“Is there no peace for the naked?” Sister Mattie wore a bed cap of sensible white lace.
“I think you mean peace for the wicked,” corrected Lady Linette, wrapped in a flowing silk robe of apple green trimmed in black velvet. Her hair was loose and flowing, her face free of paint. She looked lovely and fresh.
“Why would that apply?” asked Sister Mattie, before closing her door on both the problem and the noise.
“What’s going on?” The headmistress voiced that query, her rinsed red hair crowned by a great pink floof of crochet.
“I shouldn’t worry, Geraldine. It’s probablyour young gentlemen guests.”
“I warned you no good would come of having boys on board!”
“Might have told that to me, mum, whot?” joked Professor Braithwope, shimmering out of his room fully clothed and dapper. His mustache was a fluffy caterpillar of curiosity, perched and ready to inquire, dragging the vampire along behind it on the investigation.
“Oh, Professor,” simpered Mademoiselle Geraldine, “you don’t count. You’re a gentleman, not a boy, and qualit-tay to boot.”
The vampire looked around the hallway, noting no mechanicals or culprits who might have set the alarm. He was the only one dressed, his boots mirror shiny and his trousers cut to perfection. Sophronia wondered how such a nobby little man could manage to fade to the background so often. It was a real skill.
“Where’s the revolution?”
“Student quarters, I suspect. One of the boys. Our girls know better than to risk it at night. Or they know how to avoid setting off alarms.” Sophronia could have sworn Lady Linette glanced in their direction.
The vampire nodded. “I’ll see to it, being as I’m all gussied up and proper for public consumption. Plus, put a bit of fear into those monkeys, wrath of a vampire, whot?”
“A most excellent notion, Professor.”
Sophronia, forgetting her own first encounter with the vampire, suppressed a giggle at the very idea of Professor Braithwope, with his quizzical mustache and undersized frame, putting the fear into anyone—except perhaps the fear of growing the wrong facial hair.
The alarm, painfully loud, continued. There was no maid nearby to receive shutdown protocols. Professor Braithwope hurried off, and the other teachers disappeared into their rooms, presumably to hide from the noise.
Sophronia and Vieve continued on their way, reassured that attention was directed elsewhere.
“What was that about?” Vieve wondered.
“Viscount Mersey might have taken something Pillover said after dinner as encouragement.”
“Sophronia, you didn’t plant ideas in that poor nobleman’s head? You are a naughty girl.”
“Where’s your aunt? I didn’t see her just now.”
“Down in the laboratory with Shrimpdittle, I think. They’re working on something together, despite bad blood over the prototype.”
“Is that the real reason the boys are on board, as cover for this project?”
“Possibly.”
“Vieve,” said Sophronia slowly, “how would vampires handle floating through the aetherosphere?”
“I’ve no idea. Ah, here we are.”
When entering the engineering chamber from the proper door, rather than the outside hatch, they came in from above onto a wide landing with the whole of the massive room spread out before them. Sophronia loved the view. It was so impressive, with multiple boilers flaming and smoking, engines and machines moving and sparking, sooties running between massive mounds of coal. Usually, two-thirds of the sooties slept during evening shift, but tonight everyone was awake. A full complement of supervisors stood guard—firemen, greasers, engineers, and coal runners. Something is definitely afoot. Or should one say “a soot”?
Sophronia and Vieve, unnoticed, made their way down the spiral staircase and through the crowds to the far corner of the room, ending up behind the coal pile that had long since become their regular meeting spot.
Soap was waiting, fairly vibrating with anticipation.
“What took you so long?”
“Someone set off the alarm.”
“Not you two? Never you two.” Soap’s faith was endearing.
“Course not. Sophronia set up a patsy to take the fall.”
Soap swung to look at her.
Sophronia smiled slyly. “What can I say? Boys need lessons sometimes.”
Soap arched an eyebrow at her.
“Not you, Soap. You’re not a real boy. But Felix is being difficult.”
“Felix, is it?” Soap did not look pleased.
“Lord Mersey, I mean,” Sophronia corrected herself.
Soap looked even less pleased.
Sophronia didn’t quite understand where she’d gone wrong. Soap was usually such a good-natured chap. She changed the subject. “So, what’s the surprise?”
Soap brightened. “We’re going undercover for the next three days. Weather not being obliging.”
“What do you mean? It’s been lovely for March.”
“Just so. We can’t go sailing to London all visible. So they brought out the steam machine. We’re going to white!”
“Well, that explains all the extra water that flute took on.”
“You saw that?” Soap looked away from Sophronia. “What else did you see?”
Sophronia tried to look more mysterious than embarrassed.
Vieve was not interested in innuendo—a new machine was about to be cranked up! “I’ve heard about it but never seen it in action.”
“I’ve only helped do it twice before,” said Soap. “Come watch.” He led them to sit atop a pile of coal. “Don’t interfere!” He shook a finger at Vieve.
The sooties wheeled out a massive apparatus, one that usually huddled at the back of the room. They arranged it to sit straddling the distribution hatch—a massive opening used to bring in coal and shovel out ash.
The contraption was hooked up to boilers and attached to a complex series of metal tubes, springs, and gears, the range of which charmed Vieve.
“Oh my goodness, is that an electrosplit goopslimer port? I do believe it is. And is that a Thrushbotham pip-monger swizzle sprocket? Oh, two swizzle sprockets!” Vieve was practically squeaking in excitement.
The machine was cranked up and began to puff.
Never before had Sophronia seen such a massive amount of steam at once. The boiler room filled with hot white moisture. All her curls fell flat—Mademoiselle Geraldine would be so upset.
There was a great deal of yelling and some crashing, and then the sooties had the device corked up. All the steam, one must presume, was now flowing outside the ship.
Soap sauntered over, hands deep in his pockets. The soot on his face was clumped and spotty from the steam, and he looked inordinately pleased with himself.
“Wanna see?”
“Of course!” said Sophronia and Vieve in unison.
Soap helped Sophronia down, and she was shocked by how large and strong his hand was. He led the way over to the small hatch Sophronia used on her solo visits.
They stuck their heads out and saw… nothing. Only white.
“We are our own cloud! Ingenious.” Sophronia was impressed. “And it will hold day or night, despite temperature shifts?”
“Of course!” Soap took this questioning as doubt of his actions and integrity. “Designed by Professor Lefoux, this was! She don’t make mistakes, that one. Except bringing this bit of trouble on board.” Soap pulled off Vieve’s cap and ruffled her hair.
Vieve swatted him.
Sophronia nodded. “Thank you, Soap. This has been most entertaining. But we should be getting on.” She was profoundly relieved. At least for a while Dimity will be safe from attack. No one will be able to find her.
Soap looked surprised; normally Sophronia lingered. “You should? Right then.” He led them back to the staircase. Vieve scampered up, but before Sophronia could follow, Soap touched her arm. “Who is this Felix chap?”
“Just an impossible boy. I shouldn’t let him bother you.”
“You need me to teach him any lessons? A little boxing ’round the ears?”
“That’s very kind, Soap, but I can fight my own battles.”
“I don’t like you fraternizing with boys. Ain’t normal.”
Sophronia quirked her head in amusement. “No? And here I was thinking that’s how society worked. Might as well learn the way of it.”
“Oh, you believe so?” Soap leaned in. Even though she stood on the first step, the sootie towered over her. He smelled of wet coal and engine oil. It must be quite strong, as it seemed to be affecting her breathing. He leaned in, his normally cheerful face quite serious. “I could teach you a bit.”
He was so close, Sophronia thought for one delusional moment that he intended to actually kiss her on the mouth! Imagine that? Soap! Instead he reached for her arm, the exposed piece between glove and sleeve where his filthy hand would not soil her dress. He raised it to his face and kissed her just there, his lips impossibly soft.
Sophronia froze. But I don’t think of Soap like that was her first reaction, and then she felt a tiny bit of annoyance. Why would he want to complicate our friendship? And then caution. It’s up to me to ensure he doesn’t.
She recovered her powers of movement and extracted her arm gently. She decided to take his overture as a jest, a mockery of polite society, and laugh it off. “Oh, Soap, you are silly.”
Jaunty Soap was instantly back. “See what I mean? I can teach you.”
“Very gallant,” Sophronia said, smiling and backing up, almost tripping over the next step up. Look at me, made clumsy by a sootie! “It’s not exactly the lesson I need, however.”
“I’m thinking it’s the same kind of lesson this Felix is after.”
Feeling she had entirely lost control of the conversation, Sophronia did as Captain Niall had so recently instructed; she ran away.
When Sophronia caught up to Vieve, the girl was trotting purposefully down the hall, obstructor at the ready. It was proving unnecessary, as the mechanicals had all been diverted elsewhere. Probably to monitor the boys.
“Can we swing by your aunt’s classroom on our way back?”
“Need something?” Vieve’s mind ever jumped to supplies.
“No. Didn’t you say your aunt and the visiting professor were holed up there?”
“You want to see what they are up to?” Vieve changed course and headed toward the teaching area outside the tassel zone, rather than across to student residencies. Soon, they found themselves at the classrooms. The dark hallway was lit only by a small beam of light emanating from the crack under Professor Lefoux’s lab door.
Sophronia went for Sister Mattie’s room.
Vieve, confused, followed.
Sister Mattie never locked her door. She maintained that if a student needed to pollute, cure, or improve nutritional health, she should do so with impunity. Or, as she put it, “One woman’s petunia is another one’s poison.”
Sister Mattie’s classroom abutted Professor Lefoux’s. Sophronia made her way through it in the dark. This was not difficult, as she knew which plants were thorny and which were sticky. She ended up behind the rubber tree, where a small door let out onto a balcony covered in large pots of rhubarb and tomatoes, alongside foxgloves and rhododendrons. Sophronia brushed through, mindful that tomato leaves would deposit telltale yellow streaks on her dress. She climbed up and balanced precariously on the railing so she could lean over to the small round window of Professor Lefoux’s lab.
She peeked inside. Under bright gas lighting, Professor Lefoux and Professor Shrimpdittle stood together over a large table spread with the parts of some disassembled apparatus. They were not working on the gadget. They were arguing. Sophronia fished in her reticule and brought forth her latest prized acquisition, an ear trumpet. It had taken a good many letters to persuade her mother that she was losing her hearing and in desperate need of the medical device. It was invaluable for eavesdropping, and she’d decorated it to look like a morning glory flower. She pressed the flared end to the glass and the nozzle to her ear.
“… needs to be done!” Professor Lefoux was saying. Her words were almost indecipherable, her French accent was so strong.
“That’s ridiculous. Breathing is irrelevant!” Shrimpdittle objected. His voice was one of upper-crust education, all toffy-nosed and toothy.
A knock sounded at the door.
Professor Lefoux went to open in.
Monique de Pelouse came inside. Holy smokes! thought Sophronia. What’s she doing here? She whispered to Vieve, “Monique’s turned up. I thought she was in disgrace. Why on earth would they let her wander around after hours?” Sophronia felt unsettled, possibly even a little jealous. Monique knew more about what was going on than she did!
