Manners & Mutiny

Soap began to bristle at the implied criticism, his arms tightening around Sophronia.

“Now, now, little wolf, I like unusual pairings.” The vampire smiled without showing fang.

Soap relaxed slightly.

“Just back there, my sweethearts, into the drawing room. And now, much as I would delight in hearing positively everything else that has happened to you lately, I’m afraid I am about to drop dead. Bed awaits. Pilpo will look after you.” Without further ado, Lord Akeldama whisked up the stairs, seeking his private chamber.

Soap said, “I’m going to need to sleep soon, too. Sun isn’t as difficult for me as for vampires, but I’m young and it’s challenging. My heart, please don’t tell anyone else about me? The dewan wants it secret. Not only do I have to obey him, but it’s better for us this way.”

“I wouldn’t worry.” Sophronia made her voice as calm and reassuring as possible. “Lord Akeldama is like that. And he won’t talk. He never talks about important things.”

Pilpo appeared at that juncture. Sophronia had met him before. A lifetime ago, it felt like. He was dark skinned like Soap and dressed impeccably, as was always the case with Lord Akeldama’s drones. As if by magic, he offered up a beautiful brocade robe for Soap. Relieved, the werewolf put Sophronia down long enough to pull it on.

Pilpo let them into a large drawing room that was gorgeously—if not comfortably—furnished. This was clearly the hub of Lord Akeldama’s household, although empty at present.

“Where is everyone?” Sophronia asked as she and Soap made their way over to a small sofa.

They sank down on it gratefully.

“My lord has us all out hunting.” Pilpo flashed a beautiful white smile. “Except me, of course. A lot happened last night, and he expects to know everything there is to know by sunset today. I suspect you two will be most helpful in this matter.”

“No wonder he invited us in.” Soap settled himself on the couch. Then, because he had no manners, he curled up with his head in Sophronia’s lap.

She let him. Her lap didn’t hurt. And this way she could play with his hair.

Pilpo manfully ignored Soap’s feet on the furniture. “But first, what do you need, my dear? Food? Tea? Something stronger?”

Sophronia sighed with pleasure. The very idea that she was safe and could rely on this capable gentleman to see to her immediate needs was a pure joy. “Tea would be lovely. And, unfortunately, I should see a physician, if you have one you trust. Also, my friends think I’m dead. Could you send a message stating the contrary to Miss Agatha Woosmoss? I believe Lord Akeldama is familiar with the young lady and should have her address. She can tell the appropriate authorities that any rumors as to my demise are grossly exaggerated.”

Pilpo nodded. “It shall all be done exactly as you wish.” And went to fetch the tea.

By the time he returned, Sophronia was also asleep, leaning precariously sideways on the sofa, her good hand on Soap’s head where it nestled in her lap. They both looked very young.

Pilpo covered Soap with a blanket and placed a pillow so Sophronia would not awaken with a crick, and then went about putting as much as he could to rights before luncheon.

Sophronia awoke at noon, ravenous, and alone—but for a sleeping Soap—in Lord Akeldama’s blindingly golden drawing room. She managed to extract herself from her lover’s heavy head without waking him. This required no real skill, for he, like most supernaturals, slept like the dead during daylight. She found a little gold bell next to her elbow that tinkled sweetly when she rang it.

Pilpo appeared. “You’re awake? Good. Feel better? What would you like first?”

“I’ll take that tea I missed before, if you would be so kind? And some breakfast, please, if it’s not too late? And then, more than anything else in the world, I want a bath.”

Pilpo laughed. “Of course, my dear.”

Other drones were home now, and one of them appeared with a piping-hot pot of some gorgeous tea, a mound of bacon and eggs, a fried kipper, buttered toast, and a scone with raspberry jam. Sophronia ate it all. After that, Pilpo helped her up—she was quite stiff—and showed her to the bathing chamber.

Sophronia spent longer than she should soaking in the fabulous hot water, though it hurt at first and all her wound dressings had to be removed. Pilpo checked on her twice, to make certain she hadn’t fallen back asleep. The third time he appeared, eyes averted, and deposited a beautiful day dress on a marble statue nearby. He said not to bother doing up the bodice, as the doctor had arrived and would want to look at her shoulder. There were assorted filmy white underthings, but no corset, which was good, as Sophronia couldn’t have possibly done it up herself.

She struggled out of the tub and dressed with care. It seemed to take a very long time. The dress was dark teal silk, with black lace trim and a skirt of three tiers. It had a jacket with tiered sleeves that closed up the front, but even so, Sophronia wished for a lady’s maid. It had been chosen with care as easy to put on, but everything was a challenge with only one arm. Nevertheless, Sophronia was on her own, for Lord Akeldama didn’t keep female staff. She wondered where the dress came from.

The doctor waited for her in the dressing room. He was a genial elderly gentleman with an air of discretion, very little hair, and sad eyes. He did not ask how she had acquired her injuries, merely treated them with care and concern as to her resulting appearance.

“Such a pretty girl must, perforce, be left without scars.”

Certainly, he was exactly the kind of doctor Lord Akeldama would keep on retainer for his drones.

He left her with a cataplasm for her eyes, a sling for her arm—“Keep it on this time, young lady!”—and bandages for everything else. He then fastened her bodice for her, in the manner of a man proficient in fashion, because with her arm back in a sling she couldn’t do it herself.

Sophronia returned to the drawing room to find Pilpo in his element, entertaining a chattering gathering that included Lady Linette, Sister Mattie, Pillover, Agatha, several sooties, Smokey Bones, and, best of all, Dimity. Soap was still there as well. He was also still asleep.

Dimity ran to Sophronia, looking as if she very much wanted to hug her, but settling for cheek kisses and cooing noises. Despite her bath and visit with the doctor, Sophronia knew she still looked awful. From the thinly disguised horror in Dimity’s eyes, she suspected it was worse than even she could imagine.

“Oh, Sophronia, what you must have been through!”

Agatha followed, no less pleased, but not so effusive about it. She clasped Sophronia’s good hand briefly with her old shy smile. “Welcome the returning hero.”

“Oh, stop,” said Sophronia, charmed.

Pillover mooched after the two girls. He was grinning, of all absurd things, a wide genuine smile. Sophronia would never have believed it if she hadn’t seen with her own eyes.

Agatha seemed pleased with life. “Pillover is a hero, too, did you know?”

Dimity recovered her composure at that, enough to say, under her breath, “Oh, really. He’s no better than a mangel-wurzel.”

Sister Mattie, however, agreed with Agatha. “Indeed he is. Helped us to escape, he did. Bunson’s was in league with the Picklemen, as we suspected. Well, if not in league, at least complicit. Anyway, Agatha’s young man here helped to free Lady Linette and me.”