Gail Carriger - Heartless

Alexia took the invitation reluctantly. “Well, thank you, but I have a busy schedule, and at such late notice, please understand I will try to put in an appearance but—”

Miss Dair continued making the excuses for her. “In your current condition, that would be difficult. I understand perfectly and the countess will as well. But I didn’t want you to think we were slighting you in any way. Case in point, I have been instructed by my mistress to inform you, should we encounter each other, that we are officially delighted with your new living arrangements and wish it to be known outright that there are no hard feelings. Or”—she paused delicately, her actress training becoming apparent—“consequences.”

As if they were not the ones who had been actively trying to kill me! Lady Maccon, in a huff, said pointedly, “Likewise. Perhaps next time if your lot told me why they were trying to exterminate me from the start, much unnecessary chaos could be avoided. Not to mention loss of porcupine life.”

“Yes, indeed. What did happen to them?”

“Lime pit.”

“Oh. Oh! Very good, Lady Maccon. I should never have thought of that.”

“Is this little creature still armed with the projectile spines? Some kind of numbing agent, I assume.”

“Yes, but not to worry—he’s quite tame. And it is for my protection and not any ulterior motive.”

“I am very glad to hear it. Well, Miss Dair, can I take you to your destination, or would you prefer to walk? I can see you might wish to display your pet to advantage. Your mistress is looking to profit by the new technology, isn’t she?”

“You know vampires.”

Normally polite company wouldn’t mention pecuniary matters, but Miss Dair was only an actress, so Alexia said, “You’d think owning half the known world would be enough for them.”

Mabel Dair smiled. “Control, Muhjah, comes in many different forms.”

“Indeed it does, indeed it does. Well . . . ,” Lady Maccon picked up the speaking tube and addressed her coachman. “Pull up here, please. My companion wishes to alight.”

“Very good, my lady,” came the tinny reply.

The carriage pulled to the side, allowing Miss Dair and her porcupine to disgorge themselves and continue their promenade.

“Perhaps we will enjoy the pleasure of your company later tonight, Lady Maccon.”

“Perhaps. Thank you for your scintillating conversation, Miss Dair. Good night.”

“Good night.”

They parted, many a reveler now curious as to the relationship between a werewolf’s wife and a vampire drone. The rumors were out concerning Biffy. Was Lady Maccon trying to poach yet another key player from the vampire’s camp? New gossip was set in motion. And that, too, Alexia realized, might have been all part of Miss Dair’s scheme in visiting with her.

She spoke once more into the tube. “Chapeau de Poupe, if you please.”

It was early still, so far as the night’s festivities were concerned. No establishment of worth in all of London would dare be closed on such an evening. Thus Lady Maccon was unsurprised to find Madame Lefoux’s hat shop not only open but also occupied by multiple ladies of worth and their respective escorts. The hats, suspended on their long cords from the ceiling, swayed to and fro, but without imparting their usual aura of undersea calm. There was too much clatter and bustle (in both senses of the word) for that. Alexia was surprised to find that Madame Lefoux herself was not in residence. For all her more atypical pursuits, the inventor normally made a point of putting in an appearance in her shop on busy nights. Half the reason the ladies chose to frequent Chapeau de Poupe was on the off chance they might encounter the scandalous proprietress in all her top-hatted glory.

In her absence, Lady Maccon trundled in and stood, confused. How was she to make her way to the contrivance chamber without someone seeing her? She respected Madame Lefoux’s wish to keep the chamber, its activities, and its entrance a secret from the general public. But with what seemed to be at least half said general public milling about in the shop, how was Alexia to return the papers and consult the inventor on the nature of the porcupines without being observed? Alexia Maccon was many things, but stealthy was not one of them.

She made her way to the counter—an attractive high table painted white to add to the modern atmosphere that was a hallmark of Madame Lefoux’s refined taste.

“Pardon me?” Lady Maccon used her best, most imperious tone.

“I’ll be right with you, madam,” chirruped the girl who stood there. She was all bright chatter and false friendliness, but her back remained quite firmly presented. She was busy rustling through stacks of hatboxes.

“I don’t mean to interrupt your work, young lady, but this is an urgent matter.”

“Yes, madam, I am certain it is. I do apologize for the delay, but as you can see, we are a little understaffed this evening. If you wouldn’t mind waiting just one more moment.”

“I must see Madame Lefoux.”

“Yes, yes, madam, I know. Everyone wishes the personal attention of the madame, but she is unavailable this particular evening. Perhaps one of the other ladies might be of assistance?”

“No, really, it must be Madame Lefoux. I have some important paperwork to return to her.”

“Return? Oh, did the hat not suit madam’s needs? I am sorry.”

“Not a hat. Nothing to do with hats.” Lady Maccon was getting impatient.

“Yes, certainly, if madam would simply wait. I shall be at your service momentarily.”

Alexia sighed. This was getting her nowhere. She moved away from the counter and took a slow turn about the room, utilizing her parasol as a kind of cane and exaggerating her limp so that sympathy drove those ladies out of her way who did not already know her face and rank. This maneuver garnered her more attention, rather than less, and she was left with a distinct feeling of inertia.

Madame Lefoux’s hats were of the latest style, a number of them too daring for any save Ivy and her ilk. Cabinets displayed other accessories as well—mob caps, sleeping caps, hair pins, and bands all decorated beautifully. There were reticules of varying shapes and sizes; gloves; and dirigible accessories such as velvet ear protectors, skirt ties, weighted hem inserts, and the finest in color-tinted glass goggles. There was even a line of masquerade goggles trimmed with feathers and flowers. And, last but not least, a rack displaying Ivy Tunstell’s hairmuffs, designed for the fashionable young lady who wished to keep her hair untangled and her ears warm while still sporting the latest ringlets. They had gone somewhat out of favor recently, having enjoyed a brief spate of popularity during the winter months, but were still on display in deference to Mrs. Tunstell’s finer feelings.

Alexia completed her circuit of the shop and came to a decision. Given that any kind of stealth was out of the question, she must opt for her only alternative—making a fuss.

“Pardon me, miss.”

The same shopgirl was still rummaging behind the counter. Really, how long did it take to find a hatbox?

“ Yes, madam, I will be right with you.”

Lady Maccon reached down inside herself for her most regal, difficult, aristocratic nature. “I will not be ignored, young lady!”

That got the girl’s attention. She actually turned around to see who this interfering female was.

“Do you know who I am?”

The young woman gave her the full once-over. “Lady Maccon?” she hazarded a guess.

“Indeed.”

“I had been warned to keep an eye out for you.”

“Warned? Warned! Were you, indeed? Well, now I am here and . . . and . . . ” She floundered. It was terribly hard to be angry when one wasn’t. “I have a very grave matter to discuss with your patroness.”