Etiquette & Espionage Read Free

years and then foisted off on some viscount with two thousand a year and a retreating hairline.
Sophronia rethought her approach; perhaps a little less circumspection and some judiciously applied sabotage was called for.
    “Mumsy wasn’t lying, you understand, about my conduct? The climbing and such. Although it has been a while since I tried to climb up a person. And the footman and I weren’t flirting. He thinks Petunia is the pip, not me.”
    “What about the taking apart?”
    Sophronia nodded, as it was a better excuse for destroying the dumbwaiter than spying. “I’m fond of machines. Intriguing things, machines, don’t you find?”
    The woman cocked her head to one side. “I generally prefer to make use of them, not dissect them. Why do you do it? To upset your mother?”
    Sophronia considered this. She was relatively fond of her mother, as one is apt to be, but she supposed some part of her might be on the attack. “Possibly.”
    A flash of a smile appeared on the woman’s face. It made her look very young. It vanished quickly. “How are you as a thespian? Any good?”
    “Theatricals?”
What kind of finishing school teacher asks that?
Sophronia was put out. “I may have smudges on my face, but I’m still a
lady
!”
    The woman looked at Sophronia’s exposed petticoat. “That remains to be seen.” She turned away, as though not interested anymore, and helped herself to a slice of cake. “Are you strong?”
    Down the hall, something exploded with a bang. Sophronia thought she heard her mother shriek. Both she and the visitor ignored the disruption.
    “Strong?” Sophronia edged toward the tea trolley, eyeing the sponge.
    “From all the climbing.” A pause. “And the machine lifting, I suppose.”
    Sophronia blinked. “I’m not weak.”
    “You’re certainly good at prevarication.”
    “Is that a bad thing?”
    “That depends on whom you’re asking.”
    Sophronia helped herself to two pieces of cake, just as though she had been invited to do so. The visitor forbore to remark upon it. Sophronia turned away briefly, in the guise of finding a spoon, to tuck one piece in her apron pocket. Mumsywouldn’t allow her any sweets for the next week once she found out about the dumbwaiter.
    The woman might have seen the theft, but she didn’t acknowledge it.
    “You run this finishing school, then?”
    “Do you run this finishing school, Mademoiselle Geraldine?” corrected the crow.
    “Do you run this finishing school, Mademoiselle Geraldine?” parroted Sophronia dutifully, even though they had not been properly introduced.
Odd, in a finishing school teacher. Shouldn’t she wait until Mumsy returns?
    “It
is
called Mademoiselle Geraldine’s Finishing Academy for Young Ladies of Quality. Have you heard of it?”
    Sophronia had. “I thought only the very best families were allowed in.”
    “Sometimes we make exceptions.”
    “Are you
the
Mademoiselle Geraldine? You don’t seem old enough.”
    “Why, thank you, Miss Temminnick, but you should not make such an observation to your betters.”
    “Sorry, madam.”
    “Sorry, Mademoiselle Geraldine.”
    “Oh, yes, sorry, Mademoiselle Geraldine.”
    “Very good. Do you notice anything else odd about me?”
    Sophronia said the first thing that came to mind. “The gray in your hair. It’s amiss.”
    “You
are
an observant young lady, aren’t you?” Then, in a sudden movement, Mademoiselle Geraldine reached andpulled out the small throw pillow from behind her back. She tossed it at Sophronia.
    Sophronia, who had never before had a lady throw a pillow at her, was flabbergasted, but caught it.
    “Adequate reflexes,” said Mademoiselle Geraldine, wiggling her fingers for the return of the pillow.
    Bemused, Sophronia handed it back to her. “Why—”
    A black-gloved hand was raised against any further questions.
    Mrs. Temminnick returned at that juncture. “I do apologize. How incurably rude of me. I can’t comprehend what has happened to the