Manners & Mutiny
Page 19
“Do you think my aunt will like it?”
“Does she have anything to go with it?” Sophronia was cautious.
Vieve laughed. “Crikey, no. I do know something about fashionable headgear. No, no. I don’t expect her to wear the wretched thing! It’s a bit of a family joke.”
Sophronia relaxed. “Oh, well, in that case, I think it’s wonderful.”
Vieve’s dimples became more pronounced. She resettled the solar hat into its box and took great pains when strapping it to Sophronia’s back.
“Well, my dear Vieve, amazing work as always. Someday you must allow me to repay you for all you’ve done.”
“Sophronia, ma mie, I’m counting on it.” The girl doffed her hat and strode back toward Bunson’s, hands thrust deep into her pockets, whistling an off-key tune under her breath.
SISTERS AND THEIR CONSEQUENCES
What will I do if they’ve forgotten about me?” Sophronia, Dimity, and Agatha were inside the main teahouse in Swiffle-on-Exe, waiting for retrieval over pudding. Pickups took most of the day, and the school had long since disappeared.
“Enjoy the blessed freedom of a Christmas without family?” suggested Agatha.
“I don’t know about that. Some of them aren’t all that bad. I quite like Ephraim’s wife.” Having not seen them in a while, Sophronia was disposed to be magnanimous about her siblings.
“You could come back with me,” suggested Dimity.
“Your parents wouldn’t mind?” Sophronia brightened at the idea. Someone else’s family holiday traditions are always so much more exciting than one’s own.
“Hardly. They know a little about you rescuing Pill and me from the hive. They’re more likely to be embarrassingly gracious. There might even have been some correspondence between our mothers on your brilliance and the excellent nature of our friendship.”
“Goodness, your mother didn’t say anything to mine about our real education, did she?”
“Certainly not. She’d never reveal Mademoiselle Geraldine’s secrets. Mamma takes subterfuge seriously.”
Sophronia relaxed. “Good. And they know to pick you up here?”
“Standard practice, since Geraldine’s always has an early holiday let-out.”
“What about your brother?” asked Agatha, trying to seem disinterested.
“Unspeakable worm. What about him?”
“Is he meeting here as well?”
“No. Bunson’s isn’t out for another week. Mummy always grumbles about having to arrange travel twice. Although not this time, thanks to you.” Dimity flung a companionable arm around Agatha’s shoulders. Agatha hid a grin at the affection by nibbling pudding.
Since her home was only slightly off the route to London, Dimity was to ride with Agatha. Agatha liked the companionship, and Dimity no longer enjoyed trains. Soap crashing a locomotive into a dirigible and subsequent events had given her train-related nightmares.
The girls were in the window seat of the teahouse, which had an excellent view of the meeting square. Agatha’s near-limitless expense account was always good for the best seat at any watering hole. They watched their fellow students being retrieved and gossiped about each. Unfortunately, the pudding was alcoholic enough to appeal only to Bumbersnoot, who always showed interest in things that could catch on fire. The little dog sat on the bench next to Sophronia, under cover of the pouf of her traveling gown’s teal skirts, and ate whatever she fed him with gusto.
All speculation proved moot at that point, for a carriage pulled up intended for Sophronia. Of course they did not know this until the owner of said carriage emerged.
Her sister looked slightly stouter, but otherwise unchanged. As Petunia stepped down, no one could doubt she was related to Sophronia—same oval face and muddy green eyes. Petunia’s hair was a shade darker and her cheeks rounder, both tinted slightly red by art and science. Her curls were set by a French maid, while Sophronia’s were the product of Dimity and madly wielded hair-rags. But the sisters shared the same straight nose and firm mouth, and were of a height.
Sophronia exchanged startled looks with her friends. “Well, I never!”
She immediately gathered up Bumbersnoot, for it would not do to keep Petunia waiting. She collected her luggage from the cloakroom, leaving Agatha and Dimity to see to the last of the tea.
Petunia stood looking around at the quaint town with ill-disguised hauteur. Her traveling dress, fur muff, well-trimmed bonnet, and velvet gloves screamed London.
“Petunia? I say, this is a surprise.” Sophronia plopped down her carpetbag to give her sister a polite peck on the cheek.
“Sophronia, still carting around that horrid Italian dog reticule, I see.” Petunia’s hat had ostrich and peacock feathers—for travel! Even more shocking—her sister was actually smiling.
“It has sentimental value. But Petunia, what on earth are you doing here?”
“You may well ask. Middle of nowhere. I understand why Mumsy sent you to finishing school, really I do, but why not France or Switzerland? Why Devon?”
“Expense, I suppose.”
Petunia shook her curls and tut-tutted at open mention of pecuniary matters, even among sisters. She had married well and after only one season. It was a match so advantageous, she herself could hardly believe it. True, Mr. Hisselpenny wasn’t as blue-blooded as Petunia would have liked, but he was well set up in town. From what Sophronia could gather, Petunia had proceeded to spend most of her husband’s fortune attempting to break into the upper crust, with limited success. Her doting husband catered to her every whim, including, evidently, a coach and four.
“Does she have anything to go with it?” Sophronia was cautious.
Vieve laughed. “Crikey, no. I do know something about fashionable headgear. No, no. I don’t expect her to wear the wretched thing! It’s a bit of a family joke.”
Sophronia relaxed. “Oh, well, in that case, I think it’s wonderful.”
Vieve’s dimples became more pronounced. She resettled the solar hat into its box and took great pains when strapping it to Sophronia’s back.
“Well, my dear Vieve, amazing work as always. Someday you must allow me to repay you for all you’ve done.”
“Sophronia, ma mie, I’m counting on it.” The girl doffed her hat and strode back toward Bunson’s, hands thrust deep into her pockets, whistling an off-key tune under her breath.
SISTERS AND THEIR CONSEQUENCES
What will I do if they’ve forgotten about me?” Sophronia, Dimity, and Agatha were inside the main teahouse in Swiffle-on-Exe, waiting for retrieval over pudding. Pickups took most of the day, and the school had long since disappeared.
“Enjoy the blessed freedom of a Christmas without family?” suggested Agatha.
“I don’t know about that. Some of them aren’t all that bad. I quite like Ephraim’s wife.” Having not seen them in a while, Sophronia was disposed to be magnanimous about her siblings.
“You could come back with me,” suggested Dimity.
“Your parents wouldn’t mind?” Sophronia brightened at the idea. Someone else’s family holiday traditions are always so much more exciting than one’s own.
“Hardly. They know a little about you rescuing Pill and me from the hive. They’re more likely to be embarrassingly gracious. There might even have been some correspondence between our mothers on your brilliance and the excellent nature of our friendship.”
“Goodness, your mother didn’t say anything to mine about our real education, did she?”
“Certainly not. She’d never reveal Mademoiselle Geraldine’s secrets. Mamma takes subterfuge seriously.”
Sophronia relaxed. “Good. And they know to pick you up here?”
“Standard practice, since Geraldine’s always has an early holiday let-out.”
“What about your brother?” asked Agatha, trying to seem disinterested.
“Unspeakable worm. What about him?”
“Is he meeting here as well?”
“No. Bunson’s isn’t out for another week. Mummy always grumbles about having to arrange travel twice. Although not this time, thanks to you.” Dimity flung a companionable arm around Agatha’s shoulders. Agatha hid a grin at the affection by nibbling pudding.
Since her home was only slightly off the route to London, Dimity was to ride with Agatha. Agatha liked the companionship, and Dimity no longer enjoyed trains. Soap crashing a locomotive into a dirigible and subsequent events had given her train-related nightmares.
The girls were in the window seat of the teahouse, which had an excellent view of the meeting square. Agatha’s near-limitless expense account was always good for the best seat at any watering hole. They watched their fellow students being retrieved and gossiped about each. Unfortunately, the pudding was alcoholic enough to appeal only to Bumbersnoot, who always showed interest in things that could catch on fire. The little dog sat on the bench next to Sophronia, under cover of the pouf of her traveling gown’s teal skirts, and ate whatever she fed him with gusto.
All speculation proved moot at that point, for a carriage pulled up intended for Sophronia. Of course they did not know this until the owner of said carriage emerged.
Her sister looked slightly stouter, but otherwise unchanged. As Petunia stepped down, no one could doubt she was related to Sophronia—same oval face and muddy green eyes. Petunia’s hair was a shade darker and her cheeks rounder, both tinted slightly red by art and science. Her curls were set by a French maid, while Sophronia’s were the product of Dimity and madly wielded hair-rags. But the sisters shared the same straight nose and firm mouth, and were of a height.
Sophronia exchanged startled looks with her friends. “Well, I never!”
She immediately gathered up Bumbersnoot, for it would not do to keep Petunia waiting. She collected her luggage from the cloakroom, leaving Agatha and Dimity to see to the last of the tea.
Petunia stood looking around at the quaint town with ill-disguised hauteur. Her traveling dress, fur muff, well-trimmed bonnet, and velvet gloves screamed London.
“Petunia? I say, this is a surprise.” Sophronia plopped down her carpetbag to give her sister a polite peck on the cheek.
“Sophronia, still carting around that horrid Italian dog reticule, I see.” Petunia’s hat had ostrich and peacock feathers—for travel! Even more shocking—her sister was actually smiling.
“It has sentimental value. But Petunia, what on earth are you doing here?”
“You may well ask. Middle of nowhere. I understand why Mumsy sent you to finishing school, really I do, but why not France or Switzerland? Why Devon?”
“Expense, I suppose.”
Petunia shook her curls and tut-tutted at open mention of pecuniary matters, even among sisters. She had married well and after only one season. It was a match so advantageous, she herself could hardly believe it. True, Mr. Hisselpenny wasn’t as blue-blooded as Petunia would have liked, but he was well set up in town. From what Sophronia could gather, Petunia had proceeded to spend most of her husband’s fortune attempting to break into the upper crust, with limited success. Her doting husband catered to her every whim, including, evidently, a coach and four.
