Sophronia nodded, lips twitching. “Certainly, Professor, very sage advice.”
“So you have ended things?” Dimity knew from experience that Sophronia was attached to Soap in a manner Dimity could never comprehend.
“I tried.” Strangely enough, saying that made Sophronia’s eyes prick with tears. “Dimity, I am so afraid. I…” She took a shaky breath. “I find myself struggling to be sensible about matters of the heart.”
Dimity instantly shifted to put a warm comforting arm about her. “Of course you do, my dear. We all have that struggle. I mean to say, look at me! I was driven to poetry by a Dingleproops! You haven’t fallen that far, have you?”
Sophronia sniffed. “No.”
“Well, then, that’s something to be proud of, now, isn’t it?”
Sophronia gave a watery nod.
Professor Braithwope passed her a large purple handkerchief, his mustache dropping sympathetically. Sophronia took it gratefully and dabbed at her eyes, concentrating on controlling her breathing.
Dimity, with perfect understanding, returned to the game so that Sophronia might gather herself together without further embarrassment.
The game ended when Dimity realized that she had already been beaten four moves earlier. The vampire picked up more knitting. This time it was some fine lace-weight work—an elegant lady’s shawl.
“That’s quite lovely, Professor.” Sophronia was pleased to find that her voice did not wobble. “Does it say anything?” Knitted code was common parlance among Mademoiselle Geraldine’s girls.
The vampire was confused at the question. “Say? No. I don’t think so. The pattern is called dawn-light.” He turned the pretty thing about in his hands. “Ironic, really.” He focused on his task.
Dimity focused on Sophronia. “I think we could leave him for a bit, don’t you?”
“Why, Dimity, are you suggesting we sneak down to the tea?”
“The perfect thing to cheer you up.”
“How right you are. But we’d be in even more trouble if they discovered we abandoned our post. Then again, Soap came to tell me that we have Pickleman infiltrators among the guests. And I did say to the dewan I would try Felix.”
“It would be a shame to waste our dresses on only the professor here.”
The vampire looked up. “Whot, whot?”
“Nothing, Professor,” singsonged the two girls in unison.
Sophronia cocked her head at Dimity. “Are you certain?”
Dimity’s round face scrunched up as if she had eaten a sour lemon. “I hate missing everything. That’s why I want to marry well and be a grand lady. Then I can host all the parties, all the time, and see everything that is going on always. How can you stand not knowing?”
“For you, it’s gossip. For me, it’s action.”
Dimity blinked at this revelation. “I guess so.”
“Shall we, then?”
Dimity grinned. “Professor, you don’t mind if we step out for a few minutes, do you?”
“Certainly not. Bring some brandy, and some of those little cake thingies.”
“But, Professor, you don’t eat cake.”
“Don’t want to eat them. Want to toss them overboard at the wild ponies, whot.”
“Oh.”
“Man’s gotta have some kind of entertainment on this floating barge.”
“True, sir. Anything else?”
The vampire considered the question. “Well, if one of those young men is in the offing, I might like a snack in a half hour or so. Could hit the spot, if the stock is not too starched. Make sure to pick one of the sporty types. I loathe the taste of pasty dandies with delusions of intellectual grandeur and a propensity to lurk indoors. Spoils the flavor of the blood.”
Dimity and Sophronia exchanged looks.
“Does it really?” Sophronia made a mental note. Pillover was safe.
Then, before he could think of anything else, they left.
IN A PICKLE AT A TEA PARTY
The tea party was in full vibration when they arrived. What probably started as mild talk and meek encounters around set tables had descended into a proper rout. The young persons were now circulating, seeking preferred partners or more engaging conversation. In some cases, this was out of custom; in others, it was the quest for adventure. A few young ladies had assignments. A small group danced at the back, accompanied by Miss Perriwonks on her lap harp with amplification dongle. There was even one table at cards.
Certainly, it was not done to have dancing and card play at a tea party, but the hour was late and it was New Year’s Eve, so some laxness was permitted. Perhaps this had more to do with the fact that the professors had opted to break out the bubbly early. Professor Lefoux remained sober and glowering, but that was her lot in life. As yet she had not been driven to leave the head table and actually discipline anyone. Instead, she paid irritated attention to Mademoiselle Geraldine. Tea was the headmistress’s favorite event, and though she objected to the presence of boys, she was disposed to enjoy herself.
The tea was very good—not to mention the champagne. Cook had truly excelled, for there were Scotch seedcake, grapes in brandy, glazed apples, orange biscuits with medlar jelly, almond torte—without cyanide, everyone hoped—and Charlotte pudding with Milanese cream. The boys gorged themselves, as was their wont, and even a few of the girls ate with more enthusiasm than delicacy.
Sophronia and Dimity glided through one of the staff entrances behind a clangermaid. Sophronia eyed a bowlful of glazed apples and plotted how to kidnap it for the sooties. The girls kept their fans up, covering most of their faces. They did not skulk, but instead acted as if they belonged, moving in behind the dancers as though observing the couples while engaged in a protracted private gossip.
“Do you see that?” Sophronia nudged Dimity to look at a table near the back corner, where Pillover and Agatha conversed. Pillover was almost animated as he relayed something to their friend.
“Do you think that is a declaration?” wondered Sophronia.
Dimity was disgusted. “My revolting brother has never declared anything, except perhaps an inexcusable love of Plutarch. This smooching of sooties has gone to your head.”
“Smooching werewolves, please, Dimity.” Sophronia took mock offense.
Dimity continued her affronted stance. “Pill is less firm in his commitments than calf’s head jelly.”
However, Pillover’s face held a softness that Sophronia had never seen there before.
Agatha glanced up.
Sophronia flipped down her bladed fan for a brief moment, so Agatha could recognize her.
Agatha’s eyes widened and she immediately raised her handkerchief to her face, drawing it across her lips. It was code, but not one Sophronia knew.
“What’s she trying to say?” she asked Dimity.
Couples swirled between them. The debut blonde with the purple eyes was dancing with Lord Dingleproops. Dimity was entirely unruffled by this. So much for poetry.
“I desire your acquaintance,” interpreted Dimity. “It’s not espionage, it’s everyday ordinary flirtation.”
Fancy that. Accessory manipulation for normal young ladies. “Why didn’t Lady Linette teach us that?”
Dimity gave her a funny look. “You’re supposed to arrive here knowing it, of course. Doesn’t everyone? I was practically weaned on handkerchief manipulation. Not to mention the language of flowers. How on earth do you know if a man is interested without it?”