“Oh, very nice. No defensive tone, merely a query for further information. You are trying to take advantage of my annoyance in the hope that I will be indiscreet about the informant. You are learning well, Miss Temminnick, very well indeed.”
Sophronia widened her eyes hopefully, trying to look both nonthreatening and inquiring.
“Simply in honor of such a creditable effort, I will tell you that it was a student. And this is a concern. On the one hand, no one else saw you. On the other, you have made an enemy of one of your fellows in such a way as to cost you a covert operation. You should pay very close attention in your blackmail lessons in order to forestall such behavior in the future. Then again, so should the student in question. She might have used this information to manipulate you, rather than coming directly to us. A questionable choice of application, but perhaps she thought the matter was time sensitive.”
“My lady?” Sophronia’s heart was in her throat. Please don’t turn me out.
“Yes, of course. So, for being seen, you are hereby ordered to report to Cook. She will have you cleaning the pots and pans after supper in the mess for the next two weeks.”
Sophronia started to let out a breath of relief, but then Lady Linette continued. “For being told upon…” She paused, considering.
I’m being sent home when we get to Bunson’s. I know it. Sophronia clenched her hands.
“For being told upon, you are being denied attendance at the upcoming stopover at Swiffle-on-Exe. There is an acting troupe in town. You will have to miss the show. And for being out during lockdown, you will not be allowed off the ship at all.”
Sophronia let out a breath and relaxed her hands. “Thank you, my lady.”
“Goodness, girl, what are you thanking me for?”
“You aren’t going to expel me.”
“Of course not! Don’t be silly. None of the professors actually saw you, and you avoided the mechanicals during a high-order alarm. That’s very good work indeed. And you’ve displayed untapped skills in climbing and night stealth. I’m considering extra lessons as a result. We were told you had gumption. Our mistake was in underestimating how much. Why were you out and about?”
“Curiosity.” Sophronia lied without hesitation.
Lady Linette pursed her lips. “That’s as good a reason as any. And now, girl, let us discuss hairstyles. I’m detecting young Lady Kingair’s effect on your coiffure. It won’t do, won’t do at all. She is a lost cause, but she has the rank and title to be eccentric. You may actually need to look like a lady upon occasion. From here on out, you are to put your hair up in curling rags every night. Get Miss Pelouse to show you how. I do not wish to see you with a plait ever again. Is that clear?”
Sophronia considered this her real punishment—the very worst of the lot. Curling rag training from Monique, indeed! Still, she bobbed another curtsy of acknowledgment. “Very good, my lady.”
“Good morning, Miss Temminnick.”
“Good morning, my lady.”
“Oh, and Miss Temminnick? You do realize you did not have to admit to your little excursion? It was your word against that of your accuser. Keep that in mind, in the future. Denial is always an option.” With which Lady Linette swept from the room, her morning dress one of a particularly fluffy lavender, so wide it barely fit through the door.
“It has to be Monique!” said Dimity. She was pacing around their room, her hands and arms flying in annoyance, as though she were fending off a bee. The ruffles on the sleeves of her peach dress had an almost sea creature–like way of drifting about after her. “I wonder if Lady Linette is her friend on staff?”
Sophronia was charmed by how offended Dimity was on her behalf. “Of course it’s Monique. And I suppose it could be Lady Linette; she’s an actress, after all.” Sophronia collapsed onto her bed with a groan. “Oh, but curling rags!”
“They can’t be that bad.”
“Easy for you to say—you’ll never need them. Why did I have to be cursed with straight hair? And you know, I never cared much before now. What is this place doing to me? I’m coming over all frivolous.”
Dimity had no solution to that particular problem. “I’m sorry you’re going to miss the theatricals.”
“In Swiffle-on-Exe? It could be worse.”
“It is worse: all the boys will be attending.”
Sophronia flopped onto her back. She wasn’t certain whether to be upset or pleased by this. “That’s all right, really it is. I don’t think I’m quite ready for boys yet. My eyelash fluttering is subpar.”
“Oh, but that’s what Bunson’s is for! Practice. I overheard Monique telling Preshea all about it. Some of the girls even keep score. They use what we learn to make as many boys as possible fall in love with them. They aren’t allowed to encourage actual declarations, of course. If one of Mademoiselle Geraldine’s girls takes a real beau, he’d better be a baronet at the very least.”
“Isn’t Bunson’s training evil geniuses?”
“Yes, mostly.”
“Well, is that wise? Having a mess of seedling evil geniuses falling in love with you willy-nilly? What if they feel spurned?”
“Ah, but in the interim, think of the lovely gifts they can make you. Monique bragged that one of her boys made her silver and wood hair sticks as anti-supernatural weapons. With amethyst inlay. And another made her an exploding wicker chicken.”
“Goodness, what’s that for?”
Dimity pursed her lips. “Who doesn’t want an exploding wicker chicken?”
Sidheag opened the door and stuck her head in. “Are you two going to wallow in here all day? It’s time to eat, and rumor is there’s going to be a big announcement over the scones.”
“We’re headed to Swiffle-on-Exe. There’s a play on. We’ll be allowed to attend alongside Bunson’s,” said Sophronia.
“Gracious, aren’t you in the know?” Sidheag arched an eyebrow and turned away. Today her dress was of plaid, as if she were a housekeeper.
Dimity sidled up to Sophronia and said, under her breath, “Plaid! Can you believe it?”
They followed Sidheag out to where the debuts stood waiting.
Dimity, with a mercurial gleam in her eye, said, “Sophronia claims we’re headed to Swiffle-on-Exe to see a play with Bunson’s.”
Instantly the others all began to chatter excitedly.
“Really? What kind of play?” Agatha was, for the first time in Sophronia’s experience, animated by the prospect. Agatha, so shy it was almost disruptive, never seemed to get excited about anything.
“Bunson’s? You mean boys?” Preshea’s pretty face narrowed into covetousness. Sophronia thought she looked like a partridge with a plucking disorder.
“Now, Preshea,” reprimanded Dimity, “it’s no good choosing your first husband from a school for evil geniuses. Much too difficult to kill.”
“Why do you know any of this?” Monique demanded of Sophronia.
“Why, Monique, surprised I learned it first?” said Sophronia, minding her recent lesson on not revealing information unnecessarily.
They made their way through the passageways and out onto various decks toward the dining hall. Sophronia grabbed Monique by the arm, holding her back. Dimity gave her a confused look, but took the cue and concentrated on shepherding the other three forward, giving Sophronia some privacy.
“A word, if you would, Monique?”
“What do you want?”
“Shoddy business, tittle-tattling on me like that. I thought you didn’t do that kind of thing. Did you go to your pet teacher?”
“I have no idea to what you are referring.”