Why Not Be Tidy?
Cris was already finding it an awkward business, pretending to be married to someone he actually would like to marry – including all the carnal advantages indicative of such a union. In other words, he was forced to acknowledge to himself (at the very least) that it was challenging not to touch his Sparkles as he wished, with desire, when they were sharing a room and a bed. All his noble intentions and efforts to stop himself from becoming his father were about to be tested. Because he was certain his Sparkles, for all her machinations, was still a comparative innocent and he refused to take advantage of her or the situation.
Eventually their luggage – well, Dimity’s luggage – made its way to their room. Then, much to their surprise, a tray of food appeared on the floor outside their door, an offering for the weak humans. Cris brought it in, only a little suspicious, and for lack of any other clean, flat surfaces, put it on the bed. Sparkles went rummaging in her copious bags and produced a fist-sized spiky apparatus that looked exactly like two tuning forks sticking out of a crystal.
“Is that a...?”
She held up a hand to silence him. He held his tongue and watched her precise, elegant movements. Her hands were small and fine, but not thin. Concentrating and focused, she flicked one of the metal parts with a dainty white finger, waited a moment, and then flicked the other. The two prongs produced a discordant, high-pitched humming noise, amplified by the crystal. She placed the device carefully on the floor near the door jamb.
She gave him a wide, genuine smile, pleased with herself. “Harmonic auditory resonance disruptor, the very latest design. Quite newfangled, but supposed to be particularly challenging to sensitive supernatural hearing, especially werewolves. It should work on vampires as well. Muddles them enough to make overhearing a trial. Should allow us to talk in our room, so long as we keep it vibrating.”
“Ingenious,” said Cris, crouching down to examine it, careful not to touch. He wondered where he could get one for himself. The sound was annoying, but not being constantly on guard when in the comparative privacy of their room would be a blessing.
Dimity cleared off an old vanity and placed their supper on it. Cris rose and went to help her. The tray contained nothing even approaching palatable – two bowls of savory porridge featuring unidentifiable meat blobs that might have started life as sausage – but at least it provided sustenance. Certainly Cris had eaten worse when on campaign, and he tended to require quite a bit of fuel.
Dimity made a face, but seemed resigned and managed half her bowlful. He worried she hadn’t eaten enough, but when pressed she only shook her head.
“It’s more than sufficient, I assure you. I’m neither as big nor as active as you, husband.”
Cris pretended offense. “I’m sure I’ve no idea what you mean.”
The room had a dressing chamber attached, so they each made use of it in an attempt to preserve the dignity of a working relationship. Crispin hardly knew what to do with a nightshirt, since he normally slept in the altogether, but at least his valet had known to pack something.
Sparkles emerged shrouded in a respectable muslin nightgown with ruffles at the hem and a small train. The elaborate thoroughness of the garment told him, more than anything else could, of her genuine nervousness surrounding intimate sleeping arrangements with a man. He yearned to reassure her of his good intentions, and self-control, but was at a loss as to how to do so.
Crispin’s nightshirt was an ancient white cotton affair. Goodness knows where his valet had found the bally thing. He was grateful for the warmth, and its role in protecting both his and Dimity’s sensibilities, but annoyed at the prospect of the darn thing getting tangled about his thighs while he slept.
Sparkles, of course, went up against her fears with flirtation. “Oh, you do have nice legs! All that dancing, I suppose?”
She was sitting on the edge of the bed and brushing her hair. This was the first time he’d seen it entirely down and it was remarkably thick and long and fluffy. Also, clearly, quite a task to brush. Apparently he was staring, because she paused, gave him a shy smile, and waggled the brush at him. “Would you?”
He swallowed hard, sat next to her on the counterpane, keeping his body loose and welcoming, and took the brush from her hand. “Turn around, then.”
She did so without comment. He began pulling the brush through as gently as he could, working out the tangles and extracting forgotten hairpins – careful to keep his knuckles, where they curled around the brush handle, from touching her skin.
“How will you put it up tomorrow, without a lady’s maid? I’m afraid I haven’t the skill to do it for you.” He tried not to lean into her rose-milk smell, stronger now, so she must have applied a skin cream of some kind.
“Oh, I’ll keep it simple or even down. I’m only a poor artist, after all.”
“Not down, please.” Cris marveled at the softness, and took up a hank with his left hand, squeezing it gently. Her hair smelled amazing too. Like lemon, perhaps? Yes, and it was also the source of the honey scent.
She’d bent her head forward under his ministrations. He could not resist the urge to stroke her hair back with his free hand, running a finger along her cheek and neck. Realizing what he’d done, he jerked to a stop.
She shivered and turned to him, taking the hairbrush away. Her lashes were lowered and he felt like a cad.
The muslin of her nightgown wasn’t thick enough to hide the fact that she was either cold or aroused. Crispin’s nightshirt was likely to be similarly strained if he stood at the moment. Only his would definitely be arousal. He sighed at his own lack of control.
She had a fine figure, under the shapeless peignoir. He knew it from years of study, certainly not because the one light was behind her and her silhouette clearly visible. Curved, soft, and round everywhere she ought to be. And he shouldn’t be thinking about it.
This was what came of brushing a woman’s hair.
He climbed into bed.
Dimity puttered about the room a bit longer, putting away various bits and bobs, not unpacking, more making room so she might start. He noticed her shivering.
“Come to bed. It’s cold and late. You can do that tomorrow.” She was nervous. Good at hiding it, of course, but by nature she was a chatterer, not a putterer.
He curled his shoulders trying to make himself seem smaller and less threatening. It was not a big bed at all, and they’d be in proximity soon. He raised a knee, to ensure his continued interest wasn’t evident. Didn’t want to frighten her further.
Steel set her spine and she give him a glare. “Oh, very well.”
She took a little sip of air and climbed under the counterpane next to him, stiff and resolute – and firmly on her side of the mattress. She also started shivering in earnest.
He cursed his fate and ceded his scruples to his need to ensure her well-being. “Don’t be ridiculous, Sparkles, we are to spend a fortnight like this. Shift over.”
He stayed on his back, but looped one long arm around her and tugged her up against his side.
She stiffened further and then gave this adorable tiny mewing noise and rolled to curl tightly against him, throwing one arm over his chest and nestling into his shoulder.
“You’re so warm. How are you so warm?”
He didn’t bother to answer. Just lay as still as he could, so as not to scare her away. He resisted tucking her even closer. He stopped his own hand from covering hers on his chest. He tried desperately not to absorb her.
His restraint was rewarded when he felt her go boneless against him. Warmth would do that to a girl. And then her breathing became regular and deep.
He lay, wide awake, and ached at having her there, so close. Yes, his prick ached too, but the worst of the ache was in his chest, under where her arm rested. Two layers of thick cotton between them. The ugliest room in the world around them. And he ached for something he wanted and didn’t deserve to have.
They didn’t meet the final hive member until the next evening, after sunset. They’d both slept the bulk of the daylight away, not uncommon in a vampire hive. In the north at this time of year, sunset came early and the days were short, just as the supernaturals liked it.
Making their way downstairs, the first thing Dimity noted was Mr Theris, entering stage left down the hallway towards what must be the kitchens. He was escorting a buxom young shepherdess-type human.
Dimity and Cris stood and watched, wondering if this were a blatant seduction or something less sinister. Or something more sinister.
Evaluation of sinisterness notwithstanding, Mr Theris and his shepherdess disappeared together and returned by the time Dimity and Cris had settled into stilted conversation in the sitting room with Lord Kirby. Dimity talked a great deal about the paintings hanging about, and enquired after the one she’d ostensibly come to see. Lord Kirby mostly ignored her. Dimity watched the young couple walking back. Surely ten minutes was too quick for a proper seduction? Not that Dimity would know for certain – but for Mr Theris to have such a reputation and to take less than twenty minutes about it seemed unlikely. And terribly uncomfortable for the lady.
The shepherdess did look rumpled. The neckline of her gown was slightly torn, and she was smiling. She was also far more pale than she had been going in.
Dimity was somewhat relieved to see a set of neat punctures on her neck – not a seduction, but a meal. There was only a small trickle of blood coming from the wounds, but it was enough to make Dimity feel faint.
She’d never liked blood, not when it was coming out of someone. It was so final and so red.
Sir Crispin gave her a concerned look and put a steady hand to her arm.
“I’m all right. I won’t succumb, I promise.”
“Shall we go in,” Lord Kirby instructed, rather than asked. He stood and marched towards the dining room, sleeves trailing.
Sir Crispin helped Dimity to rise and escorted her to the hallway in time to see Theris letting the human nibble out the front door. The drone gave the shepherdess a handful of silver coins, a rather nice paisley shawl to cover her marks, a steak and kidney pie wrapped in cheesecloth, and a highly decorated Valentine’s card, presumably full of instructions for her health.
The young lady left looking tired but happy.
“Well,” said Dimity, “someone in this hive has quite the appetite.”
Mr Theris noticed them then. “Her highness must be looked after.”
Dimity exchanged a glance with Cris. The vampire queen was eating regularly. That was the first good sign they’d had concerning the Nottingham Hive. She might have retreated from the world, but she wasn’t starving herself into insanity. That was something. The fact that she wasn’t in the hive house, though, lording it over her hive-bound menfolk and generally bossing everyone around, that was still bad. Still un-queenlike.
Mr Theris’s eyes flicked to where Dimity clutched Crispin’s arm.
She immediately dropped said arm, as though inspired by his covetous look, and gave him a sweet smile. “Will you escort me in to supper, Mr Theris?”
The drone gave a dramatic shrug. “Sooner you be supper than me.” His tone grated. If he was unhappy with his drone status, why was he still here? Especially when everyone else had left. And why was he the only one in the hive allowed to see the queen and bring her supper? What made him so trusted by the hierarchy?
“Oh, it’ll be you, still, Mr Theris. I’m nowhere near well enough known to your gentlemen vampires to be a meal this evening. My husband and I may be artists, but we are good, honest, hardworking folk and we do not offer our necks on short acquaintance, I assure you!”
“Of course you don’t. Silly me. It’ll be me alone again for snacking, then, always and only me,” Mr Theris grumbled, but also looked smug. Was that it? Did he like having all the power and all the control over the hive as sole drone? Did he want the hive dependent upon him, and him alone?
Dimity allowed her eyes to soften in sympathy. “Yes, so sad you must be under such strain. Quite the burden of responsibility for you alone to withstand. Whatever happened to your fellow drones?”
“They’ve passed on to better places.” Theris sounded as morose as Finbar all of a sudden.
Dimity shuddered. He made it sound as if they’d all been killed. Yet a hive never intentionally killed its drones, so that made no sense. The hive motto was always to practice restraint and never drain a human dry. Corpses did no one any good. It was not only the law, it was also a vampire’s sacred oath. After all, they were proper British citizens, not monsters! Clearly the queen, at least, had control left. The shepherdess had been fine and dandy when she departed. Was one of the other vampires going mad? Had one of them drained all their food stock? Had it been Lord Finbar? Lord Kirby?
Behind her, Dimity felt Cris shift, as if ready to fight. This was something they must include in their first report. This was something they must investigate. Were the former Nottingham drones all dead? Surely BUR would have known that. The bodies. The smell.
Mr Theris resumed his poised dramatis personae. “Only I was strong enough to stay. Only I was good enough to remain to witness her shame. Only I! She shows only me her favor. I’m the only one allowed to see her anymore. Apart from her nibbles, of course.” He gestured at the door and the shepherdess now long gone.
“You don’t say? How fascinating. Only you? You are special, Mr Theris. I couldn’t see her, could I? I’m almost a shepherdess.” Dimity puffed up her chest and tried to look innocent and wholesome and countrified.
“Oh no, certainly not, Mrs Carefull. She’s very, very particular. And what do you mean, shepherdess? That was clearly a milkmaid.”
Dimity smiled again. “Oh well, perhaps someday. I do so long to meet a vampire queen. Shall we go in?”
The meal was not typical for vampires. Generally speaking, each member of a hive would sit at table with a human kneeling next to them. After the humans who were invited as guests to eat (and not be eaten) had begun their first course, the vampires would begin gently sipping.
Dimity had never attended such a supper party, but she had read about them.
In the Nottingham Hive, however, supper was somewhat different. As they entered the dining room, they were confronted by three seated vampires, with three empty chairs across from them. No kneeling humans at all.
Dimity wondered how all three would sip off Mr Theris at once. Would each stand, walk around the table, and take a bite, as if he were a buffet?
Clearly not. Instead, it appeared the vampires intended to simply sit on the other side of the table and stare at the three humans while they ate. It felt a little like they were specimens under observation. Dimity was grateful for her impeccable table manners.
Opposite them, Lord Finbar sat in the center. To his left was Lord Kirby. On his right was a veritable waif of a person. A frail brunette, with enormous dark eyes, a perfect heart-shaped face, and full Cupid’s bow lips.
“Justice,” said Lord Finbar, as if pronouncing it upon them. Had Dimity not read the file, she would never have realized it was the name of the waif.
Justice Wignall was the youngest member of the hive, only around fifty or so, and really quite lovely. Dimity had never seen a man so pretty before. Extraordinary. It was near impossible to tell if he was a man or a woman – instead, he occupied a liminal space between, like an underhill fae out of Irish folklore. Dimity only thought of him as male because the file told her to.
Justice was dressed to bridge the two as well. The only member of the hive Dimity had yet seen not wearing black, although he was still in velvet. Justice wore white – one of those soft billowing shirts commonly seen on operatic pirates. Presumably, there were britches or trousers as well, but the shirt was so dramatically oversized it was difficult to deduce more at table. It was loose about the neck so that it fell to one side, exposing one delicate white shoulder. Justice’s hair was long and flowing free, and unlike the other vampires, glossy and full. He was painfully slender about the face and throat, but he didn’t look hungry so much as sculpted.
Dimity swallowed down a little awe. Never had she thought to meet a man prettier than she. He also seemed, for lack of a better word, lost.
While Lord Kirby glowered at them and Lord Finbar slouched in gloom and (presumably) thought of poetry, Justice didn’t even seem to see them, instead getting distracted by the flickering shadows cast by the candles on the tablecloth. Occasionally, he floated a hand up to rest it on the tabletop, as if his wrist were pulled up on a string. Then that hand would slowly slide off while the other rose. It was hypnotic.
The food was served all in one by Mr Theris, the plates made up with a selection of meat pies and stewed fruit, simple fare from the local bakery. Clearly, the hive no longer had even a cook. Dimity passed half of hers to Sir Crispin, as he clearly required more fuel. Once they finished, no one came to whisk their plates away, and there seemed to be no pudding course in the offing. Truly, Mr Theris was the only one left. He simply sat, looking bored.
Lord Finbar cleared his throat and began what could only be a hive meeting.
Dimity thought it very mean that they’d not been served claret with supper or port to follow. The hive could more than afford libations. This one pretended to be run down, but she knew from BUR’s paperwork that there was money in the coffers. Vampires tended to invest well and thoughtfully, even the roves. There was no such thing as a poor vampire – not in England.
“As our guests appear seen to, we must get on with the evening’s activities. Mr and Mrs Carefull, you are most welcome to our humble home, and as you aren’t our drones, just yet,” Finbar intoned, “you must excuse our not entertaining you after dinner, as we must hunt.”
Dimity gave a little gasp. They were hunting, were they? Hunting the unwilling? That was strictly forbidden. They would need to report that fact to BUR immediately.
Justice – and somehow it was impossible to think of him by anything but his given name – mustered up a tiny smile. “Don’t looked so shocked, darlings. Nothing so dire as actual hunting, I assure you. What he means to say is we have pubs to visit and humans to court into offering their necks. It’s always consensual, I promise most faithfully.”
“Speak for yourself, larva. I intend to hunt like the true vampire I am!” grumbled Lord Kirby, eyeing Dimity’s neck covetously.
Lord Finbar coughed. “Speaking of, Cinjin, I need you to check our queen’s chambers when she takes her bath. One of the neighbors has gone missing. I thought we’d been supplying her highness steadily, but one never knows what trauma may flow from the perpetual lament and crystal tears of our great and grieving lady, does one?”
Dimity thought this might be a joke, but couldn’t be certain.
Mr Theris nodded and stood to leave. The others followed. Lord Finbar and Lord Kirby quit the room without acknowledging Dimity or Cris again. Only Justice gave them an absent smile before he drifted out.
They were left alone in the candlelight.
“Well, I say,” said Dimity.
“One couldn’t agree more,” replied Sir Crispin, in a sepulchral parody of Lord Finbar.
At one point in his life, Sir Crispin Bontwee might have experienced an odder meal or a more peculiar set of introductions, but he was hard pressed to remember it. Lacking any further social obligations, he and Dimity made their way back to their dilapidated room.
As they walked up the stairs Dimity said loudly, no doubt in the hope that they were overheard, “Well, husband, it seems our worst fears are realized. I’m going to need more French fashion papers, that’s certain. And probably an additional book of Latin verse. I’m thinking transcendentalism might be in order, too. Oh, and I’ll need more paints. I’m feeling inspired by cerulean at the moment. Can you feel it? Definitely cerulean.”
“Of course, my dear,” said Cris, equally loudly.
Dimity was providing reasons for them to leave the hive. Because she knew that what they must do next was contact the nearest BUR offices with their initial findings. They’d ascertained that the male vampires were hunting and the missing drones possibly all dead. On the bright side, the queen was eating full meals of milkmaids. On the down side, she might have killed a neighbor.
Dimity no doubt understood that the local BUR outpost should be alerted. If nothing else, a hive gone mad was quite a bit of paperwork. But Cris didn’t think she understood that BUR was likely to order Dimity and Cris out and a sundowner in to kill the whole hive. He didn’t like keeping her in the dark about it. Cris was a safety, not a secret keeper.
So in their room, before changing, he activated Dimity’s auditory disruptor and pulled her close to whisper in her ear. “Did Bertie warn you of the consequence of our failing this mission?”
Dimity shook her head against him, breath quick. “No, what is it?”
“Sundowner.”
Dimity gasped. “You’re authorized?”
“No. You?”
“No. So they’ll bring in an outsider.”
Cris tried not to inhale a strand of her hair. “Lord Maccon, most likely.”
Dimity gave a tiny harrumph. “He’s reputed to be effective… but a werewolf. That’s not good. He’ll take out the queen? They think she’s that bad?”
Crispin didn’t want to tell her the whole – she had a soft heart and so far, none of the vampires they’d met deserved to die. They’d been grumpy, rude, and distracted, but that was no reason to kill a man. Mr Theris was another matter.
“No, they’ll kill all four of them.”
Dimity started. “The whole hive? Dead? Oh, but they don’t seem so bad. Why wasn’t I told?”
“Didn’t want you overwrought by the timeline and the consequences, I suspect.”
Dimity bristled. “I’ve worked under pressure before, but I suppose this is more dire than usual.” She paused, almost eagerly leaning against him now, forgetting their intimate embrace in her earnestness to both communicate and be as quiet as possible. “We must save them.”
Crispin hoped she’d say that. He’d hoped the threat would stiffen her resolve, not throw her into a panic. Of course his Sparkles was made of sterner stuff.
Indeed, her crafty mind was already working on a new approach. “I need a better plan. Even I am not a good enough seductress to save a hive from death using eyelash fluttering and late-night confessions. Besides, with the possible exception of Mr Theris, and you took him off the table, I don’t think any of them are particularly interested in my wiles. We need to concentrate on extracting the queen. I should—”
“Let’s talk about this later, Sparkles, at tea in town? Surely one of the teahouses in Nottingham keeps London hours.”
“Tea is a lovely idea. I really need tea. We haven’t been served it once since we arrived.”
Cris enjoyed the idea of getting out of this gloomy place and escorting Sparkles to a teahouse. She would get all bright and bubbly and delighted by the improved atmosphere, and he would be seen in public with her as his wife. It wasn’t real, of course, but the very idea puffed him up with pride.
Dimity frowned. “Perhaps we should not tell BUR of our initial findings? I don’t want them to panic and accelerate the schedule. I need time to figure all of this out. The last thing we want is a growling sundowner in the wings.”
“I agree, but the danger isn’t to be discounted. They are hunting, Sparkles. There is a good chance the drones are dead.” Cris was torn – his duty dictated that he get her out now that they knew how risky the situation, but then the hive would die. Or he could trust in his Sparkles and her abilities to fix this in two weeks. That left only him to keep her safe from possibly feral vampires. And he wasn’t trained for vampires.
Dimity moved away. “This definitely calls for tea.”
Budgy Hall was located close to the center of Nottingham, so fortunately they need not hire a carriage. Or worse, try to activate the hive’s. They could walk. The city was modern enough to have good, strong lamplight and clean cobbles for their late-night stroll.
Dimity wore a pale peach visiting dress that made her skin appear luminous. It had some sort of shiny stripe to it, a square neckline with big buttons down the front, and a matched bonnet. Around her neck she had clasped an elaborate gold and pearl necklace. She looked pure and fresh-faced, as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. When occupying a role, her steps were shorter and with more sway to the hips. When she wasn’t being Honey Bee, she was naturally a purposeful walker with a long stride. One of the first things Cris had ever noticed about her, after the hair, was that he didn’t outpace her. And he outpaced most people.
Because they’d said they would (in a manner that had likely been overheard), they did a little shopping around Nottingham first. It was after ten, but many of the best shops were still open. Fashionable hours, indeed. Fortunate, this, as Mr and Mrs Carefull needed to be noticed and known in the town. They didn’t buy much – paints (to keep up appearances) and some tea – but Cris noted the way Dimity’s eyes lingered on a pair of opal drop earrings set in gold filigree.
He’d read the reports on Dimity Plumleigh-Teignmott, AKA Honey Bee. He’d read them more times than was necessary, truth be told. Listed under her susceptibilities and weaknesses were expensive jewelry, baked meringues, and handsome men. Also noted was the fact that, while weaknesses, no one was quite certain whether these might be exploited, as she’d encountered a great deal of all three during her service to the Crown and to date had never lost her wits over any of them. But the file said it was a possibility.
Cris thought he’d like to try all three at once. And hoped he qualified as handsome enough for the Honey Bee.
She moved with confidence around this city she’d never visited before. He fell into a back guard position without meaning to – less lead and more escort. Without his even realizing it had happened, they were bypassing the local BUR offices and entering a teahouse.
Dimity started in with her new plan as soon as the tea arrived. Fortunately for them, the teahouse was mostly deserted. It might keep London hours, but it was clear not all that many in Nottingham did.
“I am thinking we need to lure the baroness back into society.” Dimity spoke in modified code, just in case, avoiding mention of their being vampires and pretending this was more a matter of aristocratic family dynamics. She was very good.
Cris nodded for her to continue.
She nibbled a bit of apple charlotte. “I must redecorate and meddle. If I cause enough fuss and ruckus, she might get curious.”
“Or territorial.” He liked the idea, admittedly mostly because it didn’t involve seduction.
“Hard to know for certain, since we don’t know why she withdrew in the first place. I’ll have to work on them for that information. But if I also make the place pretty, maybe once we get her back up, she’ll want to stay.”
Cris accepted a fresh cup of tea. “You’ll need to take over housekeeper duties. Theris isn’t going to like that. He seems to want them dependent on him.”
“Yes, I noticed that, too. I’ll be housekeeper if you’ll be steward.”
“Not butler?”
“Do you buttle then, husband?”
“Not at all well.”
Her grin was full of mischief and he adored it. “This is going to be fun, and if I can pull it off in two weeks, it’s also a good one to go out on.”
“Go out on, Sparkles? What do you mean?” Was she leaving the War Office? Was she leaving him? He felt a sudden sick dread. They didn’t always work together, but the possibility that his next mission might be with her was one of the reasons he kept doing missions at all.
She gave him an assessing look. “That’s not important. Not right now. I haven’t made my final decision yet. I’m waiting on someone, you see?”
Cris had no idea what she was on about. Clearly he was losing the code to her enigmatic nature. He decided he had enough to worry about.
They returned to Budgy Hall in the small hours clutching a few small packages and feeling a renewed sense of purpose. They were asleep shortly thereafter, and Crispin even let himself enjoy her soft body curled against his.
Vampires did not bestir themselves during the day, and after years of service, no doubt Mr Theris kept entirely nighttime hours. Therefore, Dimity felt it wise to get up the next morning when they might not be interfered with. Sir Crispin agreed.
First things first.
Dimity and Sir Crispin got hot cross buns from the bakery down the way and then went ’round to the local domestics agency to retain parlormaids. Three of them. Dimity enquired after a cook, scullery maid, footmen, and butler, but was told those positions would take longer to fill. Sir Crispin did as well as he could pretending to be a new steward (really, the man was soldier-stiff sometimes and not a good actor) while she played housekeeper (with consummate aplomb) and no one even questioned their authority or their settling of Budgy Hall’s account. Few knew that the Hall was a hive house. It was considered nothing more than an upstanding residence of unprecedented eccentricity and pecuniary liquidity. In other words, one did not quibble with requests from staff representing weird wealthy aristocrats. Dimity and Crispin looked to be respectable folk, exactly the kind of couple eccentric toffs would hire to manage their earthly concerns.
The agency was an efficient one and shortly after the midday toll, three fresh-faced young lasses were on the stoop.
Dimity immediately put them to work. One dusting, one sweeping and beating out carpets, and the third washing whatever needed to be washed. Which was most anything washable.
Then she took measurements and sent lovely, tolerant Sir Crispin back out to order new curtains. For the entire house.
She began to draw up lists of means by which Budgy Hall might be modernized, what needed to be stocked, who else must be hired, and what tradesmen’s services should be contracted. They’d need the sweeps round to see to all the chimneys. She wanted the roof looked at because there was definitely a leak in the upstairs hallway, and of course she threw open every window sash she could, to air out the place. No one was awake to stop her. She explained to the new maids that the residents were very fashionable indeed, and did not bestir themselves until visiting hours that evening. They were to be left in their rooms upstairs, undisturbed. The girls found this entirely understandable. After all, had they been wealthy lords and ladies of leisure, they would have done the same.
Dimity nodded sagely. “Wouldn’t we all, darlings? Wouldn’t we all?”
She thought about getting flowers in, but then decided perhaps next week would be better, after everything was shipshape and the initial shock had worn off. Fresh flowers might be too much for vampires right away.
Presuming she had a next week. Sir Crispin had given her some leeway, but she knew that if anything concretely confirmed the drones dead or the hunting deadly, he would whisk her away and the hive would be doomed. He’d been kind to give her this chance, but he was an honest man and he took his duty as safety seriously. Too seriously.
The unusual amount of activity in the house eventually woke Mr Theris, who came down blinking in the afternoon light, and clearly annoyed by a change to his abode and schedule.
“What on earth is going on here?”
Dimity spared a moment to wish Sir Crispin were back, because the actor looked almost violent. Then she remembered that she was trained for this kind of thing, and most people were not at their best when first waking up.
“Mr Theris, there you are. I thought I would make a few minor improvements to the place while we are staying with you. I need room to paint, you see, breathing space, liberty, freedom! All this clutter and dust about, it interferes with my creative impulses. No doubt, as a noted actor yourself, you feel similarly? Speaking of which, isn’t this terribly early for you? Should you not return to your chambers? I assure you, I have everything well in hand.” She gave him a look that said this was perfectly normal behavior for visitors to a hive.
The man went from angry to confused. “What? Is this a dream? What is going on? Now, Mrs Carefull, I don’t think you should. Not take down the curtains, Mrs Carefull, they’ve not been moved in a hundred years.”
“All the more reason to see them cleaned.”
“Absolutely not!”
“You’re quite right. Why bother cleaning them? We should replace them entirely. What a good idea, Mr Theris. Blue, do you think?”
He sputtered at her, now part anger and part confusion, still bleary-eyed.
Dimity gave him her best, most winsome smile. “No, you’re correct. Not blue. Something lighter. Cream, perhaps? Or pale pink?” Dimity tapped her cheek with the feathered quill (it was the only writing implement she’d been able to find, and frankly, she was startled the ink pot hadn’t dried out). She added wallpaper stripping and whitewashing to her list and then wondered about reupholstering the sitting room, at the very least. Surely it had to be done?
“Mrs Carefull, stop distracting me. What is this chaos?” He gestured at the three neat maids who were working diligently in an entirely not chaotic manner.
“Chaos, oh, you are droll. It’s simply a bit of light cleaning. Go back to bed, do. Think of how nice and sweet-smelling everything will be when you rouse again.”
He looked like he might remove her bodily from the house, and then eject the new maids, except that Sir Crispin returned at that juncture and gave him a threatening glare. Clearly too tired to deal with surprise cleaning sessions from invading artists, the drone threw up his hands. “I can’t cope with this right now! I’ll speak to you both later, after dark, and we’ll see what Lord Finbar makes of these presumptuous ways of yours.”
“I hardly think cleaning is tricky, Mr Theris. Sensible, more like,” replied Dimity, knowing she shouldn’t press, but Sir Crispin was there making her feel quite safe, as was his wont, and she did so love having the last word.
Mr Theris glared at them both and then retreated back upstairs.
“That went well,” said Sir Crispin, putting down his packages.
“He definitely thinks this is his domain.”
“He might be quite violent in its defence. A man like that, with a small amount of power. He’ll guard it jealously.”
Dimity nodded, “I agree, but you forget I can defend myself.”
“You would show our hand if you did. What would a busybody artist know of such things?”
“Fair point. Now, about those curtains?”
With only three maids, she could only get so much done, and Dimity kept having to send Sir Crispin – Cris – out after something or another. He seemed willing. After all, he liked to be given tasks. He liked to be in motion, and Dimity was beginning to suspect, for all his frowns and grumping at her, that he liked pleasing her, too.
Nevertheless, by the time the sun set and the vampires were scheduled to rise from the dead, Dimity felt that they’d made an excellent start.
Lord Finbar came down first. He blinked, made a snuffling noise that might have been approval when he noticed a maid and her duster. He even, perhaps, understood on some level that things downstairs had all been cleaned. Of course, he muttered something about how dusters intruded on the sanctity of his enduring loneliness.
“Now, Lord Finbar,” Dimity made herself known to the vampire, bustling up to him and taking his arm in a comforting manner, “you leave the nice girl to her duties. She’s doing an excellent job. Come along with me and see what I’ve discovered in the library. That painting I wrote to you about, the one I found the record of the baroness buying? Well, it is indeed here in your collection. It’s hanging in the library and it’s so very beautiful! I know my friend coordinating the Dutch masters exhibition in London would simply love to borrow it.”
Lord Finbar was clearly befuddled, but he was passive enough under her influence.
Dimity wondered if he had even noticed the staff had gone in the first place, and whether the reappearance of parlormaids felt more to him as if they had never been gone.
“But could they not dust during the daylight hours?” he complained.
Dimity patted his velvet-covered arm. “It’s only just after sunset. And while I’m sure they could, there’s a bit of extra tidying to do, this once. Could you not be patient, for me?” She made her eyes big and looked longingly up into his long, somber face.
“But what about the depths of my ennui? Have you considered that, my dear Mrs Carefull? No, you have not. Why? Because everyone always forgets about me and my woes.”
Dimity guided him towards the library, one of the first rooms she’d had cleaned, exactly for this reason – because she’d guessed it was Lord Finbar’s territory and she wanted it ready when he came down. Lord Finbar seemed like the kind of man, vampire or not, who liked a library above all else. “I’m here for you now, dear Lord Finbar. And I was thinking of you and your melancholy when I realized that a few teeny-weeny, oh-so-minor changes would improve matters for you no end. Just think, no dust means no sneezing. Nothing disturbs a good despondency like a sneeze. Don’t you agree? So, this will help you with that. I’m so charmed by your wonderful house, but don’t you think it a touch gloomy? Just brightening it up a mite will mean your own natural moroseness will be more striking by contrast. When you’re feeling better, we’ll discuss replacing the throw rugs. They’re doing wonderful things with color these days, you know? I was thinking something restful for the sitting room. What’s that color of the sky midafternoon?”
“Blue?” suggested Lord Finbar, looking lost.
“Yes, but what’s it named?”
“Sky blue?”
“Yes, that’s the stuff. Or robin’s egg. So lovely in the spring, don’t you feel? Although of course you don’t have the opportunity see a blue sky, do you? Well never you mind about that. I’ll simply do over the whole sitting room to remind you of how lovely the spring is.”
“In blue?”
“Exactly, as you say, blue. What an excellent suggestion, Lord Finbar. You’re brilliant! Blue is exactly the thing for the sitting room. Why didn’t I think of it?”
“I am? You didn’t?”
Dimity nodded reassuringly, and guided him into the library at last. “We will design it to remind you of all the possibilities in life and daylight. It will inspire considerable verse, I promise. Now, about this painting...”
She’d left Lord Finbar staring at an oil of an unfortunately chubby horse, cheeky goat, and three chickens that had hung in the library for two hundred years as though he had never seen it before.
When Lord Kirby emerged, on the other hand, he said nothing. Dimity was thinking about how to balance her new housekeeper duties with her front as an artist, and was considering getting out her paints or sketching a bit while the maids worked.
Lord Kirby ran his hand down the newly waxed stair railing as he mooched downstairs.
“Did you know there was mahogany under all that dust, Lord Kirby?”
“I did, Mrs Carefull.” He spoke at last, in a low, sharp voice, but clear, with bite to it. A pudgy man like that ought not to be birdlike, but Dimity found him so. His eye movements were almost too quick, unnaturally so. His steps too, especially when compared to Lord Finbar’s oozing slouch.
As he ran his fingers down the banister, the long sleeve of his robe trailed becomingly. Dimity would have said something complimentary to that effect, but she wasn’t certain yet what her tactics should be with this vampire.
“Lord Finbar is in the library,” she informed him.
“Lord Finbar is always in the library,” grumbled Lord Kirby, darting down the hall presumably towards one of the other rooms. He barely glanced at the new maids – if anything, he seemed shy of them.
Sir Crispin returned shortly after that, to find Dimity rearranging the sitting room to better aesthetic effect. This had started because she wanted to use a writing desk there on which to paint.
“You’re a menace, you are,” he said, fondly. He had packages under one arm and more beeswax in hand.
Dimity put her hands on her hips and grinned at him. “This is so much fun.” Rearranging furniture was leagues better than seducing people.
“Bed anytime soon?” he asked.
Dimity thought he sounded hopeful, or she hoped he sounded hopeful. By rights they should be trying to stay awake, to learn more about the hive and adjust to entirely night-time hours, but they’d had a very long day already.
Justice came flitting downstairs then. He cast himself dramatically over the railing at the top and then sort of a wafted down like a leaf waving back and forth, side to side, in the breeze.
Lord Kirby re-emerged form wherever he’d gone and said in his cutting voice, “You saw that human again last night, didn’t you, Justice? He’ll break your heart into a thousand pieces, he will.”
Dimity stared at Lord Kirby in amazement. Who knew the man was capable of such emotion? True, it seemed to be exasperated contempt, and he was reprimanding a fellow vampire of at least fifty years old as though he were his father. But at least Lord Kirby was reacting to something.
Justice, waifish and frail, paused in mid-descent and pressed a hand to his perfect forehead. “Oh, but I love him so ardently. How can I resist such a man as Gantry Ogdon-Loppes? I ask you?” He spread his delicate fingers wide and cast them over Dimity, Cris, and Lord Kirby below, as if in benediction. The single gas sconce on the wall behind him cast a nimbus of pale light about his thick curls. He pouted fiercely.
Lord Kirby persisted. “You’re a vampire. He’s a human. It’ll never work.”
“Oh, I know it won’t work! But what magic we shall wring from out our hearts with the trying of it – until we both fail tragically and all is in ruins!”
With which he whirled about and drifted back up the stairs, apparently having decided he was not yet ready to face the world. He had not noticed the cleaning at all. Clearly, he had other concerns.
Dimity made certain the maids were out of hearing and well occupied before she turned curiously to Lord Kirby. “Why not turn the lucky fellow into a drone?”
Lord Kirby only held up a hand and walked away.
Dimity looked to Cris. A glimmer of hope! “My darling husband, embrace me.”
Sir Crispin rolled his eyes and did so, allowing her to stand on tippy-toe in order to whisper as quietly as might be, directly in his ear. “If Justice’s amore is a younger son of a progressive family, offering him a drone position should be a very tempting prospect.”
“Unless he’s married, of course,” Sir Crispin whispered (sensibly) back.
Dimity could not help but be a little shocked. “Do you think that likely?”
Cris leaned back and glowered at her, clearly not caring if this bit were overheard by the sensitive ears of a vampire or a parlormaid. “We are dealing with the country gentry, Sparkles. Anything scandalous is possible. Now, I’m for bed, before you send me on another errand.”
Dimity watched him climb the stairs. It must be admitted she did this with a great deal of enjoyment. Sir Crispin did have very fine legs.