatband.” Dimity looked a little disappointed, as if this were the merest of seeds before the great tree of her own adornments.

Two necklaces. Two! “And, um, is he smart?”

“Oh, Sophronia, that is hardly a desirable quality in a beau!”

“No? Is he a beau, then?”

“I am not allowed followers until I’m sixteen.”

“Well, then.”

The conversation paused.

Finally Dimity said, “Did you know my revolting brother wasn’t there? Scarpered off from the play. Apparently, he’s a bit of a pustule so far as the other boys are concerned. Not that I’m surprised. He’s probably going around correcting silly little mistakes and making himself unwelcome.”

“Or it could be they are browbeating him out of spite.”

“Oh, come now, I hardly think boys are like that.”

“Oh, no?” Sophronia, who had several brothers of her own, was startled at this outrageous statement.

“Girls, yes; boys, no. They are much more forthright.”

“Have you heard of the Pistons?”

“Yes; how did you…?”

Sophronia shrugged. “I’m learning my lessons at this school.”

“Pistons is some kind of Bunson’s school club, I gather. Lord Dingleproops is a member.”

“Is he indeed?”

“Yes, an engineering concentration. They put smudges of coal about their eyes. Very dark and brooding.”

“How sootie of them.”

Monique, whose own conversation had paused and who had taken to listening in on theirs, seemed unable to help interjecting at this juncture. “Sophronia, don’t even say such a thing! Imagine comparing highborn lords to, well, the lowest of the low. Really.”