Heartless: The Parasol Protectorate: Book the Fourth (11 page)

Mrs. Ivy Tunstell, by contrast, wore a visiting gown from two summers prior, its bustle a little too large and its design a little too bold. Unfortunate Ivy, having married a common theatrical, had to make over her existing gowns rather than order new ones.

For once, however, she did not seem to mind but was weathering Felicity’s conversation, which could be nothing but barb-tipped under the circumstances of an overbustled dress, with complacent demeanor and atypical presence of mind. Either Ivy did not realize she was being insulted, or she had some more interesting matters occupying her thoughts.

Lady Maccon took a deep breath and entered the parlor.

“Oh, sister, you do keep such peculiar hours in this household of yours,” commented Felicity, noticing her first.

Ivy hopped to her feet and tripped over to blow kisses at Alexia’s face. It was a repulsively Continental habit that she had adopted since her marriage. Lady Maccon blamed overexposure to the stage, or possibly her sometime employment in Madame Lefoux’s hat shop where the French propensity for familiar mannerisms, particularly between ladies, was encouraged beyond the pale.

“My dearest Ivy, how do you do? What an unexpected visit.”

“Oh, Alexia, how perfectly splendid of you to be in residence. I was so afraid”—Ivy lowered her voice dramatically—“that you might be in your confinement. Your silhouette is alarmingly advanced. I am not intruding, am
I? No, you would be abed. Even you would not receive callers at such a time. Have you been drinking enough tea? Very good for ladies in your condition, is tea.”

Lady Maccon took a moment to allow the wash of Ivy’s chatter to cascade over her much in the manner that dandelion seeds fly on the winds of inconsequentiality. “Pray, do not trouble yourself on my behalf, Ivy. As you see, I am still ambulatory. Although, I will admit that it is a little problematic getting
into
motion these days. I do apologize for keeping you waiting.”

“Oh, pray, do not concern yourself. Felicity was quite proficient a substitute.”

Lady Maccon raised her eyebrows.

Ivy nodded in a conspiratorial way to indicate she was being entirely sincere. Her copious dark ringlets bobbed about. Her marriage had had little effect on her girlish preferences in hairstyles. It was probably just as well she had made a less-than-favorable match, for the wives of actors were rather expected to be eccentric in the matter of appearance.

At this juncture Felicity rose. “If you will excuse me, ladies, I have a meeting to attend.”

Lady Maccon looked after her sister in shock as she left with neither a remark as to Alexia’s corpulence nor to Ivy’s substandard attire. “I wonder if she will change her dress again.”

Ivy swished back over to the settee and collapsed onto it dramatically. “Change? Why should she? That was a perfectly splendid day gown.”

“Ivy, did you not notice something peculiar about Felicity’s demeanor?”

“Should I have?”

“She was awfully nice, wasn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“To you.”

“Yes.”

“And to me.”

“Yes, why”—a pause—“come to think on it, that
is
peculiar.”

“Isn’t it just?”

“Is she in poor health?”

“My dear sister has
joined a society.
” Lady Maccon pursed her lips and pretended coyness.

This was lost on Mrs. Tunstell, who said only, “Well, there you have it. Constructive occupation and attention to good works can have just such a beneficial effect on peevish young ladies. Either that or she has fallen in love.”

Alexia could hardly find the words to explain in a manner that Ivy would comprehend. “It is a feminine-advocacy association.”

Ivy gasped and clutched at her bosom. “Oh, Alexia, what a thing to say out loud!”

Lady Maccon realized that Ivy might be right—they were heading into highly indecorous, not to say dangerous, territory. “Well, of course”—Alexia cleared her throat ostentatiously—“do tell me, what business is it that has brought you to call this afternoon, my dear Ivy?”

“Oh, Alexia, I do have quite the surfeit of delightful news to relate. I hardly know where to start.”

“The beginning, I find, is usually the best place.”

“Oh, but, Alexia, that’s the most overwhelming part. It is all happening at once.”

Lady Maccon took a firm stance at this juncture—she rang for Floote. “Tea is obviously necessary.”

“Oh, my, yes,” agreed Ivy fervently.

Floote, having anticipated just such a request, came in with tea, treacle tart, and a bunch of grapes imported at prodigious expense from Portugal.

Lady Maccon poured the tea while Ivy waited, fairly vibrating with her news but unwilling to begin recitation until her friend had finished handling the hot liquid.

Alexia placed the teapot carefully back on the tray and handed Ivy her cup. “Well?”

“Have you noticed anything singular about my appearance?” Ivy immediately put the cup down without taking a sip.

Lady Maccon regarded her friend. If a brown dress could be called glaring, Ivy’s could be so described. It boasted an overdress and bustle of chocolate satin with a pure white skirt striped, like a circus tent, in the same shade. The accompanying hat was, of course, ridiculous: almost conical in shape but covered with what looked to be the feathers of at least three pheasants mixed in with a good deal of blue and yellow silk flowers. However, none of these extremes of dress were unusual for Mrs. Tunstell. “Not as such.”

Ivy blushed beet red, apparently mortified by what she must now relate given Alexia’s failed powers of observation. She lowered her voice. “I am very eager for the tea.” This garnered no response from the confused Alexia, as Ivy wasn’t drinking it. So Ivy soldiered bravely on. “I am—oh, dear, how to put this delicately?—anticipating a familial increase.”

“Why, Ivy, I didn’t know you expected any kind of inheritance.”

“Oh, no.” Ivy’s blush deepened. “Not that kind of
increase.” She nodded significantly toward Alexia’s portly form.

“Ivy! You are pregnant!”

“Oh, Alexia, really, must you say it so loudly?”

“Felicitations, indeed. How delightful.”

Ivy moved the conversation hurriedly onward. “And Tunny and I have decided to form our own dramatic association.”

Lady Maccon paused to reinterpret this confession. “Ivy, are you saying you intend to establish an acting troupe?”

Mrs. Tunstell nodded, her curls bouncing. “Tunny thinks it a good plan to start a new family of players as well as a new family, as he is keen on saying.”

A family, indeed, Alexia thought. Having left the werewolf pack, Tunstell must be trying, in his own way, to build a new pack for himself. “Well,” she said, “I do wish you all the best luck in the world. However, Ivy—and I do not mean to be crude—how have you managed to gather the means to fund such an undertaking?”

Ivy blushed and lowered her eyes. “I was dispatched to consult you on just such a subject. I understand Woolsey is quite enthusiastic in its patronage of artistic endeavors. Tunny implied you even had some capital invested in a circus!”

“Indeed, but, Ivy, for obvious reasons, those are in the interest of furthering the pack. Claviger recruitment and so forth. Tunstell has voluntarily severed any such connection.”

Ivy nodded glumly. “I thought you would say as much.”

“Now, wait just a moment. I’m not so feeble a friend as to abandon anyone, especially you, my dear, when in need.”
Lady Maccon frowned in thought. “Perhaps I could dip into my own coffers. You may not be aware, but my father left me rather well set up, and Conall is quite generous with a weekly allowance. We have never discussed my personal income, but he seems disinterested in my financial affairs. I am convinced he shouldn’t object if I were to become a patron of the arts. Why should Woolsey have all the fun?”

“Oh, Alexia, really? I couldn’t ask such a thing of you!” protested Ivy in a tone that suggested this had been her objective in calling all along.

“No, no.” Alexia was becoming rather entranced with the proposal. “I think it a capital idea. I wonder if I might ask a rather odd favor in return?”

Ivy looked amenable to anything that might further her husband’s goal. “Oh, please do.”

Alexia grappled with how exactly to phrase this next question without exposing too much of her nature to her dear friend. She had never told Ivy of her preternatural state, nor of her post as muhjah and the general investigative endeavors that resulted.

“I find myself curious as to the activities of the lower orders. No insult intended, my dear Ivy, but even as the mistress of your own troupe, and clientele notwithstanding, you will have a certain amount of contact with less savory elements of London society. I would appreciate . . . information . . . with regards to these elements on occasion.”

Mrs. Tunstell was overcome with such joy upon hearing this that she was moved to dab at one eye with an embroidered handkerchief. “Why, Alexia, my dear, have you undertaken an interest in
scandal mongering
at last? Oh, it is too much. Too wonderful.”

Even prior to her marriage, Miss Ivy Hisselpenny’s social position had prevented her from attending events of high standing, while Miss Alexia Tarabotti had suffered under the yoke of just such events. As far as Ivy was concerned, this yielded up a poor quality and quantity of gossip. The Alexia of her girlhood had not been curious about the interpersonal relationships of others, let alone their dress and manners.

The handkerchief lowered and Ivy’s face became suffused with a naive cunning. “Is there anything in particular you wish me to look out for?”

“Why, Ivy!”

Mrs. Tunstell sipped her tea coquettishly.

Lady Maccon took the plunge. “As a matter of fact, there have been rumors of late with regards to a threat upon a certain peer of the realm. I cannot say more, but if you wouldn’t mind?”

“Well, I did hear Lord Blingchester’s carriage was to be decommissioned.”

“No, Ivy, not that kind of threat.”

“And the Duchess of Snodgrove’s chambermaid was so incensed recently that she indicated she might actually not affix her hat properly for the midsummer ball.”

“No, not quite that either. But this is all intriguing information. I should appreciate your continued conversation and company even after your evolved circumstances.”

Ivy closed her eyes and took a small breath. “Oh, Alexia, how kind of you. I did fear . . .” She flipped open a fan and fluttered it in an excess of sentimental feeling. “I did fear that once Tunny and I launched this endeavor, you would be unwilling to continue the association. After all, I intend to perhaps take on some small roles myself.
Tunny thinks I may have dramatic talent. Being seen to take tea with the wife of an actor is one thing, but taking tea with the actress herself is quite another.”

Lady Maccon shifted forward as much as possible and stretched out a hand to rest softly atop Mrs. Tunstell’s. “Ivy, I would never even consider it. Let us say no more on the subject.”

Ivy seemed to feel the time had come to move on to yet another pertinent bit of news. “I did have one other thing to relate to you, my dear Alexia. As you may have surmised, I have had to give over my position as assistant to Madame Lefoux. Of course, I shall miss the society of all those lovely hats, but I was there just the other evening when a very peculiar event occurred. Given your husband’s state, I immediately thought of you.”

“How very perspicacious.” Much to her own amazement, Lady Maccon had found that Mrs. Tunstell, a lady of little society and less apparent sense, often had the most surprising things to relate. Knowing well that the best encouragement was to say nothing, Alexia drank her tea and gave Ivy a dark-eyed look of interest.

“Well, you should never believe it, but I ran into a scepter in the street.”

“A scepter . . . what, like the queen’s?”

“Oh, no, you know what I mean. A ghost. Me, can you imagine? Right through it I went, all la-di-da. I could hardly countenance it. I was completely unnerved. After I had recovered my capacities, I realized the poor thing was a tad absent of good sense. Subsequent to much inane burbling, she did manage to articulate some information. She seemed peculiarly attracted to my parasol, which I was carrying at night only because my business with Madame
Lefoux had taken longer than expected. Otherwise, you understand, I have always found your habit of toting daytime accessories at all hours
highly
esoteric. Never mind that. This ghost seemed peculiarly interested in my parasol. Kept asking about it. Wanted to know if it
did
anything, apart from shield me from the sun, of course. I informed her flat out that the only person I knew who boasted a parasol that extruded things was my dear friend Lady Maccon. You remember I saw yours emit when we were traveling in the north? Well, I told this to the ghost in no unceremonious terms, at which point she got most stimulated and asked as to your current whereabouts. Well, since she was a ghost and, as such, tethered within a shortened area of the location, I saw no reason not to relay your new address to her. It was all very odd. And she kept repeating the most peculiar turn of phrase, regarding a cephalopod.”

“Oh, indeed? What exactly did she say, Ivy?”