The Parasol Protectorate Boxed Set by Gail Carriger
“I’m certain you gentlemen would agree with me. It’s at times like this that what a girl needs is some serious council on her attire.”
Boots and Tizzy looked with deep concern at Alexia’s sorry state of dress, her bustle flattened, her hem filthy, her lacy trim soot-covered and burned.
“Bond Street?” suggested Tizzy seriously.
Alexia arched a brow. “Oh, no, this is a profound clothing emergency. Please, take me to Lord Akeldama.”
“At once, Lady Maccon, at once.” Boots’s face was suitably grave behind the muttonchops. The dirigible floated up a little higher and, with another violent puff of steam, set a brisk glide north toward Lord Akeldama’s town house.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Where Dirigibles Fear to Tread
Lord Akeldama had arranged for a dirigible landing green to be built on the roof of his town house. It was shifted off to one side, allowing room for his aethographor’s cuspidor-like receiver. Lady Maccon wondered that she had not noticed this before, but then she didn’t spend much time investigating rooftops as part of her daily routine.
The dirigible touched down as light as a meringue. Given that bipedal motion hadn’t been doing her many favors that evening, Alexia reluctantly clambered to her feet. Much to her delight, Lord Akeldama had made allowances for a dignified exit from the transport here at its home base. A drone bustled over with a specially designed peaked step ladder that flipped over the side of the gondola basket and then telescoped out to the required height on each side. This permitted one to climb up one side and down the other with great solemnity and aplomb.
“Why,” wondered Alexia, “don’t you float around already carrying that little ladder?”
“We thought nobody would be disembarking before we returned home.”
Felicity climbed out after her sister and stood in haughty disapproval to one side. “What a way to travel! One can hardly countenance how acceptable floating has become. So unnaturally high up. And to land on a roof! Why, Alexia, I can see the tops of buildings. They are not landscaped properly!” All the while complaining, Felicity patted at her hair to ensure it hadn’t been disturbed by air travel or her near-death experience.
“Oh, Felicity, do be quiet. I have had quite enough of your prattle for one evening.”
Summoned by that secret instinct possessed only by the very best of servants, who always know when the mistress is in residence, Floote appeared at Alexia’s elbow.
“Oh, Floote!”
“Madam.”
“How did you know I would be here?”
Floote arched a brow as though to say, Where else would you possibly end up on full-moon night but on Lord Akeldama’s rooftop?
“Yes, of course. Would you please take Felicity here back to our house and lock her in a room somewhere? The back parlor. Or possibly the newly configured wine cellar.”
Felicity shrieked, “What?”
Floote looked at Felicity with an expression that was as close to a smile as Alexia had ever seen on his face—a tiny little crinkle at one corner of his mouth. “Consider it done, madam.”
“Thank you, Floote.”
The butler took a very firm grip on Felicity’s arm and began leading her off.
“Oh, and, Floote, please send someone to check around the rubble of the Westminster Hive house right away, before the scavengers get there. I believe I accidentally dropped my parasol. And there might be some nice bits of art lying about.”
Floote didn’t even flinch at the knowledge that one of the most respected residences in London was now in ruins. “Of course, madam. I assume it is now permitted to give out the address?”
Lady Maccon gave it to him.
He moved smoothly off, dragging the protesting Felicity behind him.
“Sister, really, this is uncalled for. Is it the tooth marks? Is that what has you overset? There are only a few.”
“Miss Felicity,” Alexia heard Floote say, “do try to behave.”
Boots, finished mooring down the dirigible, came up next to Alexia and offered her his arm. “Lady Maccon?”
She took it gratefully. The infant-inconvenience really was being quite troublesome at the moment. She felt as though she’d swallowed a fighting ferret.
“Perhaps you could take me to the, uh, closet, Mr. Bootbottle-Fipps? I feel I ought to lie down. Just for a moment, mind you. There is still a loose hive to deal with. I suppose I should try to determine where Countess Nadasdy has gone. And Madame Lefoux, of course. She should not be allowed to rampage.”
“Certainly not, my lady,” agreed Boots. Who clearly felt, as Alexia did, that rampaging under any circumstances was uncalled for.
They had barely made it off the roof and down the staircases toward Lord Akeldama’s second best closet when a panting drone appeared before them. He was a tall and comely fellow with an affable face, a mop of curly hair, and a loose, floppy way of walking. He also had the most poorly tied cravat Alexia had ever seen within walking distance of Lord Akeldama. She looked with shock at Boots.
“New drone,” Boots explained to Lady Maccon before turning amicably to face the young man.
“What ho, Boots!”
“Chip chip, Shabumpkin. Looking for me?”
“Rather!”
“Ah! Need a mo’ to see her ladyship squared away properly.”
“Oh, no, not just you, my dear chap. Looking for Lady Maccon as well. Care to follow?”
Alexia looked at the young man as though he had crawled from somewhere smelly. “Must I?”
“’Fraid so, your ladyship. Himself has called an emergency meeting of the Shadow Council,” explained the drone.
“But it’s full moon—the dewan can’t attend.”
“Several of us pointed this out to him. Niggling detail, said he.”
“Oh, dear. Not at Buckingham, I hope?” Alexia clutched at her stomach, appalled at the very idea of any further travel.
The dandy grinned. “In his drawing room, madam. Where else?”
“Oh, thank goodness. Have Floote follow me there, would you, please? Once he’s finished with his current line of business.”
“’Course, Lady Maccon. My pleasure.”
“Thank you, Mr., uh, Shabumpkin.”
At which Boots straightened his spine, took a firmer grip on Alexia’s arm, and guided her carefully down the next few sets of stairs and into Lord Akeldama’s infamous drawing room. Once there, Shabumpkin nodded to them amiably and gangled off.
Lord Akeldama was waiting for her. Alexia was unsurprised to note that while she’d been dashing about London tracking an octomaton, the vampire had engaged in nothing more stressful than a change of clothing. He was wearing the most remarkable suit of tails and britches she had ever seen, candy-striped satin in cream and wine. This he had paired with a pink waistcoat of watered silk, pink hose, and pink top hat. His cravat, a waterfall of wine satin, was pinned with a gold and ruby pin, and matching rubies glittered about his fingers, monocle, and boutonniere.
“Can I get you anything, Lady Maccon?” offered Boots after seeing her safely ensconced in a chair, obviously concerned over her evident physical discomfort.
“Tea?” Alexia named the only thing she could think of that universally cured all ills.
“Of course.” He vanished after a quick exchange of glances with his master.
However, when the tea was brought in some five minutes later, it was Floote who brought it, not Boots. The butler left quickly but Alexia was in no doubt he’d taken up residence very close to the outside of the door.
Lord Akeldama, in some distress, did not produce his harmonic auditory resonance disruptor, and Alexia did not remind him. She figured she might need Floote’s advice on whatever occured next.
“So, my lord?” said she to the vampire, not at all up for dillydallying.
Lord Akeldama got straight to the point. Which was, in and of itself, a marker of his distress.
“My precious plum blossom, do you have any id
Since Alexia was pretty darned convinced she would have spotted the octomaton from the roof, she took her second best guess.
“Countess Nadasdy?”
“Behind the kitchen! By my longest fang! I—” He interrupted himself. “Gracious me, buttercup, but how did you know?”
Even coping with the violent kicking and squirming in her tummy, Alexia couldn’t help but smile. “Now you know how I always feel.”
“She swarmed.”
“Yes, finally. You wouldn’t believe what it took to chivy her out of that place. You’d think she was a ghost, so tightly tethered as to never be separated from her fixing point.”
Lord Akeldama sat down, took a deep breath, and composed himself. “Darling marigold, please don’t tell me you’re responsible for… you know.” He fluttered one perfectly white hand in the air, like a dying handkerchief.
“Oh, no, silly. Not me. Madame Lefoux.”
“Oh. Of course. Madame Lefoux.” The vampire’s expression was arrested, deadpan at this latest bit of information.
Lady Maccon swore she could see the cogs and wheels of his massive intellect whirring away behind that effete painted face.
“Because of the little French maid?” He finally hazarded a guess.
Lady Maccon was enjoying having the upper hand for once. She had never dared to hope that someday she would have more information in a crisis than Lord Akeldama.
“Ah, no—Quesnel.”
“Her son?”
“Not exactly hers.”
Lord Akeldama stood up from his casual lounging posture. “The little towheaded lad the countess has with her? The one who ripped my jacket?”
“That sounds like Quesnel.”
“What’s the hive queen doing with a French inventor’s son?”
“Ah, apparently, Angelique left a will.”
Lord Akeldama tapped one fang with the edge of his gold and ruby monocle, pulling all the threads together right before Alexia’s eyes. “Angelique is the boy’s real mother, and she left him to the tender care of the hive? Silly bint.”
“And the countess stole him from Genevieve. So Genevieve built an octomaton and destroyed the hive house trying to get him back.”
“Upon my word, that’s escalating things rather much.”
“I daresay it is.”
Lord Akeldama stopped tapping and began swinging his monocle back and forth while he took up a slow pace about the room. His white brow creased in one perfect line between the eyebrows.
Lady Maccon rubbed her protesting belly with one hand and sipped tea with the other. For once, the magic liquid was unable to disseminate any beneficial effects. The child was not happy, and tea was not going to pacify the beast.
The monocle stilled.
Alexia straightened up in her chair expectantly.
“The question remains, what is to be done with an entire hive skulking in my back alley?”
“Have them in for tea?” suggested Lady Maccon.
“No, no, not possible, little cream puff. They can’t come in here.”
Vampires were peculiar about etiquette. “Buckingham Palace? That should be relatively secure.”
“No, no. Political nightmare. Vampire queen in the palace? Trust me, darling, it is never a good idea to have too many queens in one place, let alone one palace.”
“To be really safe and buy us some extra time, we really ought to get her out of London.”
“She won’t like that at all, but there is sense to the suggestion, bluebell.”
“How long do we have? I mean to say, how long does a swarming usually last?”
Lord Akeldama frowned. Concerned over whether he should give her this information, she suspected, rather than over any possibility of his not having it. “A newly made queen has months to settle, but an old queen has only a few hours.”
Lady Maccon shrugged. Only one solution readily presented itself. It was the safest place she knew of—defensible and secure.
“I will have to take her to Woolsey.”
Lord Akeldama sat down. “If you say so, Lady Alpha.”
There was something in his tone that gave Alexia pause. He sounded like that when he had recently purchased a particularly nice waistcoat. She couldn’t understand why he should be so self-satisfied with this predicament. As her benighted husband would say, vampires!
Someone had to do something. They couldn’t let the Westminster queen simply cool her heels in an alleyway behind Lord Akeldama’s and Lord Maccon’s respective houses. What a scandal if the papers ever found that out! Alexia very much hoped Felicity was locked away. “It will only be until we can determine what’s to be done with her. And how to resolve this situation with Quesnel. Hopefully without destroying any other perfectly innocent buildings.” Lady Maccon tilted back her head and yelled, “Floote!”
The rapidity of Floote’s appearance suggested he had, indeed, been waiting just outside the door.
“Floote, how many carriages do we have in town?”
“Just the one, madam. Just arrived back in.”
“Well, that’ll have to do. Hitch up the goers and have it brought round to the back, please. I shall meet you there.”
“A journey? But, madam, you are unwell.”
“Can’t be helped, Floote. I cannot justifiably send a hive of vampires into a den of werewolves alone and without diplomatic assistance. The clavigers would never allow it. No, someone has to go with them, and that someone has to be me. The staff at the castle won’t listen to anyone else, not on full moon.”
Floote vanished, and Lady Maccon stood and began to make her way with stilted awkwardness out of the drawing room and through Lord Akeldama’s house. The vampire followed. About halfway, however, she held up a finger at her host.
The baby inside of her had shifted. It felt a little lighter somehow. Well, who was she to question such a helpful adjustment? She patted her belly approvingly. However, she also rocked from one foot to the other. The infant-inconvenience had come to rest on a certain portion of her anatomy.
“Uh, oh, dear. How embarrassing. I really must visit your… uh… that is… um.”
If he could have blushed, Lord Akeldama would have. Instead, he took out a red lace fan from the inside pocket of his jacket and fanned himself vigorously with it while Alexia tottered off to see to the necessary business. She returned several long moments later, feeling better about all aspects of life.
Then she led the way onward through Lord Akeldama’s house, behind the grand staircase and past the servants’ stairs, through the kitchen, and out the back door. Lord Akeldama minced along solicitously after her.
Behind the house, past such shockingly vulgar objects as dustbins and a clothesline, the hive waited. Much to Lady Maccon’s shock, there were gentlemen’s undergarments on that clothesline! She closed her eyes and took a deep and fortifying breath. When she opened them again, she looked past the necessities into the delivery alley where a clot of vampires paced restlessly.
Countess Nadasdy was there with Dr. Caedes, Lord Ambrose, the Duke of Hematol, and two other vampires Alexia did not know by name. The hive queen was not in any condition to converse on any topic, mundane or otherwise. She was in obvious mental distress, her movements frenzied and her nerves overset. She paced to and fro, muttering and jerking at any noise. A startled vampire can leap to amazing heights and move at incredible speeds; this ability made the soft, round queen grasshopper-like. Sometimes she fought against one of her male counterparts as though trying to escape from the loose circle they formed around her. Occasionally, she would lash out at one of them, clawing at his face or biting hard into an exposed body part. The male vampire would only gentle her back into the center of the group, his wounds healed by the time she resumed her twitching.
Lady Maccon noted with relief that Quesnel had been transferred to Dr. Caedes’s care. It was clearly not safe for a mortal to be near
Alexia moved forward, only to pause, finding herself alone and Lord Akeldama left standing in a dramatic pose on the stoop behind her. Frankly, she had been surprised he even considered walking through the kitchen. He’d probably never even seen that part of his house before.
She turned back. “You aren’t facilitating this conversation?” Never had she known Lord Akeldama to step aside when something significant was afoot.
The rove vampire chuckled. “My little dumpling, the countess would not tolerate my presence in her current condition. And I could hardly stand to endure such waistcoats as Dr. Caedes seems to favor these days. Not to mention the universal lack of headgear.”
Alexia looked over the vampires with new eyes. It was true; the gentlemen seemed to have misplaced their top hats during the kerfuffle.
“No, no, my cream puff, this is yours to play now.” He spared her a worried glance. She had not stopped clutching her protruding belly since she first reappeared in his drawing room. “If you are certain you can handle it with sufficient dexterity.”
Lady Maccon took a fortifying breath, almost overbalancing. Responsibility was responsibility and no baby was going to prevent her from seeing everything right. Her world, currently, was in disarray. If Alexia Maccon was good at nothing else, she was good at putting things to rights and bringing order to the universe. Right now the Westminster Hive needed her managerial talents. She could hardly shirk her duty for so mere a trifle as pregnancy.
Without a backward glance at Lord Akeldama, she strode forward into the midst of the panicking hive. Or she would like to say she strode; it was more a gimpy kind of shuffle.
“Wait, Alexia! Where is your parasol?” Lord Akeldama sounded more concerned than she had ever heard him, devoid of both italics and pet names.