Imprudence
Page 62
“Mother, are you sure of this decision? I worry about leaving you two in this foreign place alone.”
“Don’t be silly, infant. We’re well equipped to handle ourselves. He’s looking better already, wouldn’t you say?”
“He’s certainly looking older, if that’s what you mean.” Rue nibbled at a funny honey nut biscuit thing.
“Good. He may catch up with me and we shall look the same age.”
Primrose came over perturbed by illogic. “I don’t think mathematics quite work that way, Lady Maccon.”
Mother laughed. “I was trying to lighten the mood. Infant here looks so concerned about life. Or death, as it were.”
Awkward silence permeated the room. Prim poured more tea rather desperately.
Finally, Lady Maccon pulled out her parasol, the ugly one that sprayed things when it wasn’t shooting other things or being used as a blunt instrument. “Prudence dear, I should like you to have this now.” She passed the accessory over. “You know its worth.”
Rue took it gingerly. “Certainly I do, but, Mother, are you certain? It’s very important to you, and you should find a weapon far more useful than I. Particularly as you are residing in a public hotel.”
“Ah, but you, my child, can’t steal immortality inside the God-Breaker Plague. It should make me feel better knowing you had a good weapon. When you leave Egypt and can be metanatural again, I thought Miss Primrose here might be interested in the accessory.”
Primrose was shocked at being included in a family concern. “Oh, I shouldn’t want to take on a family heirloom.”
Lady Maccon snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous, girl, I’m not sentimental. I’ve had half a dozen or so of the bally things.”
Primrose whispered into Rue’s ear in an excess of shock, “Your mother is gifting us with a second-hand parasol?”
Rue hid a smile. Her mother was, at her best, overbearing. She was also not one to be challenged on points of generosity. Best to accept her dubious gift and have done with it.
“You’ve ordered a replacement from Madame Lefoux already, then?”
Lady Maccon grinned at her daughter. “Naturally. With new features designed specifically for a desert climate. I’m looking forward to the modifications about as much as Genevieve is looking forward to designing them. She does love a challenge.” Her mother’s words were coloured with that peculiar affection reserved exclusively for Quesnel’s mother. “And there will be a nice new one for you, Miss Tunstell, eventually – full of useful and ladylike necessities, like perfume, and handkerchiefs, and piccolos, and very small truncheons, and what have you. You’ll want to consider the practical applications to your own daily activities. I find it is always best to go custom in these matters.”
Primrose looked startled. “Thank you kindly but I’ve plenty of perfectly lovely parasols.”
“It’s the principle of the thing.” Lady Maccon was not making a lick of sense.
“Well, then, I cannot wait to return to London to oversee its creation.” Prim’s expression spoke volumes. She was hoping to intercede with Madame Lefoux in order to ensure it was fashion forward, perhaps with a removable shade so she could change the colour.
“I don’t think Genevieve would like that. She doesn’t like to be watched while she works.”
And Primrose didn’t like to be surprised with ugly accessories. There was a battle in the future. But for now, Prim was lady enough to accept her fate, ugly as it was likely to be.
“Well, thank you for my part, Mother. It will be nice to hit people with something more elegant than a mop.”
“A mop!”
“Too long to explain. Now, would you show us how this one works please?”
Lady Maccon did so. “Twist the handle just so and blades come out the tip. See? Very sharp, one silver, one mahogany. Press this button here and the dart emitter is open and activated. You’ve only four darts left, so use them wisely. Normally you get six. They’re a species of numbing poison – works well on humans, not quite so well on immortals.” She reached down to point to a dial at the base of the ferrule, before the fabric started and hidden by a top ruffle. “You have three mists – lapis lunearis in water, lapis solaris in acid, and a lemon basil tincture. The first is for werewolves and it will also discolour human skin. The second is for vampires, and it’s acid, so it will burn almost anything else. The last causes a nasty reaction in supernatural creatures but does no permanent damage. You’re out of the acid, I’m afraid. There are pockets here and here in the ruffle to stash things.”
“Mother, that’s amazing. I had no idea it was so comprehensive.” Rue took the parasol, handling it with more respect than she had ever thought to show an accessory.
Lady Maccon grinned. “It’s most useful.”
Another awkward silence fell.
Rue felt the finality of it engulf her. She cleared a throat choked with sentiment.
“Perhaps we should make our goodbyes?” Rue thought a clean break might be best. She and her mother had never been very good at this kind of thing.
Lady Maccon raised one hand. “There is something I should like to do first. It is a bit silly. Which, to be fair, is all your mother’s fault, Primrose dear. I had to invent something, you see, rather on the spot. And now it is tradition. Ridiculous, but tradition.”
Primrose was serious. “Most traditions are ridiculous, Lady Maccon. Look at Eton.”
“Don’t be silly, infant. We’re well equipped to handle ourselves. He’s looking better already, wouldn’t you say?”
“He’s certainly looking older, if that’s what you mean.” Rue nibbled at a funny honey nut biscuit thing.
“Good. He may catch up with me and we shall look the same age.”
Primrose came over perturbed by illogic. “I don’t think mathematics quite work that way, Lady Maccon.”
Mother laughed. “I was trying to lighten the mood. Infant here looks so concerned about life. Or death, as it were.”
Awkward silence permeated the room. Prim poured more tea rather desperately.
Finally, Lady Maccon pulled out her parasol, the ugly one that sprayed things when it wasn’t shooting other things or being used as a blunt instrument. “Prudence dear, I should like you to have this now.” She passed the accessory over. “You know its worth.”
Rue took it gingerly. “Certainly I do, but, Mother, are you certain? It’s very important to you, and you should find a weapon far more useful than I. Particularly as you are residing in a public hotel.”
“Ah, but you, my child, can’t steal immortality inside the God-Breaker Plague. It should make me feel better knowing you had a good weapon. When you leave Egypt and can be metanatural again, I thought Miss Primrose here might be interested in the accessory.”
Primrose was shocked at being included in a family concern. “Oh, I shouldn’t want to take on a family heirloom.”
Lady Maccon snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous, girl, I’m not sentimental. I’ve had half a dozen or so of the bally things.”
Primrose whispered into Rue’s ear in an excess of shock, “Your mother is gifting us with a second-hand parasol?”
Rue hid a smile. Her mother was, at her best, overbearing. She was also not one to be challenged on points of generosity. Best to accept her dubious gift and have done with it.
“You’ve ordered a replacement from Madame Lefoux already, then?”
Lady Maccon grinned at her daughter. “Naturally. With new features designed specifically for a desert climate. I’m looking forward to the modifications about as much as Genevieve is looking forward to designing them. She does love a challenge.” Her mother’s words were coloured with that peculiar affection reserved exclusively for Quesnel’s mother. “And there will be a nice new one for you, Miss Tunstell, eventually – full of useful and ladylike necessities, like perfume, and handkerchiefs, and piccolos, and very small truncheons, and what have you. You’ll want to consider the practical applications to your own daily activities. I find it is always best to go custom in these matters.”
Primrose looked startled. “Thank you kindly but I’ve plenty of perfectly lovely parasols.”
“It’s the principle of the thing.” Lady Maccon was not making a lick of sense.
“Well, then, I cannot wait to return to London to oversee its creation.” Prim’s expression spoke volumes. She was hoping to intercede with Madame Lefoux in order to ensure it was fashion forward, perhaps with a removable shade so she could change the colour.
“I don’t think Genevieve would like that. She doesn’t like to be watched while she works.”
And Primrose didn’t like to be surprised with ugly accessories. There was a battle in the future. But for now, Prim was lady enough to accept her fate, ugly as it was likely to be.
“Well, thank you for my part, Mother. It will be nice to hit people with something more elegant than a mop.”
“A mop!”
“Too long to explain. Now, would you show us how this one works please?”
Lady Maccon did so. “Twist the handle just so and blades come out the tip. See? Very sharp, one silver, one mahogany. Press this button here and the dart emitter is open and activated. You’ve only four darts left, so use them wisely. Normally you get six. They’re a species of numbing poison – works well on humans, not quite so well on immortals.” She reached down to point to a dial at the base of the ferrule, before the fabric started and hidden by a top ruffle. “You have three mists – lapis lunearis in water, lapis solaris in acid, and a lemon basil tincture. The first is for werewolves and it will also discolour human skin. The second is for vampires, and it’s acid, so it will burn almost anything else. The last causes a nasty reaction in supernatural creatures but does no permanent damage. You’re out of the acid, I’m afraid. There are pockets here and here in the ruffle to stash things.”
“Mother, that’s amazing. I had no idea it was so comprehensive.” Rue took the parasol, handling it with more respect than she had ever thought to show an accessory.
Lady Maccon grinned. “It’s most useful.”
Another awkward silence fell.
Rue felt the finality of it engulf her. She cleared a throat choked with sentiment.
“Perhaps we should make our goodbyes?” Rue thought a clean break might be best. She and her mother had never been very good at this kind of thing.
Lady Maccon raised one hand. “There is something I should like to do first. It is a bit silly. Which, to be fair, is all your mother’s fault, Primrose dear. I had to invent something, you see, rather on the spot. And now it is tradition. Ridiculous, but tradition.”
Primrose was serious. “Most traditions are ridiculous, Lady Maccon. Look at Eton.”
