Part 13 (1/2)
”And we did not part with ze friendly terms. A matter, how do you say, personal.”
”Then I would not dream of prying further,” replied Alexia, dearly wis.h.i.+ng to pry.
”She did not say anything about me to you, my lady?” the maid asked. Her hand went up to stroke the high collar about her neck.
”Nothing of consequence,” replied Lady Maccon.
Angelique did not look convinced. ”You do not trust me, do you, my lady?”
Alexia looked up in surprise, meeting Angelique's eyes in the looking gla.s.s. ”You were drone to a rove, but you also served the Westminster Hive. Trust Trust is a strong word, Angelique. I trust that you will do my hair to the height of fas.h.i.+on and that your taste should govern my own disinterest in the matter. But you cannot ask me for more than that.” is a strong word, Angelique. I trust that you will do my hair to the height of fas.h.i.+on and that your taste should govern my own disinterest in the matter. But you cannot ask me for more than that.”
Angelique nodded. ”I see. So it iz not something Genevieve said?”
”Genevieve?”
”Madame Lefoux.”
”No. Should it be?”
Angelique lowered her eyes and shook her head.
”You will tell me nothing more about your previous relations.h.i.+p?”
Angelique remained silent but her face seemed to indicate that she thought this inquiry excessively personal.
Lady Maccon excused her maid and went to find her little leather journal, the better to collect her thoughts and make a few notations. If she suspected Madame Lefoux of being a spy, she ought to jot this down, along with her reasoning. Part of the purpose of the notebook was to leave adequate record should anything untoward happen to her. She had commenced the practice upon a.s.suming her position as muhjah, though she used the journal for personal notes, not state secrets. Her father's journals had proved helpful on more than one occasion. She would like to think her own might be of equal a.s.sistance to future generations. Although probably not in quite the same way as Alessandro Tarabotti's. She didn't go in for recording that that type of information. type of information.
The stylographic pen was where she had left it, on the nightstand, but her notebook had vanished. She checked all about-under the bed, behind the furniture-but could find it nowhere. With a sinking feeling, she went looking for her dispatch case.
A knock came at her door, and before she could come up with some excuse to keep the visitor at bay, Ivy trotted into the room. She looked flushed and nervous, her hat of the day a floof of black lace draped over ma.s.ses of dark side curls, the earm.u.f.fs underneath only visible because Ivy was tugging at them.
Alexia paused in her hunt. ”Ivy, what is wrong? You look like a perturbed terrier with an ear mite problem.”
Miss Hisselpenny cast herself dramatically facedown on Alexia's small bed, clearly in some emotional distress. She mumbled into the pillow. Her voice was suspiciously high.
”Ivy, what is wrong with your voice? Have you been up in engineering, on the Squeak Deck?” Since the dirigible maintained buoyancy through the application of helium, it was a legitimate a.s.sumption for any vocal abnormalities.
”No,” squeaked Ivy. ”Well, maybe for a short while.”
Lady Maccon stifled a laugh. Really, it was too absurd-sounding. ”Who were you up there with?” she inquired archly, although she could very well hazard a guess.
”No one,” squeak, squeak. ”Well, in actuality, I mean to say, I might have been with... uh... Mr. Tunstell.”
Lady Maccon snickered. ”I wager he sounded pretty funny too.”
”A slight leak occurred while we were up there. But there was grave need for a small moment of privacy.”
”How romantic.”
”Really, Alexia, this is no time for levity! I am all aquiver, facing a ghastly emotional crisis, and you issue forth nothing more than scads of unwanted jocularity.”
Lady Maccon composed her features and tried to look like she was not amused at her friend's expense, annoyed at her friend's appearance, nor still glancing about her room in search of the missing dispatch case. ”Let me hazard a guess. Tunstell has professed his undying love?”
”Yes,” Ivy wailed, ”and I am engaged to another!” On the word engaged, engaged, she finally stopped squeaking. she finally stopped squeaking.
”Ah, yes, the mysterious Captain Featherstonehaugh. And let us not forget that, even if you were not affianced, Tunstell is an entirely unsuitable match. Ivy, he makes his living as a thespian. thespian.”
Ivy groaned. ”I know! In addition, he is your husband's valet! valet! Oh, it is all so messily plebeian.” Ivy rolled over on the bed, the back of her wrist pressed to her forehead. She kept her eyes tightly shut. Lady Maccon wondered if Miss Hisselpenny did not have a possible future career on the stage herself. Oh, it is all so messily plebeian.” Ivy rolled over on the bed, the back of her wrist pressed to her forehead. She kept her eyes tightly shut. Lady Maccon wondered if Miss Hisselpenny did not have a possible future career on the stage herself.
”Which also makes him a claviger. Well, well, well, you have got yourself into a pretty pickle.” Lady Maccon tried to sound sympathetic.
”Oh, but, Alexia, I am quite fearfully afraid that I might just possibly, maybe a little itty-bitty bit, love him back.”
”Shouldn't you be certain of a thing like that?”
”I do not know. Should I be? How does one determine one's own state of enamorment?”
Lady Maccon snickered. ”I am hardly one to elucidate. It took me ages to realize I had feelings for Conall beyond abhorrence, and quite frankly, I am still not certain that feeling does not persist unto this very moment.”
Ivy was taken aback. ”Surely you jest?”
Alexia cast her mind back to the last time she had engaged in a protracted encounter with her husband. There had been a good deal of moaning at the time, if memory served. ”Well, he has his uses.”
”But, Alexia, what do I I do?” do?”
At that moment, Lady Maccon spotted her missing dispatch case. Someone had shoved it in the corner between the wardrobe and the door to the washroom. Alexia was quite certain that was not where she had left it.
”Aha, how did you get there?” she said to the missing accoutrement, and went to retrieve it.
Ivy, eyes still shut, pondered this question. ”I have no idea how I allowed myself into such an untenable position. You must help me, Alexia. This is a cataplasm cataplasm of epic proportions!” of epic proportions!”
”Too true,” agreed Lady Maccon, considering the state of her beloved dispatch case. Someone had tried to break open the catch. Whomever it was must have been disturbed in the act, or they would have stolen the case as well as her notebook. Her little leather journal would fit inside a vest or under a skirt, but the dispatch case would not. The villain must have left it behind as a result. Lady Maccon considered possible suspects. The s.h.i.+p's domestic staff had access to her rooms, of course, and Angelique. But, really, given the state of the locks on board, it could have been anyone.
”He kissed me,” Miss Hisselpenny keened.
”Ah, well, that is is something like.” Alexia decided nothing more could be determined from the dispatch case, at least not with Ivy still in the room. She went to sit next to her friend's prostrate form. ”Did you enjoy kissing him?” something like.” Alexia decided nothing more could be determined from the dispatch case, at least not with Ivy still in the room. She went to sit next to her friend's prostrate form. ”Did you enjoy kissing him?”
Ivy said nothing.
”Did you enjoy kissing Captain Featherstonehaugh?”
”Alexia, the very idea. We are only engaged, not married!”
”So you have not kissed the good captain?”
Ivy shook her head in an excess of embarra.s.sment.
”Well, then, what about Tunstell?”
Miss Hisselpenny flushed even redder. Now she looked like a spaniel with a sunburn. ”Well, maybe, just a little.”