Curtsies & Conspiracies

The 11th test HOW TO GRACIOUSLY RECEIVE A GIFT

The next morning at breakfast, there was a postal delivery waiting. Captain Niall was still gathering the mail diverted to inns along the way. The offerings consisted of flowery letters from beaux and the occasional familial missive. Sophronia watched Pillover carefully, pleased to see him receive a letter addressed in aggressive black script.

Their six-month review marks must have gone out, for the girls in Sophronia’s year all had correspondences from parents. Agatha was in tears over hers. Sidheag snorted at her missive and lit it on fire with a nearby candle.

Dimity nibbled her lip over a boldly scripted note. “Oh, dear, Mummy is disappointed.”

Her brother looked up from his own letter. “What did you do?”

“It’s more what I didn’t do.”

Pillover stared gloomily into his giblet pie. “I suggest you become accustomed to the sensation. I showed interest in their work, and they’re still critical.”

Dimity peeked over his shoulder. “Anything significant?”

Sophronia squinted at both of them. They were attracting attention with their sibling fussing. “Later!”

If Monique’s parents cared that she’d been sent down, she showed no sign. Instead, she said in a loud voice to Preshea, “See? Daddy has written to the trustees, questioning Lady Linette’s leadership. That should yield interesting results. Oh, look, and Mama has rented Walsingham House Hotel’s Tea Room for my coming-out ball! It is not quite so grand as I had hoped, but…”

“Oh, but it is pretty and centrally located.”

“True, true, dear Preshea. Mayfair is the height of fashion.”

Sophronia saw Monique stash away two other letters. Letters that had already been opened, their wax seals cracked. Monique’s hands trembled as she stuffed them into her reticule.

Sophronia had expected a message of congratulations from her own family, assuming that they had been told of her achievements in the matter of oddgob tests. But there was nothing.

They returned to their parlor after breakfast to find two large dress packages waiting.

Monique pounced with a squeal of pleasure. “My new ball gown, already! How exciting. Oh, no. They are addressed to Sophronia. Who would have guessed you ever got new clothes? I certainly should not.”

Nor, thought Sophronia, should I.

She pulled the ribbon and opened the top box. There was a note in her mother’s tidy handwriting. “Your father and I are thrilled with your results, and with your sudden interest in fashionable attire. We hope the measurements are still sound.”

Inside was a day dress of royal-blue-and-black brocade. Its pagoda sleeves boasted modest black fringe, but otherwise the gown was unadorned. The fabric was lovely, and the simple cut allowed it to shine. It had a high neckline, giving it a mature aura. Sophronia wondered if her mother had ordered the gown for herself and then been displeased with the vibrancy of the color. It was not a dress Mrs. Temminnick might ordinarily have approved for a daughter, which made Sophronia like it all the more.

She held it up for the others to see.

“Oooo,” admired Dimity.

“It’s not something she would usually send.” Sophronia was careful to look skeptical.

“Oh, is it not customary for her to actually spend money on you?” Preshea wondered, drawn into admiring the dress despite herself.

Monique’s nose wrinkled. “It’s terribly adult.”

Dimity said, “Perhaps we might get hold of some black velvet ribbon and create military details up the front—to make it a little less simple.”

Sophronia liked the simplicity, but she didn’t want to crush Dimity’s decorative dreams. “Perhaps.”

Dimity clapped her hands in excitement. “Let’s see the other one!”

The other box was larger. Sophronia dipped in to produce not one, not two, but three bodices and two large, fluffy skirts. This gown was of soft and filmy sage-green muslin. The overskirt dipped and swooped like curtains. The underskirt was a darker shade of the green, with a scalloped edge. There was a good deal of detail work put in at the hem, stripes as well as embroidery. It had a wide sash and, unless Sophronia was very mistaken, could be worn without the overskirt for plainer look. Of the three bodices, one was a heavily fringed, low-cut evening style, with a cinched belt sporting a pretty center clasp; the second was for visiting and had narrow sleeves and a button front; and the third was a crossover fichu that could be arranged like a shawl over the evening top or as cross-front variation on the visiting version on colder days.

“Three dresses in one,” said Sidheag. Even she was moved to comment on the peculiarity. “How very practical.”

How very thrifty was Monique’s thought.

Sophronia loved it, but she knew better than to say so in Monique’s hearing, or raspberry cordial would be spilled all down the skirts the first time she wore it out. So she said, “I’m not sure about the color.”

Dimity was not so reticent. “It will bring out your eyes beautifully. I’ve heard of this, you know. It’s called a robe à transformation, and it’s the very latest thing in Paris.” She said this for Monique’s benefit.

“So optimistic of your mother to include a ball gown option,” said Monique, smiling sweetly.

“Monique is right.” Sophronia turned to Dimity. “I doubt I’ll get to wear that bodice, but it was very kind of Mumsy to think of me. She must have spent her own personal dress allowance on it.”

The other girls gasped.

“Sophronia, don’t talk of such menial things!” reprimanded Agatha softly. Agatha found money terribly embarrassing, as she had so very much of it.

Perhaps Agatha would consider being my sponsor in the intelligencer game, thought Sophronia. If she decides against taking it up herself, of course.

She was rather gleeful later, putting her new gowns away reverently in her wardrobe.

“You like them, don’t you?” accused Dimity.

“I shall like them better when I have a chance to sew in hidden pockets and holsters, and determine a way to hang my chatelaine from those cloth belts.”

“Yes, you like them.” Dimity bounced onto her bed, grinning. She possessed a generous and happy spirit that allowed her to enjoy a friend’s good fortune.

“I wonder what was in Monique’s letters. The ones she hid in her reticule at breakfast.”

Dimity smiled. “You mean the ones that had been opened and looked at before she got them?”

“You saw them, too? Do you think she’s begging to become someone else’s drone? After all, she and Professor Braithwope have broken off.”

“Does it work like that? I heard vampires come after you,” said Dimity, playing with her bangles.

“Could be negative replies to her ball, I suppose. Did you get a look at Pillover’s letter?” Sophronia closed the wardrobe door on her new dresses and went to the looking glass to prepare for evening lessons. They had Professor Braithwope next, and he was very particular about appearances.

“Yes. Mummy’s still working on aetheric communication, and Daddy’s on mechanical protocols. It’s all rather dull. They’ve been stuck on those subjects for absolutely ever, since before I started school here. Is it relevant?”

Sophronia sat down on her bed in shock. “Relevant? Relevant!” She remembered that it was after visiting Dimity’s house that Monique had first taken possession of the prototype valve. It must have come from Dimity’s parents! They were the ones building them.

“Oh, good, it is? How nice!”

“Dimity, Vieve thinks your parents’ activities are part of Giffard’s upcoming dirigible test. They’ve invented new mechanical protocols to help negotiate the aetherosphere currents. Do you remember the prototype all the fuss was about at my sister’s ball?”

“Of course I remember. Monique hurled a cheese pie at you.”

“Well, that’s your parents’ device. Someone is using a smaller version of that device to help Giffard float.”

Dimity blinked. “And someone else is trying to get at me to stop them?”

Sophronia nodded. “Pillover, too, don’t forget.”

“Poor Pill. He’s such a little guy, and he’s no training at all.” Dimity sounded almost as if she actually liked her brother.

“Did the letter say whom your parents are working for?”

“No, they’d never tell Pillover that. Too adult for a child to understand and what not.”

“Would either of them work for the vampires?”

“Mummy might,” said Dimity. “Daddy wouldn’t.”

“How about the Picklemen?”

“The reverse.”

“And the government?”

Dimity nodded, blushing. “It’s embarrassing, and I’m only saying this because we are alone, you understand? But it would depend on the remuneration.” She lowered her voice. “We aren’t made, you know? We’re earned.”

Sophronia steered the conversation delicately. “Your parents are divided in their political leanings?”

“It’s why unions between Bunson’s boys and Geraldine’s girls are not encouraged. We are allowed to flirt, but that’s only to practice. We aren’t meant to marry. Mummy and Daddy are aberrant. Kind of like Romeo and Juliet. Only with less poison. Well, less poisoning of each other.” Dimity was proud of this fact. “The rumor is, Daddy gave up becoming a high-ranked Pickleman for love of Mummy. Very romantic, don’t you feel? He might even have achieved Gherkin status.”

Sophronia was enthralled. “Are you two the only siblings with a boy at one school and a girl at the other?”

Dimity nodded.

“Sadly, this doesn’t help us determine which camp is trying to push your parents’ hand.”

“They could be working for any of the usual suspects, thus alienating any of the others. Hundreds of depraved people could want to kidnap us.” Dimity sounded almost philosophical.

“What a mess,” said Sophronia. “Why did your parents have to be evil geniuses? Good geniuses are much easier to keep track of.”

“All the best geniuses are evil,” replied Dimity confidently. “Oh goodness, we’re late for lessons. Should we tell a teacher any of this, do you think?”

Sophronia shook her head. “With no proof and no certainty as to who is after you? I’m afraid you simply must be careful, Dimity. And keep an eye on Pillover.”

Dimity sighed. “And here I was so excited to be away at finishing school so I didn’t have to spend time with my brother.” She stood and checked in the looking glass to ensure her hair was in place, all her buttons secured, and her lace tuck lying flat.

Sophronia stood as well, wrestling a stray lock of hair back under her cap. “What subject do we have tonight?”

“Oh, Sophronia, didn’t you do Professor Braithwope’s reading?”

“I was out late.”

“Hive and pack dynamics as part of the modern aristocratic system.” Dimity waved a copy of the Evening Chirrup at her. “We were to read six articles written over the last twenty years from the gossip column. We’re to present on the treatment of supernaturals as teased out from society papers. It was actually kind of interesting.”

Sophronia took the parchment from her friend. “Did we all have the same six pamphlets to read?’

“Of course.”

“Who knew to collect and keep multiple copies of the same newspapers at various points over two decades?”

“You think these are fake?”

Sophronia raised one eyebrow; she was getting better at the maneuver. “Or Professor Braithwope has hidden quirks.”

“Sometimes I hate the way your mind works.”

They made their way to the lessons. Dimity guided Sophronia by the arm, so she could read while they walked. It wasn’t entirely successful, as Sophronia bumped into a wall, a statue of a nymph, and lastly Felix Mersey. She wasn’t entirely certain Dimity hadn’t guided her into the young lordling on purpose. Dimity thought rather too highly of Felix for Sophronia’s good.

“Why, Lord Mersey. How nice to see you this evening.” Dimity pinched Sophronia to make her pay attention.

“Miss Plumleigh-Teignmott. Miss Temminnick, are you all right?”

Sophronia, caught by a particular line in one of the older columns, looked up at him. “Oh, no need to apologize, my lord. My fault entirely.”

“I didn’t.”

“Mmm? Ah, well, I’m that clumsy when I read and walk.” She gave him a winning, if absentminded, smile.

“Fascinating transcript?” ventured Felix, slightly alarmed by her pleasant demeanor.

Sophronia thought he looked disturbingly adorable when confused. “Indeed it is. Ever heard of the Westminster vampire hive?”

“Of course, hasn’t everyone? Not exactly my social circle, Miss Temminnick.” The boy’s lip curled slightly.

“Are there many hives in London, do you know, Lord Mersey?”

“My dear Ria, one would be too many.”

“Well, perhaps Professor Braithwope will enlighten me. I take it you won’t be attending our lesson with him?”

“Wouldn’t be permitted, Miss Temminnick.”

“Pity, he’s a very entertaining teacher. If you would excuse us?” Sophronia and Dimity curtsied and made their way into the vampire’s classroom.

“Now what are you about, Sophronia?” hissed Dimity, as soon as they were out of earshot.

“Me?” They took their seats, Sophronia back to reading.

Professor Braithwope entered wearing a velvet smoking jacket, an expertly tied Indian silk cravat, and a pathologically unsteady mustache. “Welcome, little bites, welcome. Today we are on to an extremely interesting topic, whot. But first, your thoughts on the reading? Miss Pelouse?” The mustache arrowed in Monique’s direction.

Monique made some offhand comment. Preshea was up next, equally vague.

The mustache drooped. “Ladies, this is vital high-society survival information. Even should your paths take you into a duplicitous union with a conservative family, you must know who sits where in government. Not to mention, who came out of which families into which hives and packs. Did anyone read the articles? Miss Temminnick.” He turned the mustache on Sophronia.

Sophronia looked up at the mercurial little man from the wingback love seat she shared with Dimity. “I think the articles are meant to demonstrate the gradual acceptance of vampires into London society via their image as presented in the popular press. The earlier articles emphasize vampires’ monstrous nature, feeding habits, and visiting hours. Shockingly late, says one line. And regrettable slurping, says another. This article was all about so-and-so being bitten after only three dances. The later columns focus instead on vampire influence on complexion and dress, particularly driven by one Countess Nadasdy of the Westminster Hive. A recluse who never leaves her secret home yet has a significant effect on fashion.”

Professor Braithwope stood silent under this assessment. “Excellent, Miss Temminnick.” His mustache vibrated in approval.

“Do you think you might tell us a little more about the Westminster Hive?” asked Dimity, all innocent and pure. It was the perfect setup, for while she turned wide, honey-brown eyes on the teacher, Sophronia watched Monique. The older girl went still, her expression impassive, which was a giveaway.

Now that the professor has dropped her as drone, I bet Monique wants to trade up to a hive. And she’d want Westminster. It’s clearly the most stylish. Sophronia would lay good money on it.

Monique fished about in her reticule, retrieving a golf ball–sized white powdery object, which she popped covertly into her mouth. She swallowed with the look of a cat forced to eat a carrot.

Professor Braithwope, in animated response to Dimity’s interest, said, “The queen of the Westminster Hive, Countess Nadasdy, is old, mean, and wise. However, her success in making new vampires is no better than any other queen’s. And therein, of course, is the immortal curse. Drones tend to die in the attempt, and she has to kill them. This makes most vampire queens a little funny about the head—all that murder.” He looked pointedly at Preshea and then went on to detail the male members of the Westminster Hive—age, holdings, undocumented trade, technological interests, and rank, if any.

This lesson left the six girls with the distinct impression that it was better to play nice with the Westminster Hive. Or avoid crossing them altogether.

They moved on to discussing the reach of the potentate, a rove vampire but a powerful one, who sat on Queen Victoria’s Shadow Council and advised Her Majesty on the running of the Empire.

The girls were beginning to look glassy-eyed. It was a great deal of information to absorb.

“There is one other rove of interest in London, no matter how frivolous he may appear at first. Lord Akeldama is a unique personage of considerable standing with a propensity to dandification—Miss Pelouse? Miss Pelouse, are you unwell?”

Monique had turned, throughout the course of the lecture, a chartreuse color not unlike that of Agatha’s dress.

“You are sweating, Miss Pelouse, whot. Young ladies of quality are not supposed to sweat!”

“Oh, Professor, I believe I’m unwell.” The blonde got shakily to her feet and then, in a dramatic show, fell forward in a dead faint.

Since they had been instructed many times always to faint backward, this was shocking. A forward faint was, to the best of their assessment, a real faint! Practically unheard of. Preshea bent over her friend, spreading her own lavender-and-blue skirts out prettily.

Professor Braithwope reeled, discombobulated by such frail mortal activity, and then minced out the door. “Matron! Where’s the matron, whot?” Sophronia and Dimity followed him.

At his yell several of the other teachers opened their doors. Sister Mattie’s round, friendly face was concerned. “Professor, may I be of assistance?”

“Miss Pelouse is unwell.”

Sister Mattie bustled across the hall and into the room.

Professor Shrimpdittle emerged at the far end of the passageway, followed by his boys. “What’s happening?”

Sophronia sent Dimity off. “Tell him something is terribly wrong with one of the girls in Professor Braithwope’s class. Use a tone that implies the vampire is to blame.”

Dimity gave her an odd look but did as requested. She wafted down the hall, smiled sweetly up at the Bunson’s teacher, and then whispered to him. She might not be the best at acquiring information, but she was deliciously excellent at disseminating it.

Professor Shrimpdittle’s boyishly handsome face became suffused with red, and he glared at the vampire teacher. Professor Braithwope, flustered by actually having to deal with a human illness, remained unaware of the man’s ire.

The matron arrived. She and Sister Mattie made a litter out of some parasols and carried the insensate Monique from the room.

By now, word had spread, and most of the lessons were on hiatus. The doors were crowded with curious students, a consequence of their education. A few milled about in the hallway, causing Dimity some distress in returning. Vieve popped up, watching with interest as the fainted girl was carried past. She exchanged a few words with Pillover, who was lurking near Professor Shrimpdittle.

“What did that vampire do to her?” the visiting professor blustered loudly.

“Don’t be silly, Algonquin,” Professor Lefoux sneered. “The girl fainted. Could hardly be Aloysius’s fault!”

“No good can come of having vampires supervising a bevy of nubile young girls,” insisted Shrimpdittle.

Pillover said something to Vieve that made her laugh. The girl then trotted back the way she had come. Sophronia realized Pillover must be included in the plot to get Vieve into Bunson’s, as he knew her real identity. How to persuade him?

The girls returned to class, somber after the sudden illness in their midst.

“Imagine, fainting forward!” Preshea whispered, white with shock.

What did Monique eat? Useful to know, thought Sophronia. I must ask Sister Mattie. Dover’s powder, perhaps? And why did Monique want to get out of class so badly she poisoned herself?

Over supper, Pillover agreed to Vieve’s planned infiltration, because it was evil to hide a girl from his professors, and he’d yet to do anything truly evil. “If I’m found out, I’ll probably be awarded top marks. So I’m game.” His expression remained morosely impassive. Poor Pillover; everything was a struggle. Here he was, forced to be bad, when at heart, he was a rather agreeable fellow. No wonder he behaved like a pustule, as his sister put it.

Felix watched Sophronia’s whispered interchange with the younger boy with an odd expression on his face. She made certain he could not overhear the actual conversation.

Monique looked none the worse for her faint. She must have used the illness as an excuse to read those other secret letters because she promptly engaged in an odd role reversal.

She took a seat between Dimity and Agatha, not Preshea and one of the boys.

“Dimity, you’re looking quite pretty this evening,” she said awkwardly.

“Um, thank you, Monique?” Dimity was tentative as she frantically searched for the barb within the compliment.

Sophronia and Pillover stopped talking in order to watch this fascinating proceeding.

“Such a nice bracelet you have.” Monique smiled. It looked like it pained her. The bracelet was one of gilt filigree with paste amethyst stones.

Dimity sniffed. “Thank you again. Can I help you with something, Monique?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. It seems that we must make up the numbers. I was hoping you and your lovely brother might honor us with your attendance at my coming-out ball.”

Pillover choked on his mulligatawny soup, snorting a small bit out his nose. Dimity looked at Sophronia, eyes desperate.

Sophronia gave a slight nod and then pointed at herself.

Dimity nodded back. “We will, of course, consider your kind offer, but you know I couldn’t possibly attend without Sophronia. We do everything together.”

Monique winced.

“And Sidheag. And Agatha.” The other two girls looked up. Agatha pretended to be pleased. Sidheag attempted not to look disgusted. Sophronia successfully hid a smile.

Monique gritted her teeth. “In that case, you are all invited. I hope you have outfits suitable to the occasion.” Poor Monique; she couldn’t resist saying something nasty.

“I do now,” said Sophronia, but she did not push. This was far too fascinating of a character change. Something in those letters had forced Monique to issue invitations to Dimity and Pillover, which was sinister considering the kidnapping attempts.

Felix turned to Sophronia. “I demand the first dance and the dinner dance, fair Ria.”

Sophronia came over all coy. “Don’t be greedy. You can have the third. I’ll consider the dinner.”

“You’re a hard-hearted woman.”

“I know.”

Dimity mouthed, “Flirting,” at Sophronia, which made her stop self-consciously.

“Oh, look.” Sidheag was the only one not at all interested in this alteration to their London activities. Thus she had not been distracted by the conversation and was pointing at the head table where the teachers sat.

Professor Shrimpdittle, at one end, had spent the entire meal glaring at Professor Braithwope. The visiting teacher’s sandy hair was mussed as if he’d been running his hands through it repeatedly. His blue eyes were watery from lack of sleep. His attitude and appearance were unsettling. The students sensed the tension and were embarrassed. Really, he should try to hide his animosity. It wasn’t done to allow emotions to impact anyone else’s enjoyment of a meal!

The lady teachers were holding their own, despite a grumpy guest, except Professor Lefoux, who was stoically shoving soup into her mouth in the annoyed manner of any woman when a man is misbehaving.

Sidheag’s attention had been caught by the arrival of Madame Spetuna. The fortune-teller was making her way to the dining table. A place was laid for her, so she had been anticipated, although she had missed the soup course. She was permitted to sit, with only a dirty look from Mademoiselle Geraldine, who thought punctuality more important than anything else, including bathing, brains, and breathing.

Sophronia wished for an opportunity to talk to the fortune-teller alone, to test out her suspicions that she was an agent. She considered breaking into the record room to see if there were any files on the lady. Madame Spetuna sat next to Professor Braithwope. The vampire took no food, only sipping a little port. The two engaged in animated conversation, much to the continued annoyance of Shrimpdittle.

Sophronia said, “Professor Shrimpdittle seems quite emotional over the presence of a vampire. I wonder if he is entirely stable. One doesn’t have to like them, but they are here to stay. One must at least be polite.”

This caused all three of the young men at their table to look at her with varying expressions of confusion.

“He’s all right, is Shrimpdittle,” said Pillover. Sophronia remembered, at that moment, that he was the youngest of the boys on board and had said he was confused as to why he had been permitted this trip—which was meant to be a reward for boys of high standing. Had Shrimpdittle insisted Pillover be brought along, intending to put the boy at risk? He could be working for the Picklemen. Did that mean the Picklemen were trying to kidnap Dimity and Pillover?

Sophronia nibbled her bottom lip, staring pensively at the head table. She was bent on getting Vieve’s agenda enacted regardless of the man’s motives. “He seems unhinged. Is he fond of the drink, perhaps? Don’t you feel as if his objections against the supernatural are excessive?”

“What are you implying?” demanded Felix.

“Me, implying? Nothing at all. Although, it could be that he is trying to hide favor or income.”

Monique, of all people, jumped on this idea. “Pretending to hate them, when he really is progressive? Are males of his scientific ilk any good at acting?”

It was a stylish trap, and Sophronia was almost grateful to Monique for staging it, so she didn’t have to. Now the boys at their table either had to defend their teacher as faithful to the conservative cause, but possibly insane, or allow the ladies to imply Shrimpdittle was not honest to the moral foundation of their school.

The boys did neither, being trained only in the ways of infernal devices and not inferring derisively. All of them, even Felix, looked confused. Sophronia hoped that the rumor was out there now—was Professor Shrimpdittle to be trusted? Whose politics did he really back? Was he going mad?

Sidheag jumped in to help. “You know, the other day when we were grounded and Professor Niall was around, I saw them engaged in conversation.”

The three boys only looked more confused.

“Professor Niall,” explained Sophronia, “is a werewolf.”

“Never!” objected Lord Dingleproops. “Not Shrimpdittle!”

Agatha tried as well. “And I saw him being nice to a kitten, once.”

Everyone looked at her, puzzled.

Agatha blushed beet red. “Well,” she practically whispered, “that’s hardly very evil genius of him, now is it?”

Dinner conversation evolved away from the topic at that point, but Sophronia was tolerably certain the school would be buzzing by bedtime with Professor Shrimpdittle’s motives in question.

Her own mind buzzed. She was holding on to too many threads at once and attempting to solve too many puzzles. It wasn’t only Shrimpdittle; there was the information on the throw cushions to consider. Why had that shipment been so important? Was Madame Spetuna involved? Who were the pillows warning about: Picklemen, vampires, or some other element? And how was the Dimity kidnapping attempt connected to this? Did it all come down to the new dirigible technology? And was the guidance valve at the center of the puzzle?

The others chattered, leaving Dimity, Sophronia, and Pillover to themselves at the end of the table.

Sophronia looked at Pillover a long moment. “What do you think of this kidnapping attempt?”

Pillover’s dour face brightened. “Spiffing. I could do with a vacation.”

Dimity put it together. “Monique’s sudden change of heart and ball invitation? You think it has something to do with that?”

“Of course I do.”

“Could we turn it down then?” begged Pillover plaintively.

Dimity whirled on him. “Absolutely not! We should take this as an opportunity to flush out our enemies! Right, Sophronia?”

Sophronia massaged her temples. “This is making my brain hurt.”

“I thought you liked it,” said Pillover.

“In moderation and not while I am also running a character-assassination campaign.”

“Yes, what is this thing with Professor Shrimpdittle? Did he do something particularly awful to you?” Dimity asked.

“Now, Dimity, you know I’m not the kind to seek revenge.”

“Not entirely.”

“What are you girls up to?” demanded Pillover. “I wouldn’t say I like old Shrimps, but he’s not the worst of our teachers, that’s the truth.”

Sophronia puffed out her cheeks. “It isn’t personal. He knows too much, and I have an arrangement that requires I remove him from his current position.”

Pillover put it together. “Vieve! She wants to attend Bunson’s but he knows she’s a she.”

Dimity was shocked. “Oh, Sophronia, no. She can’t be allowed. What if she’s found out? The humiliation! Her aunt can’t possibly entertain such a madcap scheme.”

“If Vieve manages to arrange it so that no one knows, then Professor Lefoux has given her permission. I think her aunt is annoyed they don’t allow ladies to be official evil geniuses. You should know how aggravating that is, with your mother.”

Dimity looked like she didn’t want to believe it. “But I thought Professor Lefoux was so proper.”

“She is French,” said Pillover, as if that could be used to explain all possible impropriety.

“How’d Vieve get you involved?” Dimity demanded.

Sophronia smiled slyly. “I get her gadgets when she leaves.”

Dimity sighed. “I should tell Lord Felix Mersey that the way to your heart is paved with infiltration apparatus.”

Sophronia pretended horror. “Don’t you dare! I like watching him struggle. He’s so handsome when he’s flustered.”

Pillover was disgusted. “Girls!”