This worried Sophronia. “Oh, dear Pill, will it detrimentally affect your school standing?”

Pillover shook his head. “No, increase it. Bunson’s doesn’t hold traitorousness against a fellow. After this, I’ll have moved up to Reprobate Genius. One step closer to true Evil.”

“Where’s Vieve?” Sophronia asked, assuming that the little inventor would have been involved in any Bunson’s escapades.

Pillover shrugged. “Said she didn’t want to see large-scale destruction of her beloved technology. Said she knew it’d be necessary, that you’d probably see to it, but she’d rather not know the details.”

Sophronia wondered if Vieve had been thinking of the Picklemen’s mechanicals or if she was smart enough to have realized all along that the airship was the target. It hardly mattered, and even if Sophronia asked, Vieve wouldn’t tell her. Sophronia respected her all the more for that.

“I left Bumbersnoot with her to be fixed.” Dimity’s tone was questioning.

“Good decision.” Sophronia approved, especially as London was likely rife with anti-mechanical sentiment right about now. “So why’d you do it, Pill? I thought you didn’t enjoy adventure.”

“Did I say I enjoyed myself?”

Sophronia did not point out that he was grinning, nor did she say anything about the fact that he kept casting little sideways glances at Agatha.

“Happy to have you here, Pill.” Sophronia hid her own smile.

“Well,” groused Pillover, resuming his normal dour expression, “so you should be.”

Dimity tutted. “Heaven forfend you enjoy yourself, you wombat.”

Agatha said nothing, although she did look a tiny bit smug.

Dimity inched close to Sophronia and clasped her good hand fervently. “What happened after Monique left you? Please don’t keep us in suspense any longer. We were so worried.”

She led Sophronia over to a cluster of chairs around a tea table, some distance from the sleeping Soap. Sophronia chose a seat that allowed her to keep an eye on her werewolf. She wasn’t ready to let him out of her sight again. The bath had taken long enough.

Still full from her breakfast, Sophronia figured there was always room for more tea, and allowed Dimity to pour her a cup. Sipping gratefully, she leaned back and told them the story of the death of the airship.

“I do apologize, Lady Linette. There seemed no other way.”

Her former teacher shook her head, blonde curls bouncing. “We knew it was coming to an end soon, my dear. Geraldine’s girls, I’m afraid, are creatures of the past. Admissions have declined steadily over the years. No one wants their daughter to be an intelligencer anymore.”

“You won’t be starting it back up again?” Sophronia was saddened by this.

Lady Linette and Sister Mattie exchanged looks.

“Not as such,” Lady Linette explained. “Mademoiselle Geraldine now has a bee in her bonnet about starting a school for underprivileged boys, training them up to be physicians of all things. Professor Lefoux is intent on returning to France—she says England has gotten too complicated. Sister Mattie was muttering something about Cornwall, weren’t you, dear? I don’t know what I’ll do. Fortunately, I’m trained for pretty much anything.” She waggled her eyebrows, and for the first time, Sophronia noted that she wasn’t wearing her usual heavy face paint. “I am a mite exhausted by the work. I’ve been at this for three decades now.” She gave a delicate little shudder.

Agatha looked sober. “Thirty years is a lot of Sophronias to deal with.”

“My point exactly,” said Lady Linette with feeling.

A bell at the door drew Pilpo away, which was when Sophronia noticed how many drones had gathered to hear her story. It was a mark of how discombobulated she was that her guard was so far down. Some were entertaining the sooties at cards. It was hard to tell who would do better out of that deal. Smokey Bones had taken possession of a hassock near the coal scuttle, which was probably why he liked that particular spot. The drones no doubt approved of an animal so innately well dressed. They had brushed the little black-and-white cat to a glossy shine heretofore unheard of, and popped a tiny cravat about his neck. They cooed over him in a manner the sooties took as approval of not simply their cat, but themselves as well. It was lending an air of conviviality to the gathering, only improved upon by the fact that unlimited tea, scones, and sardines were on offer. Neither Smokey Bones nor the sooties had ever had it so good.

Sophronia supposed she should have been more discreet when telling her story, but Lord Akeldama probably knew most of it and could guess the rest, even asleep. Sophronia aspired to be like that herself one day. And the sooties deserved to learn what they had been party to. They’d suffered the whip for it, after all, scones or no scones.

Pilpo returned, trailed by Monique de Pelouse.

“I thought I should find you here,” she said.

“You’re better at your job than I suspected,” replied Sophronia.

“Nice to see you haven’t suffered too many ill effects, Miss Temminnick. I brought you the morning paper. You might be interested in the headline.” Monique flipped it open and read out: “‘Secret Society of Picklemen Exposed.’” Then she stopped and paraphrased. “Apparently, the popular press received irrefutable evidence of a secret society of elites engaged in treason and misconduct. Evidence came straight to them, notes in the leader’s own hand. My queen is a little upset that I missed getting hold of the Chutney’s notes and the intelligencer records.”

Sophronia gave her an arch look. “You can’t have it all, Monique.”

“Lord Akeldama may feel similarly.” Pilpo was looking at Agatha, who blushed faintly.

“Ah. You gave them to Dimity, then, I take it?” Monique was no fool.

Sophronia inclined her head.

Monique sighed. “Well, the repercussions are good so far as my countess is concerned. What with that and the rebellion last night, not to mention two reputed deaths, there is wide-scale public outcry against mechanical technology. Mobs have dug up the tracks all over London. People are ripping them out of their houses and piling them in the streets. There’s scrap metal to be collected on every corner. It’s a pity we couldn’t control it, but the Picklemen are shamed and disbanding, and that’s all my queen really cares about.”

She tossed the paper at Dimity, who caught it easily.

“Beautifully done, Miss Plumleigh-Teignmott.”

Dimity saluted her with the paper.

There was a long awkward silence. Monique stood, poised. She showed no repercussions from the previous evening’s activities. Her skin was flawless. She even looked well rested. It was revolting.

Sophronia reached for her nose, wincing at the touch.

Monique stayed, expectant, her attention on Lady Linette. Monique’s posture was perfect, not a hair out of place. Her visiting dress was an expensive French design of printed blue muslin that looked almost like the pattern on Sophronia’s mother’s fine china. Her sleeves were wide and fringed. Perhaps the gown was a little too spring, but Sophronia realized with a jolt, they were headed into spring anyway. New Year’s was over.

A silent battle of wills occurred between Lady Linette and Monique.