She struck out and whacked at three more of the bugs crawling across the cabin floor, holding the parasol by its tip and wielding it as though it were a croquet mal et. The carriage seemed to be positively swarming with the creatures, al attempting to stick those dripping antennae into some part of Alexia’s anatomy. One of them got perilously close to her arm before she punched it away. Another climbed al the way to her stomach and struck, only to be thwarted by the leather belt of her traveling dress.
She yel ed for help, hoping al the banging and clattering she was making would convince the driver to stop and come to her rescue, but he seemed oblivious. She continued to catalog her parasol options. The numbing dart was use-less, and the metal and wooden stakes equal y so. It was then that she remembered the parasol was equipped with a magnetic disruption field emitter. Desperately, she flipped the accessory around to its normal position and groped along the handle for the one carved lotus petal that protruded slightly more than the others. Catching it with her thumbnail, she pul ed it back, activating the emitter.
It appeared that the deadly ladybugs had iron parts, for the disruption field did as designed and seized up their magnetic components. The beetles, in deference to their nature, al stopped in their tracks and turned upside-down, little mechanical legs drawn up against their undersides just as ordinary dead beetles might. Alexia sent a grateful thank-you to Madame Lefoux for her forethought in including the emitter, and began hurriedly scooping up and throwing the ladybugs out the carriage window before the disruption field wore off, careful not to touch those sticky, dripping antennae. Her skin shivered in disgust.
The driver, final y discerning that something was not quite right with his passenger, drew up the carriage, jumped down from the box, and came around to the door, just in time to get bonked on the head with a discarded ladybug.
“Al right there, Lady Maccon?” he asked, giving her a pained look and rubbing his forehead.
“Don’t just stand there waffling!” instructed her ladyship, as though she wasn’t bumping about the interior of the carriage, pausing only to throw enormous red bugs out of its windows. “Drive on, you cretin! Drive on!”
Best get myself into a public place, thought Alexia, until I’m certain I’m out of danger. And I need a moment to calm my nerves.
The driver turned to do her bidding, only to be forestal ed by a “Wait! I’ve changed my mind. Take me to the nearest teahouse.”
The man returned to his post with an expression that spoke volumes on his feelings over how low the aristocracy had fal en. He clicked the horses into a trot and pul ed the carriage back out into London traffic.
Showing worthy forethought, Alexia felt, under such trying circumstances, she trapped one of the bugs in a large pink hatbox, drawing the cords tight. In her agitation, she accidental y dumped the box’s previous occupant (a rather nice velvet riding topper with burgundy ribbon) out the window. Her precautionary measures were undertaken none too soon, for the disruption field wore off and the hatbox began to shake violently.
The bug wasn’t sophisticated enough to escape, but it would keep skittering about inside its new prison.
Just to be certain, Lady Maccon stuck her head out the window to look behind and see if the other ladybugs continued their pursuit. They were trundling in confused circles in the middle of the street. So was her velvet hat, burgundy ribbons trailing behind. It must have landed on top of one of the bugs. With a sigh of relief, Alexia sat back, placing one hand firmly on top of the hatbox.
The Lottapiggle Tea Shop on Cavendish Square was a popular watering hole among ladies of quality, and midmorning was a popular time to be seen there. Alexia alighted at the curb, instructed the driver to meet her at Chapeau de Poupe in two hours’ time, and then dashed inside. The streets were not yet busy, so she would have to wait out the quietest part of the day until the real shopping began.
The inside of Lottapiggle was, however, quite as crowded as Alexia might want. No one would dare attack her further there. Unfortunately, while she had momentarily forgotten her ruined reputation, no one else in London had, and ladybugs weren’t the only kinds of ladies with vicious tendencies.
Lady Maccon was al owed in, seated, and served, but the twitching hats and excited chattering of the women assembled abruptly ceased upon sight of her. The hats craned about eagerly, and the chattering evolved into whispered commentary and very pointed looks. One or two matrons, accompanied by impressionable young daughters, stood and left in a rustle of deeply offended dignity. Most, however, were far too curious to see Lady Maccon and were quite giddy at being in her disgraced presence. They basked in the delectable shock of the latest and greatest scandal calmly sipping tea and eating dry toast among them!
Of course, such marked attention might be attributed to the fact that said lady was carrying with her a ticking, quivering hatbox, which she proceeded to place careful y on the seat next to her and then tie to the seat back with the strap of her reticule for security.
As though the hatbox might try to escape. At that, al expressions indicated that the tea-swil ing ladies felt Lady Maccon had lost her sense along with her reputation.
Alexia ignored them al and took a moment to put her finer feelings back in order and soothe her ladybug-addled nerves with the necessary application of a hot beverage.
Feeling more the thing, she made several forthright decisions that resulted in her requesting pen and paper from the hostess. She dashed off three quick notes and then settled in to wait out the lazy part of the morning. Several hours passed thus agreeably, with nothing but an occasional lurch from the hatbox to disturb her reverie.
Upon entering Chapeau de Poupe, Professor Lyal thought that the proprietress was looking a little tired and substantial y older than when he’d seen her last. This was peculiar, as on al their previous encounters, the lady inventor had possessed that indefatigably French air of agelessness. Of the kind, of course, that did not come from actual y being ageless. She was dressed in her usual odd attire—that is to say, masculine clothing. Most of them considered this shockingly inappropriate, but some were coming to expect such eccentricities from artists, authors, and now mil iners. That said, Madame Lefoux may have been dressed as a man, but that did not stop her from being stylish about it, employing perfect tailoring and pleasing subtle grays and blues.
Professor Lyal approved.
Madame Lefoux glanced up from an emerald-green silk bonnet she was trimming with satin roses. “Ah, she wanted to see you as well ? Very good. Sensible of her.”
The establishment was devoid of customers despite the excel ent selection of headgear, probably because a polite little sign on the door indicated it was currently closed to visitors. The hats were beautiful y arranged, displayed not on stands but dangling at the ends of gold chains attached to the arched ceiling far above. They fel to different heights so that one had to brush through them to cross the shop. The hats swayed slightly as Professor Lyal did so, simulating a pleasing undersea forest.
Professor Lyal took off his hat and bowed. “Sent a note a few hours ago. She has her moments, does our Lady Maccon.”
“And you brought Woolsey’s librarian with you?” Madame Lefoux’s perfectly tended eyebrows arched in surprise. “That is unexpected.”
Floote, having fol owed Professor Lyal in from the street, tipped his hat to the Frenchwoman in such a way as to indicate mild censure, which Lyal supposed stemmed from the fact that he did not approve of her choice of attire and never had.
“Lady Maccon’s missive indicated his presence might be acceptable.” Lyal set his hat careful y down on the edge of the sales counter, where it would not look as though it were part of the stock. It was a favorite hat. “You are aware that he was valet to Lady Maccon’s father? If we are going to discuss what I believe we are going to discuss, his input might prove invaluable.”
“Was he real y? Of course, I knew he was butler to the Loontwil s before Alexia’s marriage. I don’t recal her revealing anything further.” Madame Lefoux looked with renewed interest at Floote, who remained stoic under her pointed scrutiny.
“Everything that has happened, up to a point, probably has something to do with Alessandro Tarabotti.” Professor Lyal drew her attention back to himself.
“You believe so, do you? Including this impromptu clandestine meeting of Alexia’s?”
“Isn’t that always the way of things with preternaturals? Should we go somewhere more private?” The open airiness of the hat shop with its long front windows made the Beta feel uncomfortably exposed. He would feel more relaxed below the shop in Madame Lefoux’s secret underground contrivance chamber.
Madame Lefoux put down her work. “Yes, Alexia wil know where to find us. If you would like to—”
She was cut off by a knock sounding at the shop door. Bel s jingled charmingly as it was pushed open. A cheerful-looking ginger-haired young blunt entered the room wearing a tan top hat, slightly too-tight red plaid breeches, gaiters, and a wide smile that had the unmistakable air of the theater about it.
“Ah, Tunstel , of course.” Professor Lyal was not surprised at this addition to Lady Maccon’s little gathering.
Floote gave Lord Maccon’s former claviger a nod. Then he slipped past him to shut the shop door and check the CLOSED sign. He’d only lately been made Alexia’s personal secretary and librarian; before that he’d been a very good butler. Sometimes it was hard to take the butlering out of a fel ow, especial y where doors were concerned.
“What ho, Professor? Lady Maccon’s note didn’t say you’d be here. What a pleasure, indeed. How’s the old wolf?” Tunstel doffed his hat and gave the assembly a sweeping bow and an even wider grin.
“Floppy.”
“You don’t say? I should think, from what I read in the paper this morning, he’d be rampaging about the countryside, threatening to tear folk limb from limb. Why—” Tunstel was warming to his topic, striding around the room in the sentimental style, arms waving, crashing into hats. He had recently earned himself a reputation as an actor of some note, but even before his fame, his mannerisms had leaned markedly in the dramatic direction.
A humorless little smile crossed Madame Lefoux’s lips, and she cut the former claviger off midgesticulation. “Not taking the marital separation well , your Alpha? I am very glad to hear it.” It wasn’t exactly rude of her to interrupt Tunstel . The redhead was a well -meaning fel ow, with a perpetual y jovial disposition and an undeniable stage presence, but, it must be admitted, he was prone to hyperbole.
Professor Lyal sighed heavily. “He has been intoxicated these last three days.”
“Good gracious me! I wasn’t even aware of the fact that werewolves could become intoxicated.” The Frenchwoman’s scientific interest was piqued.
“It takes some considerable effort and real al ocation of resources.”
“What was he drinking?”
“Formaldehyde, as it turns out. Just this morning I deduced his source. It is most wearisome. He worked his way through al of my reserves and then demolished half my specimen col ection before I realized what he was up to. I keep a laboratory, you see, on Woolsey Castle grounds in a converted gamekeeper’s hut.”