CHAPTER SIX
In Which the Parasol Protectorate Acquires a New Member
Lord Akeldama was back from his walk, Prudence was down for her nap, and Tizzy and the nursemaid were relieved of their duties for the moment. The vampire was holding court in his drawing room with a small collection of drones arrayed around him, a bottle of champagne on the end table, and the fat calico cat on his lap. Truth be told, Lord Akeldama had transformed into rather a homebody since becoming a father, much to London’s surprise. This was because home had become, under Prudence’s influence, even more exciting than the social whirl of the ton. Besides, Lord Akeldama had nothing but time; he could afford a few decades to play at parenting. He had, after all, never indulged in such an experience before. When one was a vampire as long-lived as he, new experiences were hard-won, difficult to find, and treasured—like good-quality face powder.
“Alexia, my dearest custard cup, how are you? Was it a perfectly horrid night?”
“Pretty much horrid, yes. And how was your stroll in the park?”
“We were the statement of the hour!”
“Of course you were.”
The drones amicably made room for Alexia to sit, standing prettily while she did so. They then returned to their own chattering, leaving their master and his visitor to carry on together. However, Alexia was very well aware that ears were perked. Lord Akeldama’s drones were trained in such a way as to suit their own intrinsic natures, and in the end, one could never take the love of gossip out of a soul once embedded there. They were as much interested in Lord Akeldama’s secrets as they were in everyone else’s.
“Lord Akeldama, do you think we might have a little word, in confidence? I have had a rather interesting summons and I could use the benefit of your advice.”
“Of course, my dearest girl! Clear the room, please, my darlings. You may take the champagne.”
The drones rose and trooped obligingly out, closing the door behind them.
“Ah, the dears, they are probably all pressed in a huddle with their collective ear to the jamb.”
“Prudence and I have been summoned to visit Queen Matakara, in Egypt. What do you make of that?”
Lord Akeldama was not as awed as Lady Maccon might have hoped. “Ah, my dearest sugar drop, I am only surprised it has taken her so long. You aren’t actually considering going, are you?”
“Not to put too fine a point on it, but yes. I’ve always wanted to see Egypt. There is also a pack matter Conall wishes to investigate there. I have even devised a cover story.”
“Oh, Alexia, my rose hip, I really wish you wouldn’t. Not Egypt. It’s not a nice place, so hot and smelly. Full of tourists in muted colors. The puggle might be endangered. And I, of course, could not accompany you.”
“Endangered by bad smells and muted colors?”
“Not to mention local dress. Have you seen what they wear in that country? All loose and flowy, abominable concessions to comfort and practicality.” Lord Akeldama’s hand floated up and out in the air in a simulation of the flutter of robes worn by exotic tribesmen. He lowered his voice. “There are too many secrets and too few immortals to keep them.”
Alexia pressed further. “And Queen Matakara, have you ever met her?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
Lady Maccon looked at her friend sharply. “What manner?”
“A very long time ago, my dearest pudding drop, you might say she was responsible for everything.”
Alexia gasped. “Oh my giddy aunt! She made you!”
“Well, darling, there is no need to put it so crassly as all that!”
So many questions cluttered Alexia’s mind at this revelation that her head very nearly did take to spinning. “But how did you get here?”
“Oh, silly child. We can move long distances, for a short period of time, right after metamorphosis. How else do you think vampires managed to migrate all over the world?”
Alexia shrugged. “I suppose I thought you simply expanded outward in ever-increasing circles.”
Lord Akeldama laughed. “There would have to be considerably more of us for that, my darling sugar lump.”
Lady Maccon sighed, then asked the best question she could, given Lord Akeldama’s evasiveness. “What can you tell me about Queen Matakara?”
The vampire raised his gem-studded monocle and looked at her through the clear glass. “Not quite the right question, sweetling.”
“Oh, very well. What will you tell me about Queen Matakara? Given that I will be taking your adopted daughter into her hive whether you like it or not.”
“Hard line, my little marmalade pot, but better. I will tell you that she is very old, and her concerns are not that of the shorter lived.”
“No advice at all, not even for Prudence’s sake?”
The vampire looked at her, a slight smile on his face. “You are not above playing all the cards you have been dealt, are you, my darling girl? Very well. You want my advice? Don’t go. More than that? Be careful. What Queen Matakara says is never the whole truth, and what Queen Matakara is has been hidden by the sands of time. It is not that she no longer cares to win; it is that she does not play the game at all. For you and I, my dear, who live for such petty diversions, this is practically impossible to comprehend.”
“Then why ask to see Prudence? Why involve herself?”
“There you have the real danger, my clementine, and the real question, and, of course, there is no way for us to understand the answer.”
“Because she is outside of our understanding?”
“Precisely.”
“You haven’t yet seen the way she dresses.”
While Lyall tracked down dirigible possession records, and Lord Maccon dashed about looking for clues, Lady Maccon planned her trip. Or, to be precise, she told Floote what she wanted and he made the necessary arrangements and procurements. The Tunstells were accounted for, and much to Alexia’s disgust, Countess Nadasdy insisted on sending one of her drones along as ambassador for the English hives.
“She only wants to keep an eye on me,” she objected to Floote while they contemplated which traveling gowns were best suited to an Egyptian climate. “Do you know who she’s sending? Of course you do.”
Floote said nothing.
Lady Maccon cast her hands up into the air in exasperation and began pacing about the room, gesticulating wildly in accordance with her Italian heritage.
“Exactly! Madame Lefoux. That woman simply cannot be depended upon. I’m surprised the countess trusts her so far as she can throw her. Although, I suppose being a vampire, she could throw her quite far. Then again, perhaps she is sending her along because she doesn’t trust her. I mean, who is Genevieve favoring these days? Me, the vampire, the OBO, or herself?”
“A woman of conflicted loyalties, madam.”
“To say the least! She must live a very complicated life. I’m certain I could never be so duplicitous.”
“No, madam, not in your nature. I shouldn’t let it concern you.”
“No?”
“You can be guaranteed of at least one thing, madam. This time she doesn’t want you dead.”
“Oh, yes? How can I know this?” Alexia huffed, and sat on her bed, her lace robe floating out around her in a waterfall of opulence. “You know, Floote, I really enjoyed her company. That’s the difficulty.”
“You still do, madam.”
“Don’t be familiar, Floote.”
Floote ignored this, in the manner of long-time family retainers everywhere. “It will be good for you to have someone like her along, madam.”
“Like what? What do you mean, Floote?”
“Sensible. Scientific.”
Alexia paused. “Are you speaking as my butler or as my father’s valet?”
“Both, madam.”
Floote’s face was, as always, practically impossible to read. But after days of packing and organizing, Lady Maccon was beginning to get the distinct impression that he did not approve of Egypt.
“You don’t want me to go, do you, Floote?”
Floote paused, looking down at his hands, perfectly gloved in white cotton, as was appropriate to upstairs staff.
“I made Mr. Tarabotti two promises. The first was to keep you safe. Egypt is not safe.”
“And the second?”
Floote shook his head ever so slightly. “I can’t stop you, madam. But he wouldn’t want you to go.”
Alexia had read her father’s journals. “I have done a great deal in my life he would not have approved of. My marriage, for one.”
Floote went back to packing. “He would want you to live as you wished, but not in Egypt.”
“I am sorry, Floote, but it’s time. If you won’t tell me the missing parts of my father’s life, perhaps someone there will.” Alexia had always thought Floote’s loyalty was absolute. Floote had stayed with her pregnant mother when Alessandro abandoned them. He had changed her nappies when she was a babe. He had left the Loontwill household to attend Alexia after her marriage to a werewolf. Now, she thought for the first time, perhaps it was his loyalty to her dead father that was unshakable and she was merely a proxy player.
Later that night, when her husband came home, Alexia curled against him rather more fiercely than she ordinarily might. Conall knew his wife well enough to sense the confusion and offer physical comfort of the kind she had given him only a few evenings earlier. In his touch, Alexia found reassurance. She also realized that with both Conall and Ivy along, she was leaving her home interests unsupervised. Lyall owed his loyalty to Lord Maccon, and she considered him an unreliable source ever since she found out he was behind the Kingair assassination attempt. Lord Akeldama’s motives were always his own. Who did that leave her?
Things remained excitedly on the go all that week. Biffy carved out what time he could for his precious hats but nevertheless found himself drawn into the excitement of Dubh’s murder investigation and Egyptian travel. He simply couldn’t abstain. He was overly intrigued by the affairs of others.
He did manage to return to his duties as lady’s valet. He rather adored Lady Maccon, and had from the moment she first appeared in Lord Akeldama’s life. She had such an endearingly practical way of looking at the world. He had once described her to a colleague as the type of female who was born a grande dame. Everyone and everything had a proper place or she would see they were put into one of her own devising. Although she did require his guidance in the manner of her toilette. So far as Biffy was concerned, that, too, was an admirable quality in a lady. He enjoyed being needed, and Lady Maccon would be lost without him.
Which was precisely what she said as he fussed about with her hair. “Oh, Biffy, how do you do it? So lovely, you know I should be utterly lost without you.”
“Thank you very much, my lady.” Biffy finished cleaning the curling tongs and placed them into a drawer, standing back to take a critical look at his masterwork.
“That will do, my lady. Now, what would you like to wear this evening?”
“Oh, something sensible I think, Biffy. I won’t be doing anything more exciting than packing.”
Biffy went to look at her row of dresses. “How are preparations coming along for the trip?” He selected a day gown of cream striped in red with a cuirasse bodice of black velvet and a matched black underskirt. He paired this with a forward-tilting wide-brimmed hat with masculine overtones counteracted by a great array of feathers. Alexia thought the hat a little much but bowed to Biffy’s judgment and allowed herself to be trussed up.
“Admirably, I believe. All of us should be prepared to leave the day after tomorrow. I am rather looking forward to it.”
“I do hope you enjoy yourself.”
“Thank you, Biffy. There was one more thing. I was wondering if I might prevail upon you. That is…” Lady Maccon paused, as though embarrassed or unable to find the words.
Biffy immediately left off fastening all the copious small buttons at the back of her gown and circled around to stand next to her, meeting her eyes via the looking glass. “My lady, you know you have only to ask.”
“Oh, yes, of course. But this is a matter of some delicacy. I want it to be your own choice. Not one driven by pack or status.”
She turned so they could look at each other face-to-face and took one of his hands in hers. He felt the effect of her touch instantly, an awareness of mortality, a dimming of his supernatural senses. It was a little like dropping out of the aether into the lower atmosphere, a sinking sensation in the stomach. He had learned to ignore the feeling. What with dressing and arranging Lady Maccon’s hair, he experienced it frequently.
“I have a little private consortium. I was wondering if, perhaps, you might be persuaded to join.”
Biffy was fascinated. “What kind of consortium?”
“A sort of secret society. I will, of course, require a vow of silence.”
“Naturally. What do you call yourselves?”
“The Parasol Protectorate.”
Biffy smiled. “I am enthralled by the concept of a society named after an accessory. Do go on, my lady.”
“I am afraid you would be only our third member. Currently, the society consists of myself and Ivy Tunstell.”
“Mrs. Tunstell?”
“She was rather invaluable in a matter of some considerable delicacy just before Prudence was born.”
“What is the purpose of this society?”
“I suppose the root of the Protectorate is to seek truth and protect the innocent. In as polite and well accessorized a way as possible, of course.”
“That seems quite glamorous enough to me.” Biffy was rather taken with the idea of being in a club with the estimable Lady Maccon. It sounded most diverting. “Do I make a pledge?”
“Oh, dear. I did invent one for Ivy, but it is a tad ridiculous.”
“Splendid.”
Lady Maccon giggled. “Very well. Fetch me one of those parasols, please. I’m afraid the original pledge required my special parasol, but one of those will do as a replacement.”
“Your special parasol, my lady?”
“Oh, just you wait. I’ll have something made for you. Perhaps a particular top hat?”
“Particular?”
“Lots of hidden gadgets, concealed compartments, covert weaponry, and the like.”
“What a horrid thing to do to a perfectly nice top hat!”
“Cane, then?”
Biffy tilted his head in consideration. Then he remembered Lord Akeldama’s gold pipe that was actually a glaive. “Perhaps a cane. Now, about that pledge?” He was not about to allow Lady Maccon to deny him ready amusement.
His mistress sighed. “If you insist, Biffy. Spin the parasol three times and repeat after me: I shield in the name of fashion. I accessorize for one and all. Pursuit of truth is my passion. This I vow by the great parasol.”
Biffy couldn’t help it; he started to laugh, but he did as he was bid.
“Do try to keep a straight face,” said his mistress, although she said it around her own grin. “Now pick the parasol up and raise it open to the ceiling.”
Biffy did as instructed.
“Ivy insisted we seal the vow in blood, but I hardly think that necessary, do you?”
Biffy raised his eyebrows. It was fun watching Lady Maccon squirm.
“Oh, I had no idea you would be so difficult. Very well.” She retrieved a small knife from her armoire. It was not silver, so in order to make the cut, she had to hold on to Biffy’s wrist with her bare hand, keeping him mortal.
“May the blood of the soulless keep your own soul safe,” she intoned, cutting a tiny slice in the pad of her thumb and then in his and pressing the two together.
Biffy had a moment of panic. What might her preternatural blood do to his werewolf blood? But the second she let go, his cut healed instantly, leaving no remnant mark behind.
“Now, Mrs. Tunstell goes by the sobriquet Puff Bonnet.”
Biffy let out an uncontrolled bark of laughter.
“Yes, yes. Well, I go by Ruffled Parasol. What would you like your moniker to be?”
“I suppose it ought to be another accessory of some kind?”
Lady Maccon nodded.
“How about Wingtip Spectator?”
“Perfect. I will inform Ivy of your indoctrination.”
“And now, my lady, I assume there is a reason for your recruiting me at this particular time?”
Lady Maccon looked at him. “You see, Biffy? That’s what I mean. You are an adorably smart thing, aren’t you?”
Biffy raised an eyebrow.
“I require someone to monitor London while Ivy and I are abroad. Keep me informed as to the nature of the murder investigation. Keep an eye on Channing’s behavior—and Lyall’s for that matter. And the vampires, of course.”
“Tall order, my lady. Professor Lyall?”
“Everyone has secrets Biffy, even Lyall.”
“Especially Professor Lyall, my lady. I’d say he is keeping a goodly number of everyone else’s secrets as well as his own.”
“You see, what did I say? Perceptive. Now, there will be irregular dirigible mail during our steamer crossing. I’ll provide you with a schedule of the ones you’ll need to utilize, depending on where we are. After that, I intend to set up an aethographic connection to the public access transmitter in Alexandria. I have the valve frequensor codes here, and I will give them mine. Thereafter, you will have to send all messages in code. I’ll send you the first one just after sunset the day after we arrive—London sunset. Please coordinate the timing and be ready to receive. Lord Akeldama trained you in the use of an aethographic transmitter?”
“Of course.” Biffy had known the workings of every single transmitter since the technology first came to London those many years ago. “This is going to be delightful fun, isn’t it, my lady?”
At that, Lady Maccon put an arm about his waist and leaned her head on his shoulder. “That’s the spirit!”
“Oh, dear heavens, Ivy, must you bring so many hats?”
They had let the entire first-class coach for the short haul from London to Southampton, where their steamer awaited the tides. Lady Maccon stood next to her husband on the platform waiting to board.
Mrs. Tunstell was wearing a traveling gown of pale pink and apple-green stripes, trimmed with multiple blue trailing ribbons. Her hat was a great tower of feather puffs, pink and green, through which peeked the heads of stuffed bluebirds and more ribbons. In addition to her hatboxes, of which she took the greatest care and supervision, Mrs. Tunstell was accompanied by her husband, her children, their nursemaid, the wardrobe mistress, the prop master, a set designer, and six supporting cast members. Being actors, the whole lot of them performed the simple act of loading and boarding a train with all the pomp and circumstance of a three-ring circus.
Everyone was a flutter of broad gestures, eye-searing attire, and loudly projected voices. Tunstell was his usual cheery redheaded self, the excitement of travel merely causing him to grin more broadly at the world. Alexia wouldn’t exactly accuse Tunstell of being the kind of man who wrote sonnets, but his britches were overly tight and in a vocal plaid, his top hat was purple, and his traveling coat was scarlet. In fact, his entire outfit seemed an impressionistic take on riding out for the hunt. Biffy, who had come to the station to see them off, looked as though he might faint at the very sight of it and took his leave quite hurriedly.
Alexia carried Prudence in her naked arms, waiting until the sun was properly up, at which juncture she could hand the squirming toddler off to her husband without fear of any furry recriminations. It was a great embarrassment to be seen in public without her gloves, but she was taking absolutely no chances. They had a train to catch. Prudence simply couldn’t be allowed to delay matters by turning wolf and running off.
There had been a very tearful good-bye before they left their house. Lady Maccon held Prudence close while Lord Akeldama peppered his puggle with kisses. Tizzy, Boots, and all the other drones made their farewells as well, doling out an excessive number of coos and coddles to Prudence, as well as small gifts for the journey. Lady Maccon was beginning to suspect her child of being rather spoiled. All this excitement caused Prudence to come over tetchy for the duration of the ride to Waterloo Station. Alexia had only just gotten her settled when they were summarily immersed in the chaos of the Tunstells’ acting troupe.
Of course, Prudence was beaming in delight at all the drama and color. She was very much Lord Akeldama’s daughter in this and clapped her chubby little hands when Mrs. Tunstell ordered the porter to fit all her hatboxes inside the train car at once and the poor man went tumbling backward, hats flying everywhere.
“Stay!” Mrs. Tunstell ordered her hats.
“Oh, really, Ivy. Let the porter handle things. The man knows what he is doing. Get your party settled.” Alexia was as annoyed as her daughter was delighted.
“But, Alexia, my hats, they simply can’t be left to just anyone. It’s the collection of a lifetime.”
Lady Maccon told a calculated fib in order to expedite matters. “Oh, but, Ivy, I do believe I see the nursemaid trying to attract your attention from within. Perhaps the twins—”
Mrs. Tunstell immediately forgot all about her precious hats and climbed hurriedly up into the train to see if her little angels were indeed suffering any possible distress.
Unlike Prudence, the Tunstell twins were apparently bored by the prospect of foreign travel. Perhaps their ennui was brought on by near constant exposure to the theatrical lifestyle. Primrose was quietly entranced by all the trim and sparkle about her, clearly her mother’s daughter. Periodically tiny arms would wave out from her bassinet, reaching for a feather or a particularly gaudy bow. Percy, on the other hand, had spit up obligingly all over the lead villain’s velvet cape and then gone to sleep.
“Alexia, Lord Maccon. Good morning.” A warm, faintly accented voice came wafting from behind them.
Alexia turned. “Madame Lefoux, you made it in good time, I see.”
“As if I would miss this for the world, Lady Maccon.”
“As you can see, it is quite the kerfuffle,” Alexia said. They watched as the last of Ivy’s entourage made their way on board, leaving a mound of luggage behind on the platform.
“Conall, tip the porters well, would you, please?” Lady Maccon prodded her husband into coping with the mountain.
“Of course, my dear.” Lord Maccon wandered over to see to the logistics.
Alexia shifted Prudence to her other hip. “Prudence, this is Madame Lefoux. I don’t believe you have met since your arrival into this world. Madame Lefoux, may I introduce Prudence Alessandra Maccon Akeldama?”
“Dama?” queried Prudence at that.
“No, dear, Lefoux. Can you say Lefoux?”
“Foo!” pronounced Prudence with great acumen.
The Frenchwoman shook Prudence’s pudgy little hand solemnly. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, young miss.”
“Foo Foo,” replied Prudence with equal gravitas. Then, after giving the lady dressed as a gentleman a very assessing look, she added, “Btttpttbtpt.”
The inventor brought along only a small portmanteau for the journey and a hatbox Alexia remembered as being a hatbox only on the surface. Underneath it was a cleverly devised toolkit.
“Expecting trouble, are you, Genevieve?” Alexia forgot to be formal, falling all too quickly into the familiarity bred by a previous journey made together across Europe—a time when she and the inventor had been friends rather than cautious acquaintances.
“Of course. Aren’t you? No parasol, I see. Or not a real one.”
Alexia narrowed her eyes. “No. Mine happened to get destroyed when a certain person brought a certain hive house down around everyone’s ears.”
“I am sorry about that. Things got a touch out of hand.” Madame Lefoux dimpled hopefully.
Alexia was having none of it. “Sorry isn’t good enough. I lost my parasol.” She practically hissed it. The absence still rankled.
“You might have said something. I could easily have made you a replacement. The countess has me very well set up.”
Alexia arched her eyebrows.
“Ah. You don’t trust me now that I belong to the Woolsey Hive. May I remind you that you put me there?”
Alexia sputtered.
“Dada,” said Prudence, warning them both.
Lord Maccon had seen to the luggage. “Well, ladies, Madame Lefoux, shall we? The train is about to depart, and I believe everyone is aboard, save us.” It took him a moment to sense the tension between his wife and her erstwhile friend.
“Now, now, what’s all this about?”
“Foo!” pointed out Prudence.
“Yes, poppet, so I see.”
“Your wife is still missing her parasol.”
“Ah. My dear, I did order you a new one, but it is taking far longer than I expected. You know how scientists can be.”
“Oh, thank you, Conall! I did think it might have slipped your mind.”
“Never, my dear.” He bent and kissed her on the temple. “Now, if that settles matters?”
The sun peeked up, outside the station but definitely rising. The train sounded its horn, loud and long, and the engine began to ramp up, belting bouts of smoke and steam out onto the platform like a sudden, smelly fog.
Lord Maccon grabbed Madame Lefoux’s portmanteau and tossed it up into the coach to the waiting steward. His strength was taxed by the rising sun, but not so much as to make even a large piece of luggage much of a burden. He took Prudence from his wife. His daughter wrapped chubby arms about him in delight. Prudence was growing to love daylight, since she associated it with hugging her father. In addition, her aunt Biffy and her uncle Lyall were more likely to scoop her up and twirl her around when the sun was up.
“Dada,” she said approvingly. Then she leaned forward toward his ear, as if to tell him a secret, and spouted a whole stream of incomprehensible babbling. Alexia figured this was Prudence’s version of gossip. It was probably quite interesting and informative, had it actually been composed of words.
“Prudence, darling,” said her mother as she climbed up into the train. “You must learn to use proper English. Otherwise, you can’t possibly hope to be understood.”
“No,” said Prudence, most decidedly.
Madame Lefoux seemed to find this terribly amusing, for Alexia heard her chuckle behind her as she, too, climbed inside the coach.
The Tunstells’ troupe had already struck up a rousing chorus of “Shine Your Buttons with Brasso,” an extremely bawdy tune entirely ill-suited to the first-class compartment of the Morning Express to Southampton.
Lady Maccon looked at her husband as if he might be one to justify such behavior.
He shrugged. “Actors.”
Prudence, lacking in all sense of dignity and decorum, squeaked in delight and clapped along with the song.
Madame Lefoux immersed herself in some papers from the Royal Society, humming along.
Tunstell demanded ale, despite it being early morning. One of the young ladies from the supporting cast began to dance a little jig in the aisle.
“What will the steward think of us?” said Alexia to no one in particular. “This is going to be a very long trip.”