Soulless: The Parasol Protectorate: Book the First

by Gail Carriger

  “Why?” Alexia asked, confused that her single state should concern the Queen of England.

  “Ah, that. You are aware of the Shadow Council?” The queen settled herself in the hard chair, as much as queens do, which is to say her shoulders relaxed slightly.

  Alexia nodded. “The potentate acts as your official vampire consultant and the dewan in the werewolf capacity. Rumors are that most of your political acumen comes from the potentate’s advice and your military skill from the dewan’s.”

  “Alexia,” Professor Lyall growled a warning.

  The queen looked more amused than insulted at this. She even dropped the royal “we” for the space of a few moments. “Well, I suppose my enemies must blame somebody. I will say that those two are invaluable, when they are not bickering with each other. But there is a third post that has been vacant since before my time. An advisor meant to break the stalemate between the other two.”

  Miss Tarabotti frowned. “A ghost?”

  “No, no. We have plenty of those flitting around Buckingham Palace; cannot keep them quiet half the time. We certainly do not need one in any official capacity. Not when they cannot maintain solidity that long. No, what we require is a muhjah.”

  Alexia looked confused.

  The queen explained. “Traditionally the third member of the Shadow Council is a preternatural, the muhjah. Your father declined the post.” She sniffed. “Italians. Now, there simply is not enough of your set left to vote on your nomination, so it will have to be an appointed position. But voting is mostly a formality, even for the positions of dewan and potentate. At least it has been during my reign.”

  “No one else wants the job,” said Professor Lyall with feeling.

  The queen gave him a reproving look.

  He leaned forward and explained further. “It is a political post,” he said. “Lots of arguing and paperwork and books being consulted all the time. It is not at all like BUR, you understand?”

  Miss Tarabotti’s eyes positively sparkled. “Sounds delightful.” Yet she remained suspicious. “Why me? What could I possibly offer against two such experienced voices?”

  The queen was not used to being questioned. She looked at Professor Lyall.

  He said, “I told you she was difficult.”

  “Aside from breaking a stalemate, our muhjah is the only truly mobile unit of the three councilors. Our potentate is confined to a narrow territory, like most vampires, and cannot function during the day. Our dewan is more mobile, but he cannot travel by dirigible and is incapacitated every full moon. We have relied upon BUR to make up for the Shadow Council’s weakness in this regard, but we would prefer a muhjah whose attention is solely on the Crown’s concerns and who can come to us directly.”

  “So there will be some active duty?” Miss Tarabotti was even more intrigued.

  “Uh-oh,” muttered Professor Lyall, “I do not think Lord Maccon fully comprehended this aspect of the position.”

  “The muhjah is the voice of the modern age. We have faith in our potentate and our dewan, but they are old and set in their ways. They require balance from someone who keeps up with current lines of scientific inquiry, not to mention the interests and suspicions of the daylight world. We are concerned that this Hypocras Club is a symptom of greater unrest. We are worried that our BUR agents did not uncover it sooner. You have proven yourself an able investigator and a well-read young woman. As Lady Maccon, you would also possess the standing needed to infiltrate the highest levels of society.”

  Alexia looked between Professor Lyall and the queen. Lyall looked worried. That decided her. “Very well, I accept.”

  The queen nodded happily. “Your future husband indicated you would not be averse to the position. Most excellent! We convene twice a week, Thursday and Sunday nights, unless there is a crisis of some kind, in which case you are expected to be readily available. You will be answerable to the Crown alone. We will expect you to start the week after your wedding. So do hurry it up.”

  Alexia smiled foolishly and looked at Professor Lyall from under her lashes. “Conall approves?”

  The werewolf grinned. “He recommended you to the job months ago. The first time you interfered in one of his operations and he knew BUR would not be allowed to hire you. Of course, he did not know the muhjah engaged in active investigations on the queen’s behalf.”

  The queen said, “Of course, initially we objected to the recommendation. We cannot have a single young lady in such a powerful position. It simply is not done.” She looked almost mischievous and lowered her voice. “In all confidentiality, my dear, we do believe the Woolsey Alpha thinks being muhjah will keep you out of his way.”

  Alexia slapped a hand to her mouth in an excess of embarrassment. To have the Queen of England thinking of her as an interfering busybody!

  Professor Lyall crossed his arms and said, “Begging your pardon, Your Majesty, but I think he wants to set Miss Tarabotti at the dewan and watch the fur fly.”

  Queen Victoria smiled. “They never have gotten along, those two.”

  Professor Lyall nodded. “Both are too much alpha.”

  Miss Tarabotti looked suddenly worried. “That is not why he is marrying me, is it? So I can be muhjah?” A little bit of her old insecurity came back to haunt her.

  “Do not be ridiculous,” admonished the queen curtly. “He has been mad for you these many months, ever since you prodded him in the nether regions with a hedgehog. It has been driving everyone balmy, all this dancing about. Glad it is finally getting settled. This wedding of yours is going to be the social event of the season. Half the guests in attendance will be there simply to make certain you both go through with it. Outside of enough, that is our opinion.”

  Miss Tarabotti, for one of the first and last times in her life, was entirely at a loss for words.

  The queen stood up. “Well, that is settled, then. We are most pleased. And now we suggest you go to bed, young lady. You look exhausted.” With that, she swept from the house.

  “She is so short,” said Miss Tarabotti to Professor Lyall once the queen had gone.

  “Alexia,” said a tremulous voice from the other side of the room. “what is going on?”

  Alexia sighed and struggled to her feet, wobbling over to her confused mama. All of Mrs. Loontwill’s anger had evaporated upon waking to find her daughter in conversation with the Queen of England.

  “Why was the queen here? Why were you discussing the Shadow Council? What is a muhjah?” Mrs. Loontwill was very confused. She seemed to have utterly lost control of the situation.

  Me, thought Alexia with pleasure. I will be muhjah. This is going to be such fun. Aloud she said the only thing calculated to shut her mother up. “Do not worry about a thing, Mama. I am going to marry Lord Maccon.”

  It worked. Mrs. Loontwill’s mouth snapped closed. Her expression evolved rapidly from perturbation to uncontrollable elation. “You caught him!” she breathed in delight.

  Felicity and Evylin reentered the room, both wide-eyed. For the first time in their entire lives, they regarded their older sister with something other than mild contempt.

  Noticing her other two daughters had arrived, Mrs. Loontwill added hastily, “Not that I approve your methods of catching him, of course. Out all night, indeed. But thank heavens you did!” Then in an aside, “Girls, your sister is going to marry Lord Maccon.”

  Felicity and Evylin looked even more shocked, but they recovered quickly enough.

  “But, Mama, why was the queen here?” Evylin wanted to know.

  “Never mind that now, Evy,” said Felicity impatiently. “The important question is, what will you wear for a wedding dress, Alexia? You look horrible in white.”

  The afternoon papers reported the bulk of the news accurately enough. Miss Tarabotti and Lord Akeldama’s names were left out, and the exact makeup of the experiments was omitted in favor of emphasizing their sensational grisliness and illegal nature.

  The reports threw all of London i
nto a fervor of speculation. The Royal Society scrambled to deny any association with the Hypocras Club, but BUR commenced a whirlwind of undercover operations. A good many other scientists, some with well-known names indeed, suddenly found themselves without funding, on the run, or in prison. No one ever explained the octopuses.

  The Hypocras Club was shut down permanently and its premises impounded and placed on the market. It was bought by a nice young couple from East Duddage whose success in the chamber-pot business had brought them up in the world. The Duchess of Snodgrove regarded the entire affair as a travesty designed solely to impinge on her social standing. The fact that her new neighbors, nice young couple or no, hailed from Duddage and were involved in trade sent her into a fit of hysteria so pervasive her husband removed her instantly to the country ducal estates in Berkshire for the sake of everyone’s health. He sold their town house.

  As far as Miss Tarabotti was concerned, the worst thing to result from the whole sordid affair was that, although both club premises and Lord Akeldama’s house had been searched top to bottom, BUR never did recover her brass parasol.

  “Bah,” she complained to her intended as they strolled through Hyde Park late one evening, “I did so love that parasol.”

  A carriage of dowagers swept past. One or two nodded in their direction. Lord Maccon tipped his hat to them.

  Society had come, albeit reluctantly, to accept the fact that one of the most eligible bachelors was going off the market by marrying a spinster nobody. One or two, witness the nods, had even come around to extending cautious overtures of friendship to Miss Tarabotti. Miss Tarabotti further improved her standing among the aristocracy as a force to be reckoned with by turning her large nose up at such sycophancy. Lady Maccon-to-be was clearly as formidable as her intended.

  Lord Maccon took Miss Tarabotti’s arm soothingly. “I shall have them make you a hundred such parasols, one for every dress.”

  Miss Tarabotti raised her eyebrows at him. “Silver tipped, you realize?”

  “Well, you will be facing down the dewan several times a week; you might need some silver. Though I do not anticipate he will give you too much trouble.”

  Alexia, who had not yet had an opportunity to meet the other members of the Shadow Council and would not until after her wedding, looked at Lord Maccon curiously. “Is he really that fainthearted?”

  “Nope. Simply ill-prepared.”

  “For what?”

  “You, my love,” the earl said, tempering the insult with an endearment.

  Alexia sputtered in such a charming way that Lord Maccon simply had to kiss her, right there, in the middle of Hyde Park. Which made her sputter even more. Which made him kiss her more. It was a vicious cycle.

  Of course, it was Mr. MacDougall who had taken possession of the brass parasol. The poor young man had slipped everyone’s mind, including Alexia’s, as soon as the Hypocras investigation was put to rest. He took the parasol back to America with him—as a sort of memento. He had been genuinely heartbroken to read the announcement of Miss Tarabotti’s engagement in the Gazette. He returned to his mansion in Massachusetts and threw himself with renewed scientific vigor and a more cautious attitude into measuring the human soul. Several years later, he married a veritable battle-ax of a woman and happily allowed himself to be bossed around for the remainder of his days.

  EPILOGUE

  Miss Alexia Tarabotti did not wear white to her wedding. Apart from the fact that Felicity was perfectly correct in stating that it clashed something terrible with her skin tone, she figured that when one has seen one’s affianced naked and covered in blood, one is no longer quite pure enough for white.

  Instead, she wore ivory: a sumptuous French-made dress selected and designed with Lord Akeldama’s consummate assistance. It took into account the new trend in cleaner lines and long sleeves, hugging her upper torso and showing her curves to perfection. The square neckline of the bodice was cut quite low, much to Lord Maccon’s approval, but it came up high in the back and around her neck in a demi-collar, reminiscent of some exotic robe from the Rococo era. It was held closed by an exquisite opal brooch at her throat and started a fashion trend in necklines that persisted for nearly three whole weeks.

  Miss Tarabotti told no one the dress’s design was a last-minute alteration due entirely to the fact that, two days before the wedding, the earl got her alone in the dining room for almost an hour. As always, the bite marks she had left on him faded the moment they separated. She sighed, not unhappily. Really, the amount of attention he paid to her neck, one would think he was a vampire.

  Biffy did her hair for the prestigious event. He had been loaned to Miss Tarabotti for the duration of the wedding planning. He knew a phenomenal amount about who must be invited, who should be invited, what the invitations ought to look like, which flowers to order, and so forth. As bridesmaid, Ivy Hisselpenny did her best, but the poor thing was a tad overwhelmed by the particulars. Biffy developed a dab hand at keeping Ivy well out of tasks that involved style of any kind, so that, in the end, everything looked lovely and managed not to clash. Even Ivy.

  The ceremony was to take place just after sunset on a quarter-moon night so that everyone could attend. Just about everyone did: including the queen, Lord Akeldama and all his drones, and the cream of London society. Most notably absent were the vampires, who had not even bothered to politely refuse invitations but instead snubbed the couple outright.

  “They have good reason to object,” said Lord Akeldama.

  “But not you?”

  “Oh, I have good reason, too, but I trust you, little innovator. And I like change.” He left it at that, despite Alexia’s pointed further inquiries.

  The Westminster hive proved the exception of the mass vampire cut direct. Countess Nadasdy sent Lord Ambrose to observe the ceremony, but clearly under duress. She also sent Alexia an unexpected gift, which arrived while she was dressing the afternoon of the wedding.

  “Did I not say she would get rid of me?” said Angelique with a self-deprecating smile.

  Miss Tarabotti was a little overwhelmed. “You are in favor of a new position? With me?”

  The violet-eyed girl shrugged in a blasé French kind of way. “My master, he iz dead because of ze scientists. Lady’s maid, it iz better than housemaid.”

  “But what about your drone status?”

  Angelique looked coy. “Zer iz always claviger, yez?”

  “Very well, then, welcome,” said Miss Tarabotti. Of course, the French girl must, perforce, be a spy, but Alexia reasoned it was better to know and keep her close than force the hive into more desperate maneuvering. It did cause a twinge of worry. Why were the vampires fussing so?

  Angelique began immediately to assist Biffy in finishing the last of Alexia’s coiled updo, arguing mildly on the subject of a flower above the right ear.

  They both protested when Alexia stood, not yet fully dressed, and waved them off.

  “I must pay someone a visit,” she said imperiously. It was late afternoon: the sun had not yet set, and there was still much to do before the big event that night.

  “But right now?” sputtered Biffy. “It is your wedding evening!”

  “And we have only just finished ze hair!”

  Miss Tarabotti could tell that these two were going to be a force to be reckoned with. But so was she. Alexia instructed them to get her dress ready and that she would be back within the hour, so not to fret. “It is not like anything can actually occur without me, is it? I have to see a friend about the sun.”

  She took the Loontwills’ carriage without asking and went round to Lord Akeldama’s gilt-edged town house. She sailed in the front door past various drones and woke Lord Akeldama from his deadlike daytime sleep with a touch.

  Human, he blinked at her groggily.

  “It is almost sunset,” said Miss Tarabotti with a tiny smile, her hand on his shoulder. “Come with me.”

  Clad only in his sleeping robe, she took the vampire firmly by th
e hand and led him up through the splendor of his gilt house and out onto the rooftop into the waning light.

  Alexia rested her cheek on his shoulder, and they stood silently together and watched the sun set over the city.

  Lord Akeldama refrained from pointing out she would be late for her own wedding.

  Miss Tarabotti refrained from pointing out that he was crying.

  She figured it was a good way to end her career as a spinster.

  Lord Akeldama also cried during the ceremony, which took place at Westminster Abby. Well, he was a bit of a weeper. So did Mrs. Loontwill. Miss Tarabotti, rather callously, figured her mama’s tears were more for the loss of her butler than for the loss of her daughter. Floote had given notice and moved, along with Alexia’s father’s entire library, into Woolsey Castle that very morning. Both were settling in nicely.

  The wedding was hailed as a masterpiece of social engineering and physical beauty. Best of all, as Alexia’s bridesmaid, Miss Hisselpenny was not permitted to choose her own hat. The ceremony went unexpectedly smoothly, and in no time at all, Miss Tarabotti found herself Lady Maccon.

  Afterward, everyone assembled in Hyde Park, which was admittedly unusual, but exceptions had to be made when werewolves were involved. And there certainly were a goodly number of werewolves. Not simply Lord Maccon’s pack but all the loners, other packs, and clavigers within traveling distance had attended the celebration.

  Luckily, there was enough meat for them all. The only aspect of wedding procedure Alexia had invested genuine involvement and time into was the food. As a result, the tables set about their corner of the park fairly groaned under their burdens. There were galantines of guinea fowl stuffed with minced tongue quivering in aspic jelly and decorated with feathers made of lemon-soaked apple peel. No fewer than eight pigeons in truffle gravy nesting in coils of pastry made their appearance and disappearance. There were stewed oysters, fried haddock fillets in anchovy sauce, and grilled sole with peach compote. Having noted Lord Maccon’s fondness for poultry, the Loontwill cook provided woodcock pie, roast pheasant in butter sauce with peas and celery, and a brace of grouse. There was a baron of beef, a forequarter of mutton glazed with red wine, and lamb cutlets with fresh mint and broad beans—all offered on the rarer side. Corner dishes included lobster salad, spinach and eggs, vegetable fritters, and baked potatoes. In addition to the massive bride’s cake and the piles of nutty groom’s cakes for the guests to take home, there were rhubarb tarts, stewed cherries, fresh strawberries and purple grapes, gravy boats of clotted cream, and plum pudding. The food was declared an unqualified success, and many a plan was made to visit Woolsey Castle for luncheon once Alexia took over supervision of its kitchens.