Timeless (15 page)

“Ah, that werewolf I spoke of, the one who came to our rescue. We ended up traveling through Europe together. Decent fellow.”

At a complete loss, Biffy told him the pack address. He and the Gamma had very little to do with one another. Biffy showed the major his neck on a regular basis, and the major took control as needed and ignored him the rest of the time. But never before had anyone described Major Channing Channing of the Chesterfield Channings as a
decent fellow
.

The French clockmaker continued this surprising line of conversation. “I believe I will pay him a call, seeing as the ladies are away. Thank you for your time, Mr. Biffy. Good evening to you.”

“I hope the rest of your London visit is more productive, Monsieur Trouvé. Good night.”

As soon as the man left, Biffy popped open the long, skinny wooden box to look inside. It was terribly out of
form, of course, to inspect someone else’s mail. But he argued himself into believing it was to check on the safety of the contents, and he
was
now a member of Lady Maccon’s Parasol Protectorate. It granted him, he felt, certain rights of familiarity.

He gasped in horror at the contents. Lady Maccon had carried with her many rather ill-advised parasols over the course of their association, one of which had been a good deal
more
. There was something to be said for such a weapon. But the parasol in the box before him was a travesty. Apart from everything else, it was utterly plain and undecorated except for the stitching of the supposedly
hidden
pockets. It was made of drab olive canvas! It was probably quite deadly, and there was no doubt the bobbles on the handle housed hidden dials and debilitating poisons. It was certainly heavy enough to do any number of things. But if such a thing could be said of a parasol, it looked like the kind of object a sportsman would carry, all function and no beauty. The brass handle positively clashed with the olive color. It looked—Biffy shuddered in utter horror—like an… umbrella!

He checked the delivery schedule. He’d have to place it on the early morning Casablanca-bound post in order for it to cross Lady Maccon’s path as soon as possible. With a determined gait, he returned to the front of the shop and flipped the
CLOSED
sign. He had only six hours to rectify the situation. Taking the hideous thing in hand, he made room upon the counter. He pulled out all the laces, silk flowers, feathers, and other trims, dumped them all around him, found a needle and thread, and went to work.

The P & O’s Express Steamer was constructed with luxury in mind. Built to take advantage of the new craze in
antiquities collecting and Egyptian tours, the line was an attempt by the shipping industry to compete with dirigible carriers. Dirigibles had the advantage of being faster and more frequent, but a steamer had more space and carrying capacity. Lord and Lady Maccon’s first class cabin was quite as large as Lord Akeldama’s closet, perhaps even bigger, and outfitted with two portholes—an improvement on the closet, which had no windows at all. Of course, the portholes could be covered over with thick curtains, as the one clientele liners could guarantee was werewolves.

Lord and Lady Maccon knocked on the adjoining cabin, which they had rented for Ivy’s nursemaid and the children, and deposited the sleeping Prudence into a small cot there. They could hear Ivy, still chattering to her husband in a distressed tone over the loss of her hat, in the cabin on the far side.

In the interest of limiting numbers, they had not included a butler, valet, or lady’s maid among their personnel. This was an embarrassing breach in propriety, should the information get out. Alexia was nervous because it meant Conall had to help her with her toilette, but she supposed she might call upon the theatrical troupe’s wardrobe mistress in dire emergencies. Her hair would simply have to be stuffed under a cap as much as possible. She had a few of Ivy’s hairmuffs on hand as well, suspecting that the deck of a steamer got just as cold as that of a dirigible, possibly more so.

Being of the supernatural set, and rather confirmed in their habits and ways, the Maccons defied the breakfast bell and all tenets of fellow traveler obligation by undressing and taking to bed. Alexia figured the acting troupe was also likely to keep to nighttime hours, and as their
visit in Egypt was to pay court on a vampire, she saw no reason to alter the entire pattern of her married life merely because of a sea voyage. No doubt the crew was accustomed to such idiosyncratic behavior. She left very clear orders with regard to meal times and postal deliveries. It was daylight, so even if Prudence did awaken, the infant couldn’t cause more harm than any ordinary precocious toddler. Thus Alexia felt comfortable falling gratefully into Conall’s welcome embrace. The world outside could await her pleasure.

Lady Maccon awakened late that afternoon. She dressed herself as much as she was able and left the cabin without disturbing her husband. Poor Conall, he looked as though he’d been hit by a train.

The designated nursery was quiet and still, but a certain waving of arms and burbling indicated that Prudence was awake, although not inclined to cry and unsettle her companions. Lord Akeldama had noted, on more than one occasion, that while Prudence’s peculiar abilities made her somewhat of a handful, she was a very good-natured child. He then flattered Alexia by saying this rather reminded him of her.

Alexia made her way over to the cot and looked in.

“Mama!” announced Prudence, delighted.

“Shush,” admonished her mother. “You will awaken the others.”

The nursemaid came up behind Alexia. “Lady Maccon, is everything all right?”

“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Dawaud-Plonk. I think I’ll take Prudence down with me, if you don’t mind seeing to the necessities?”

“Of course, madam.” The nursemaid whisked Prudence off behind an Oriental screen in one corner of the cabin. The infant emerged moments later wearing a fresh nappy and a pretty dress of cerulean muslin with a fur cape for warmth and a French-style hat. She looked quite smart and a little mystified by the rapidity with which she had been dressed. So, indeed, was Alexia. Such efficiency in relation to her daughter was a miracle of the highest order.

“I see why Ivy values your services so highly, Mrs. Dawaud-Plonk.”

“Thank you, Lady Maccon.”

“You aren’t, by any chance, related to my butler, Mr. Floote, are you?”

“I am afraid not, madam.”

“I had no idea there could be more than one.”

“Madam?”

“Oh, nothing. I should warn you, as you are likely to have care of my child as well as the twins over the next few weeks, that Prudence has some very unusual habits.”

“Madam?”

“Special.”

“Every child is special in his or her own way, madam.”

“Ah, yes, well, Prudence can be
quite
special indeed. Please try to keep her from touching her father after sunset, would you? She gets overly excitable.”

The nursemaid didn’t even flinch at such an odd request. “Very good, madam.”

Alexia propped Prudence on one hip and together they went to explore the ship.

Up top, the day proved still dreary. The wind was running fierce and cold and there was nothing to see but whitecaps atop a darkened ocean. Alexia merely wished
to ascertain that they were still going in the correct direction.

“Brrr,” was Prudence’s eloquent comment.

“Indeed, most inclement weather.”

“Pttttt.”

“Exactly, let us adjourn elsewhere.”

She switched Prudence to her other hip and made her way to the forward section of the steamer, in front of the first smokestack, where the dining room and the library were situated.

Unsure as to the wakefulness of her party, Lady Maccon visited the library first for some light reading so that if she did have to dine alone, she might have some kind of intellectual discourse. Prudence was not quite yet up to her mother’s standard of debate. The library was of questionable curation, but she found a scientific manual on human anatomy that she thought might prove absorbing, if not entirely appropriate to dining. The cover was innocuous enough, and there were some rather graphic pictures within that intrigued Prudence. Alexia was enough her father’s daughter to relax some standards of propriety so long as scientific inquiry was the result. If Prudence was interested in anatomy, who was Alexia to gainsay her?

Despite it being very nearly teatime, the eatery was empty save for one gentleman in the far corner. Lady Maccon was about to settle on the opposite side of the room, feeling it a standard of common decency not to inflict a child on anyone, least of all a lone gentleman, when the gentleman in question rose and nodded at her, revealing that he was Madame Lefoux.

Reluctantly, but not wishing to appear rude, Alexia wended through the chairs and tables to join her.

Lady Maccon settled Prudence on her lap. The infant stared at Madame Lefoux with interest. “Foo?”

“Good afternoon, Miss Prudence, Alexia.”

“No,” objected Prudence.

“It’s her latest word,” explained Alexia, distracting her child with the book. “I’m not entirely certain she knows what it means. How have you settled in, Genevieve?”

A steward appeared at Lady Maccon’s elbow with a small scrap of paper on which was printed the comestibles on offer.

“Interesting approach to food service,” she said, fluttering the pamphlet about. Prudence grabbed at it.

“Saves the bother of having to hold everything in stock for the entirety of a journey and at the whims of passengers,” replied the Frenchwoman.

Alexia was not interested in commerce, only tea. “A pot of Assam, if you would be so kind. One of the apple tarts and a cup of warm milk for the infant,” she said to the hovering man. “Do you have any cinnamon sticks by chance?” The steward nodded. “Infant, do you want cinnamon?”

Prudence looked at her mother, her tiny rosy lips pursed. Then she nodded curtly.

“Shave some cinnamon on top for her, would you, please? Thank you.”

The steward moved smoothly off to see to her needs.

Alexia snapped open a monogrammed serviette and tucked it into the neck of her daughter’s dress. Then she sat back and took in her surroundings.

If not exactly decorated with Lord Akeldama’s flair, the dining hall at least bowed to Biffy’s taste. There was gilt and brocade aplenty, if judiciously applied. The room
seemed to have been made by enclosing a deck, rather like a greenhouse, for there were large windows all around showing the gloomy outside.

“So what do you make of the SS
Custard
?” Madame Lefoux asked, pushing aside her papers and favoring Alexia with a dimpled smile just like the old days.

“It’s rather posh, isn’t it? Although I shall reserve judgment until I have sampled the comestibles.”

“As you should.” Madame Lefoux nodded, sipping her own beverage from a tiny demitasse teacup.

Lady Maccon sniffed the air. “Hot chocolate?”

“Yes, and a very good showing, by my standards.”

Alexia rather preferred to drink tea and eat chocolate, but Genevieve was French and had to be allowed some measure of European behavior.

The steward arrived with her tea and tart, both of which proved to be well above average. Alexia began to think she might actually enjoy the crossing. Prudence was quite taken with her warm milk, spending a good deal of time dabbing at the cinnamon sprinkles on the top with her finger and then sucking them off. Terribly undignified, of course, but as yet the infant-inconvenience had shown very little interest in the proper use of utensils, her attitude seeming to be that fingers had come first in her life, so why mess with a good thing? Alexia kept an eye on her but didn’t otherwise interfere. It was amazing what having a toddler had done to her much-vaunted principles.

“So, how are you, Genevieve?” Alexia asked finally, determined not to be made to feel embarrassed. After all, Madame Lefoux was in the wrong, not she.

“Better than could be expected. It is not so bad as I had feared, working for the hive.”

“Ah.”

“And Quesnel is enjoying himself, getting plenty of attention and an excellent education. Say what you will about vampires, they value knowledge. And an entire hive of vampires and drones actually keeps my boy in check. Although, that said, they have not managed to impress upon him any interest in fashion.”

“Dama?” Prudence wanted to know.

“Exactly, Prudence,” answered her mother.

“No,” said Prudence.

Alexia remembered Quesnel as a scamp with a predilection for grubby workman’s clothing that rendered him, in appearance, much like a newspaper boy. “So you both may survive until he has reached his maturity?”

Prudence finished her warm milk and shoved the cup away petulantly. Alexia caught it before it fell off the table. The child switched her attention to the printed menu that the steward had unwisely left behind. She flapped it about happily and then spent some time folding the corners.

Madame Lefoux’s dimples reappeared. “We may. It is strangely restful, having the responsibility for his well-being partly removed, although there have been”—she paused delicately—“discussions with the countess. I can but temper their influence. I suppose it must be similar for you and Lord Akeldama.”