Lady Maccon felt only a slight twinge of concern. Conall Maccon could certainly take care of himself, and the one thing Alexandria boasted of in plenty was stray dogs. Her husband would simply look like a very large version thereof.
Alexia, thus consoled, drank her tea, which turned out not to be tea at all but that most ghastly of beverages, coffee. It was served with a great deal of honey, which rendered it drinkable if not entirely palatable. She then managed to dress herself. In honor of her trip, she had ordered up a nice mushroom-colored muslin blouse and matched tiny bowler hat, with a duster-style puff of brown feathers. The blouse was designed to be cool in hot weather, while still preserving her modesty. The fastenings at the back gave her some trouble, and the corset underneath could not be laced tight at all. But the draped brown overskirt and modest bustle went on easily enough. Her hair, in response to the desert heat, refused to obey any commands, coiling into great loglike curls. She fussed with it for a bit and then, figuring she was abroad where certain standards might be allowed to slip, pinned it half up and left the rest to flop about as it will.
Downstairs, supper had commenced and the front entrance to Hotel des Voyageurs was empty as all the residents descended upon the comestibles.
“Any messages for Lady Maccon?” she inquired of the desk clerk.
“No, my lady, but there is one for a Lord Maccon.”
Alexia took it, noted that the handwriting was not one she recognized, and figured it was a BUR report. She tucked it into her reticule.
“Can you arrange an aetheric transponder connection appointment for me? I have my own valve frequensors, but I understand there is only one transmitter for public access in the city.”
“Indeed, my lady. We are a little overtaxed as a result, but I am certain your rank will guarantee access. You’ll want the Boulevard Ramleh’s west end, opposite the street leading to the Exchange.”
Alexia determined she would have to borrow Ivy Tunsell’s guidebook in order to make sense of these directions, possibly attached to Ivy herself, but she made a mental note of the details.
“Thank you, my good man. I’ll need to book to send a message for just after sunset London time, from here to England. Can you arrange such a thing?”
“Certainly, my lady. That should be something on the order of six o’clock in the evening. But I will ascertain the particulars and make the appointment for you.”
“You are most efficient.” Alexia, missing Floote quite dreadfully, gave the man a generous gratuity for his pains and wandered into the dining room to see if any of her party were about yet.
Ivy, Tunstell, the nursemaid, and the children were all there causing a ruckus at one of the larger tables. Prudence had her mechanical ladybug and was trundling about banging into people’s chairs in a most indiscriminate manner. Alexia was mortified by such behavior. What was the nursemaid thinking, allowing the infant to bring the ladybug to a public eatery? Tunstell was explaining, in large expansive gestures, the thrilling plot of The Death Rains of Swansea to some poor unfortunate tourists at the adjoining table. Ivy was fretting over her Baedeker’s guidebook, and the nursemaid was busy with the twins.
Lady Maccon scooped up her errant child.
“Mama!”
“Have you eaten, poppet?”
“No!”
“Well, food, then. Have you tried one of those cinnamon pastry thingamabobs?”
“No!”
Still unsure if no was Prudence’s new favorite word or if she actually knew what it meant, Alexia guided the ladybug with her foot and made her way, baby on hip, to the Tunstells’ table.
“Oh, Lady Maccon, how delightful!” extolled Tunstell upon seeing her. “Lady Maccon, may I introduce our new acquaintances the Pifflonts? Mrs. Pifflont, Mr. Pifflont, this is Lady Maccon.”
One is never sure, upon being introduced, whether one should trust in the arranger of the association, particularly when that arranger was Tunstell. Nevertheless, it was Lady Maccon’s business to be gracious, so gracious she was. The Pifflonts turned out to be antiquities experts of some amateurish Italian extraction, quiet and well mannered and exactly the type of people one would like to meet in a hotel. Careful inquiry, and control over Tunstell’s exuberance, turned the conversation to the couple’s journey through Egypt, which was nearing its close. They were about to return home, abiding only one or two more days before catching a steamer to Naples.
The following unexpectedly intellectual discourse was interrupted by the advent of Lord Conall Maccon wearing a cloak and, so far as Alexia could tell, nothing else. She was horrified. First her daughter went around bumping into people with a ladybug and now her husband appeared without shoes. Well, there goes that acquaintance! She couldn’t even bear to look at the faces of those nice Pifflonts.
She stood and scuttled swiftly to the earl where he loomed in the doorway.
“Conall, really!” she hissed. “At least pull on some boots so you have a facade of decency!”
“I require your presence, wife. And the bairn.”
“But, darling, at least a top hat!”
“Now, Alexia. There is something I wish you to see.”
“Oh, very well, but do go away. There’s blood at the corner of your mouth. I can’t take you anywhere.”
Lord Maccon vanished around a corner of the hall and Alexia hurried back to the table. She made their excuses and scooped up Prudence, despite her daughter’s protestations.
“No! Mama. Nummies.”
“Sorry, darling, but your father has discovered something of interest he wishes us to see.”
Mrs. Tunstell glanced up. “Oh, is it a textile shop? I hear they produce the most lovely cottons in this part of the world.”
“Something more along the lines of ruffled parasols, I believe.”
Ivy was thick but not so thick as all that. “Oh, of course,” she said immediately, winking in a very overt manner. “Ruffled parasols. Naturally. Now, my dear friend, you won’t forget we have a private show in only a few hours. And while I know you are not integrated into the performance, your presence is desirable.”
“Of course, of course. This shouldn’t take very long.”
“Carry on, then,” said Mrs. Tunstell, although her friend was already trotting hurriedly away. Alexia heard Ivy say, “Lady Maccon is our particular patroness, don’t you know? Such a very gracious and grand lady.”
She was met outside the hotel by a large wolf. In order to make more of a thing of it, Alexia purchased a donkey rope off an obliging, though confused, donkey boy. This she clasped about Conall’s brindled neck, quite a feat of loops and twists, as she could not touch him and had to keep hold of Prudence. Eventually she was successful and it looked as though she were taking a very large dog for a walk.
Lord Maccon gave her a baleful look but submitted to the humiliation for the sake of propriety. They wended their way through the still-vibrant city; sunset seemed more an excuse to visit than an ending to daily activities. He led her a long way, due south down the Rue de la Colonne, past the bastions, through the outer slums of the city until they reached the canal. Alexia was beginning to worry about the time, concerned they might not make it back by the vampire visiting hour. Conall, in his wolf form, had little estimation of distance, and while Alexia was a great walker and never one to shirk exercise, traversing an entire city in the course of only an hour was really rather extreme, especially when carrying a disinterested toddler. Eventually, they developed a method by which Prudence rode astride her father, with Alexia gripping one hand firmly so as to keep everyone in their correct forms and fur.