“Gone as far as that, has it?”

“Not formally. I’m still in school, after all, but I think he might ask.”

Mrs. Barnaclegoose hinted darkly, “I expect other contenders.”

“Oh?” Sophronia looked at her hard. Mrs. Barnaclegoose had guided her into espionage. And despite her once having covered Mrs. Barnaclegoose with trifle, Sophronia liked her. “Would you care to elaborate?”

Mrs. Barnaclegoose glanced about at the assembled party as if only just noticing them all. “Interesting collection, Miss Temminnick. Is that Golborne’s get? I was engaged to him once, you know? Before we found out about his political leanings. The duke, I mean, not the get. Now, dears, I’d scatter if I were you. Mrs. Temminnick is soon to send one of her other spawn to check up on Lady Kingair’s condition, and they aren’t as”—she paused, knowingly—“discreet as I.”

Sophronia could imagine the delight in Petunia’s eyes. “Thank you very much, Mrs. Barnaclegoose.” She curtsied deeply.

Mrs. Barnaclegoose left, closing the door behind her.

The room erupted into confused questions. Dimity’s higher tones resolved into the only one Sophronia felt like addressing.

“Who was she?”

“Oh, Mrs. Barnaclegoose? She’s the one who recruited me.”

“I forgot you were a covert. I never would have guessed that woman a product of Mademoiselle Geraldine’s.”

“I believe that’s the idea,” said Sidheag, sounding almost like her old self.

“Who is her patron, do you think?” Dimity seemed particularly curious; perhaps she saw Mrs. Barnaclegoose as a model for her own future lifestyle.

Sophronia answered because she wanted Felix to know she had options. She wanted Felix to know he had options. “Queen Victoria, I suspect. She acted as if this delivery was a favor to a friend, and the same when she recruited me to the school. I’ve never asked her outright, but I think her patron must be someone very important. The queen matches her personality.

“Speaking of which, I find it’s generally best to follow her advice. Ladies, we should go down directly. Gentlemen, in about fifteen minutes Lady Kingair will have a fainting fit that will result in our needing to retire from the ball early.” Sidheag nodded her willingness to participate. “Dimity, are you ready with the assist?”

“Of course.”

Sophronia looked to Soap. “If the gentlemen would meet us in the gazebo in a quarter of an hour? Pillover will show you where. Soap, can I trust you to requisition sufficient supplies from the kitchen?”

Soap nodded.

“Lord Mersey, you’re on clothing. The nursery is four doors down on the left. There are masses of Gresham’s old things stashed there. Mumsy is keeping them for when the twins are big enough. Bring enough for all of us, lots of sizes and such. I trust you have a good eye for the figures of ladies?”

Felix’s kohl-rimmed eyes were mellow behind the slim jester mask. “I’ve seen you in trousers before, both of you. Although not Miss Dimity, of course.”

Dimity blushed. “Must I?”

Sophronia said firmly, “I think it best. Then we’re only a bunch of lads—ladding it about. Young ladies on the loose get noticed.”

Dimity winced in anticipated humiliation.

Sophronia gave her team a quick look-over. They all seemed prepared for action. Sidheag had bucked up, less worried about life now that Sophronia had a scheme in play. Pillover looked like Pillover, the weight of the world oppressing him. Nothing to be done about that. She worried about Soap. Would he be sacked for being away from engineering for so long? Would he refrain from popping Felix in the snoot?

Sophronia reached down and scooped up her mechanimal. She fed Bumbersnoot the gift from Lord Akeldama. It was almost too long to fit into Bumbersnoot’s storage compartment, but he managed it. She marched from the room, clutching Bumbersnoot under one arm. Dimity and Sidheag trailed after.

They reentered the ballroom.

Just in time, as it turned out. The grandfather clock in the hallway behind them was striking midnight. Speeches were soon to commence, then more nibbles, then more dancing. Ephraim was leading his cupcake lady up to the dais in front of the quartet, for some concentrated adoration and praise. The mechanicals circled in a pattern, herding people to stand on the dance floor, passing out glasses of bubbly. Sophronia, Sidheag, and Dimity hustled to the front, in prominent position to be seen by Sophronia’s mother and cause a maximum amount of distraction with sudden illnesses. They each took a glass of champagne, knowing that flying crystal and spilled drinks could be almost as bad as the faint itself.

The clock finished its final gong. The musicians stopped playing and everyone stilled, turning expectantly to face the dais crowded with proud parents and the happy couple.

All was in readiness.

Sophronia prepared to give Sidheag the signal.

Then every mechanical in the house went completely and utterly unhinged.

SESSION 8: A CRISIS OF OPERATIC PROPORTIONS

There was no other way to put it—they went bonkers. One moment, mechanicals were passing out the champagne. The next, they were engaged in a high-speed romp along their tracks. Those that had the bearings to do so twirled in place. Those that were less dexterous twirled only their heads, like owls. It was a synchronized ballet of sophisticated engineering. A feast of mad pirouetting, as much as conical metal contraptions attached to tracks could be said to pirouette. Such a ramp-up in action, so different from their ordinary sedate trundling, caused internal engines to crank. The lower part of the ballroom became steamy. Sophronia closed her mouth on a hysterical giggle. No one had any feet. The masqueraders looked to be bobbing gently in a white sea.