Prudence (The Custard Protocol 1)

Rue had no answer, only adding, “And why such urgency? Dama implied it was a secret economic concern. Admittedly, if he’s right and this new variant of the plant takes, others will be interested, but to go to such lengths for tea?”

“Be fair, tea is important,” Primrose remonstrated.

“And why mention my mother?” Rue continued. “To be sure, her job revolves around securing the safety of the empire, but that could hardly be a matter integral to a rove vampire’s tea concerns.” Percy and Prim, because of their mother’s intimate friendship and vampire state, knew of Rue’s mother’s position on the Shadow Council. So Rue felt she was not betraying any confidences by involving them. Percy wasn’t paying attention anyway.

Primrose looked serious. “You’re certain about that?”

Rue considered the ramifications of her mission. “Perhaps these new plants are more significant than even Dama thought? Or perhaps he misled me as to their nature.”

“Oh, now, Rue, dear, I hardly think your Dama would let you walk blindly into a labyrinth of intrigue.”

Rue didn’t entirely agree. Already one agent had contacted her using the name Puggle, a name only Dama used. “I’m his beloved daughter, true, but he is still a vampire and he doesn’t perceive danger in quite the same way as we mere mortals.”

Quesnel appeared, looking stupefyingly gorgeous in a grey suit, purple cravat, and crisp white shirt. The ladies fell silent.

He fingered his cravat. “You see, I went with the theme.” He’d obviously heard Rue ask Prim to wear purple.

Rue wasn’t certain why she felt it necessary to run a scheme – perhaps it was simply in her nature to enjoy chaos. Plus any chance to perform was not to be missed.

Prim’s dress was far more Lady Akeldama-ish, so she would probably get the lion’s share of any attention in that regard. Those who had only heard of them were always easy victims. Prim’s gown was stylish and modern with a slit-front bodice over a fine Chantilly lace shirtwaist and a lavender and gold brocade jacket matched to the skirt. Everything was cut simply to showcase the beautiful pattern of the fabric – and Prim’s excellent figure. A wide sash emphasised Prim’s narrow waist, several inches smaller than Rue’s own. Yes, they looked alike in basics but, side by side, Rue was darker of complexion and substantially curvier. Prim lamented this frequently for it meant she could not borrow Rue’s dresses, thereby doubling the size of her own wardrobe.

In keeping with her mother’s wishes, Prim also wore a cream lace hat, perfectly matched to her dress, decorated with lavender ribbon and a bouquet of silk violets. Of course, the event was to take place after dark, and the sun was beginning to set in orange profusion over the Arabian Sea – thus hats were not strictly necessary. But custom dictated that a garden party meant hats, so hats they would wear. No doubt Aunt Ivy would learn of the breach if they didn’t, even thousands of leagues away.

Rue’s party elected to walk. The ladies utilised closed parasols as walking sticks. Fortunately, as they had absolutely no idea where they were going, Lieutenant Broadwattle was waiting for them on the shore.

Primrose took the lieutenant’s proffered arm with alacrity. Rue thought she saw the young officer cast her a wistful look. She dismissed it as highly unlikely – for no young man of sense preferred Rue over Prim – and accepted Quesnel’s all-too-casual offer. Percy slouched after them without any effort to participate in the social niceties of ambulation. Why had he bothered to come?

It turned out to be only a short way along the outside of the barracks to the impressive, almost church-like structure of the officers’ mess. As they walked, of all out-of-place things, the sound of bagpipes permeated the air. Rue had never visited the Scottish Highlands, but she suspected nothing could be more different than Bombay. Without explaining the noise, the lieutenant led them through the mess and out the other side into a beautiful walled garden boasting overarching trees, a square pond, copious graceful – if flimsy – chairs and tables, and the milling throng of Bombay’s resident elite.

Rue bounced in happily. Everything was so pretty and colourful. She and Prim were dressed to confuse. Tea espionage was afoot. This was going to be fun.

No one announced them but it was clear that the unvarying nature of society abroad made four newcomers a welcome curiosity. There was no doubt that they had been the talk of the party prior to their arrival. Rue felt rather like the pudding course of a fancy meal, viewed with desire by some, suspicion by others, and discomfort by those who had already partaken too freely. She adored it of course, delighting in engendering discomfort. It was, after all, her forte.

Lieutenant Broadwattle abandoned them at the stairs, presumably to alert the hostess.

Rue turned to her three companions and said with an air of celebration, “Let’s keep them as confused as possible, shall we?”

Quesnel looked game to play along.

Primrose nodded, an almost evil gleam to her dark eyes, before assuming an expression of pleasant enthusiasm. Percy rolled his eyes.

A large battleaxe of a woman bustled up to them, Lieutenant Broadwattle in her wake. “Ladies. Gentlemen. You are most welcome to our modest gathering. Most welcome, indeed. Such an honour. Now who is…?”

Lieutenant Broadwattle, doing his duty, said politely, “Lady Akeldama, Miss Tunstell, if I might introduce our lovely hostess, the ambassador’s wife, Mrs Godwit? Mrs Godwit, this is Lady Prudence Akeldama and the Honourable Primrose Tunstell.”

“Forgive me my dears, but which is which?”

Primrose stepped smoothly in before Lieutenant Broadwattle could elucidate. “Oh, Mrs Godwit, you’ll get accustomed to our little idiosyncrasies quite quickly. Allow me to introduce Professor Tunstell and Mr Lefoux.”

Percy’s bow was almost too perfunctory to be polite.

Quesnel stepped forward, knowing his duty. The Frenchman twinkled at their hostess in a most agreeable manner, entirely distracting that good lady from the question of confusingly similar brunettes in purple dresses. “How do you do, Mrs Godwit?”

“A pleasure, a pleasure. Mr Lefoux, was it?”

“Indeed, dear lady.”

Prim said, all gossip and good cheer, “I must say, the weather since we arrived! Is it always so hot this time of year here in India?”

“Oh, my dear young lady, I assure you this is mild, demulcent even, compared to the true summer suffering of this heathen land. You are lucky – or should I say, propitious? You have timed your visit very well indeed – the monsoon season has only recently ended. Such rains as we have been having already this month, a pabulum, a tempering of our customary languish––”