Reticence

by Gail Carriger

  Rue made a note. “Of course I care.”

  “She isn’t wearing a hat,” objected Virgil.

  “Not everyone takes them as seriously as you, dear. It’ll be all right in the end, civilisation will remain standing.”

  Virgil frowned. “Civilisations have fallen for less.”

  Rue rolled her eyes at the valet. “Go get the tea, Virgil, do.”

  “Same sugar pot?”

  “Yes please.” Rue’s voice had that forced cheerfulness it often assumed when dealing with Virgil (or with Percy himself, for that matter) in public.

  Rue made a graceful gesture with her hand at the open chair across from her. She’d arranged them to sit so that she and Prim were on one side of the table with Percy at the end. The chair directly opposite Rue and nearest the door was intended for the candidate.

  “Dr Ruthven, do sit down. I must say, you’re a pleasant surprise.”

  “Aye?”

  “Indeed. And I admire your attire greatly. I do so adore sportswear. Unfortunately, it’s not very conducive to, well, my life…”

  “Actually, I find it mighty conducive to most things. That’s why I wear it.”

  The young doctor was very forthright. Percy found this irksome, although there was no question that it would facilitate coping with an injured Rue or any of the others aboard The Spotted Custard. Backbone was practically a moral imperative on this ship.

  Up until that moment, if asked, Percy would have said he preferred mild-mannered soft-spoken young ladies (unlike his sister and his captain). Percy frowned. That is what I prefer! Not that he’d a great deal of experience with the fairer sex. Aside from Prim and Rue (and Tasherit and Spoo, who didn’t count), Percy tended to flee females as if they represented a herd of peer reviews.

  Rue squinted. “You don’t know anything about me?”

  The doctor looked bewildered. “Nay, should I?”

  “Yes, but it’s a relief that you don’t. I’m rather a scientific curiosity and most of the applicants so far were more interested in dissecting me than in the position on offer.”

  “I assure you, I am na in the habit of conducting vivisections.”

  “Good to know. Shall we get on with the interview then, Dr Ruthven?”

  “I’m at your disposal, Captain.”

  Dr Arsenic Ruthven had been in some odd situations in her life but this one took the clootie dumpling.

  Aye, she was being interviewed. But not by an aged ex-floatillah officer, as she’d expected. Retired puff-men were commonly tapped to captain pleasure craft for the idle rich. Generally speaking, the idle rich did not do the captaining themselves. And yet, before her sat three individuals who were, quite frankly, the very definition of the upper crust.

  The stout brunette with tan skin, yellow eyes, and decidedly cheeky disposition was actually the captain of the airship! Lady Akeldama looked robust if a touch puffy. Arsenic considered salt retention.

  Next to Lady Akeldama sat Miss Tunstell, who had a stack of paperwork and a stylus, suggesting she was in charge of staffing as well as being purser. She was straight-backed and pertly serious, with dark curls and soft skin. She appeared to be in good health.

  Rounding out the trio was the bonnie ginger, Professor Tunstell, who didn’t seem to have much to say for himself. Usual in academics who tended to wait until they had something to say on the subject of others. He was watching Arsenic from under lashes that were rather long for such a fair-haired fellow. Arsenic felt rather like a specimen under his microscope. He was too pale, and could likely use regular airing and calisthenics but no doubt resisted both with every fibre of his academic soul.

  They were all near to Arsenic’s own age, perhaps a little younger, and looked more like they were dressed for a ball than for interviewing a physician. Even behind the table, Arsenic could make out a great deal of satin and brocade, rather too much for this time of day. Both young ladies sported elaborate hairstyles and the professor’s cravat was formed into a knot of epic wonder. It was all ridiculously formal.

  Arsenic had donned her finest sportswear. Never would she have guessed she’d be the one underdressed for this interview.

  Another person might have found the encounter too peculiar, but Arsenic was, when it counted most, her mother’s daughter. Thus her reaction to an odd situation was to perfect her posture, narrow her eyes, and remind herself that she had much to offer any crew. Then, because she was also her father’s daughter, she smiled softly, took her chair with grace, and resolved to be charming.

  “Very well. Dr Ruthven, where did you train in the fine art of medicine?” Miss Tunstell began the actual interview.

  Arsenic looked to the captain, because she was, after all, the captain, and received a gracious nod. As if to say, Go on.

  “My degree is through Edinburgh University via correspondence. I was trained mainly on the battlefield. South Africa.” Arsenic preferred to talk as little as may be about that but she knew experience was important. The advertisement had specified.

  Miss Tunstell’s voice became gentle. “Did you serve?”

  “As a woman? Na officially. But at least that meant, when I left, it wasna desertion.” Please dinna ask please dinna…

  “Jameson?”

  Arsenic winced. News of the botched raid had reached London before she did and become sensationalized. She nodded.

  “You disagree?”

  Politics, already? Arsenic glanced helplessly at the wealthy aristocrats before her. She hesitated. Finally, she spoke, knowing she sounded more Scottish when attempting to master her emotions. “’Tis na ours. Nary a one is ours.”

  “The whole Empire or the African outposts?” Lady Akeldama leaned forward.

  I’m na going to get this position. Arsenic’s heart sank but she wasn’t going to fib, either. “The Empire. It costs too much, too many lives, on both sides. I’m a surgeon, na a politician.”

  “So who would know better than you?” Strangely the captain seemed sympathetic.

  “You dinna mind?”

  “That you’re a radical? Not especially. We’ve all gone native at this juncture.”

  “Native to where?” They were, after all, currently in London and Lady Akeldama had a very polished accent.

  The captain only wiggled her head back and forth. “Wherever we happen to be at the time, usually. It’s a supernatural affinity thing.”

  “Is it?” Arsenic hadn’t a great deal of exposure to the supernatural set. Except, of course, the werewolf regimental attachment to the army during her time in South Africa. They’d been decent eggs. But she hadn’t seen much of them as they didn’t require her services. They healed themselves neatly enough. As a result, Arsenic knew very little, medically or otherwise, about supernatural creatures. Although she’d enjoyed socializing with the werewolves when given a chance. They reminded her a great deal of her da, who was entirely human but a soldier and with werewolfish inclinations towards being a big gruff softy.

  Lady Akeldama shifted in her seat. “I’ll explain later. Moving on. You have field training in battle wounds?”

  “Almost all my experience is with such. ’Tis difficult for a young lady to set up practice in a town when there are gentleman physicians. But armies canna afford to be picky about surgeons.”

  “Practical training is good.” The captain nodded.

  Miss Tunstell was taking enthusiastic notes.

  Arsenic relaxed slightly.

  Miss Tunstell cleared her throat delicately. “Returning to the proper order of questions… Do you know how to extract a bullet and tend a puncture wound?”

  “Of course.”

  “And can you stitch up a gouge?”

  “Verra neatly, if I do say so myself. And bone setting is one of my fortes.”

  “That’s good. That’s very good.” The captain slapped her hands together. Despite her fancy attire, a beautiful ivory dress with appliqué yellow flowers, Lady Akeldama wasn’t wearing any gloves. Interesting omission.
r />   “Rue,” hissed Miss Tunstell. “You keep skipping ahead!”

  “Sorry, Prim, do go on.”

  “How about smaller household ailments and illnesses?”

  Arsenic strove to be honest. “I’ve my education to call upon and a small library, if I might be permitted to bring that aboard. But day-to-day treatment is na my strong suit. Basic medicinals and such I keep to hand, of course.” She hoisted her medical kit up on the table and patted it. “But anything exotic and I’d need consult an expert.” She was thinking about foreign lands, and how many soldiers she had lost to malignant fever rather than injury.

  “Did you say library?” Professor Tunstell finally spoke up. He’d a pleasant light tenor and a distinct Eton accent. Was he married to the stiff young lady? Nay, Virgil had called her Miss Tunstell, not Mrs, so he must be a brother or cousin.

  Arsenic strove to correct any erroneous assumptions. “Only a small collection of slim volumes, I assure you. I’ve travelled extensively over the past few years, and havena amassed many books. They shouldna weigh down the ship overmuch.”

  He gave a shy half smile, which turned him even more pretty. The smile wobbled, as if it were stiff from underuse. “Oh, we don’t worry about that. You should feel free to collect further. And you may store them in my library.”

  “Oh might she indeed, Percy?” Miss Tunstell’s expression was all incredulity.

  Professor Tunstell blinked a moment, as if startled by his own invitation. “Yes, I do believe I actually mean it.”

  Miss Tunstell rolled her eyes. “Oh for goodness’ sake, what is floating in your aether today? You’re even more exasperating than normal. Where was I?”

  “You were asking about my education and experience,” prompted Arsenic. She had three sisters, thus she knew how to keep a conversation on track.

  “Yes, thank you, Doctor. I believe I’m satisfied for now. Besides there is Mother to consider. She said you might do in that letter.”

  Everyone, including Arsenic, looked at Miss Tunstell in utter confusion.

  Miss Tunstell waved an airy hand. “You don’t remember the letter? Something to do with Aunt Softy? No? Why am I the only one who cares about this kind of thing?”

  “Well, if it came from Aunt Softy,” said Professor Tunstell, possibly sarcastically.

  “Via your mother,” added the captain, definitely sarcastically.

  Arsenic was confused. “Someone knew I’d apply?”

  “Someone sent you the advertisement, didn’t they?” Miss Tunstell looked, if possible, even more prim.

  “It was in the paper.”

  “And that paper arrived opened to our advert on your doorstep, did it not?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Aunt Softy works in mysterious ways. So does my mother.”

  Arsenic wondered if her own mother had anything to do with it. She felt suddenly as if her life was being managed by others. Not a pleasant sensation. But she still desired the position and now she had something to prove.

  The captain glared at Miss Tunstell. “You could have warned me this one had Aunt Ivy’s stamp.”

  “I didn’t want to prejudice you,” snapped back Miss Tunstell.

  “For or against?” The captain pursed her lips and looked at Arsenic with a modicum more suspicion than before.

  “Who’s Aunt Ivy?” wondered Arsenic.

  “The Aunt Softy connection. It’s best not to worry too much about such things. You know aunts, they will interfere given the slightest opportunity.”

  “I have sisters, same difference.”

  “Too true,” said Professor Tunstell, softly.

  The two ladies sneered at him. Miss Tunstell is definitely his sister, and the captain probably a childhood friend.

  Miss Tunstell returned to Arsenic. “May I please see your accreditation?”

  “Of course, I’ve it here.” Arsenic popped open her medical kit with the activation button. It decompressed and spiralled up, showing off dozens of shelves and compartments, stretching three feet tall. It was a masterwork of design and function and had cost her a small fortune. Arsenic never resented a penny. She fished out the requested paperwork from its special sleeve under the lid. She kept it easily accessible. She was accustomed to having her expertise questioned.

  Miss Tunstell gave it a cursory glance. The captain waved it off, seeming more interested in the auto-telescoping function of Arsenic’s kit. Professor Tunstell, however, pulled out an adorable set of spectacles and gave the paperwork a thorough read.

  “Ruthven. Why do I know that name?” he asked, apparently of the paper, as he did not look up.

  “Mother’s letter?” suggested Miss Tunstell.

  Professor Tunstell snorted without looking up. “As if I read anything Mother writes. No no, it’s something else.”

  Arsenic felt her heart sink. Her mother hadn’t been active for years. And never worked under the name Ruthven. She was, in fact, officially retired – although really, was that even possible? Still, Preshea Ruthven had once had a reputation. Arsenic’s family had endeavoured to keep Mother’s married name separate from her other married names, but it was difficult for a lady of deadly notoriety to remain entirely obscure.

  Arsenic prepared to explain.

  But then the professor snapped his fingers. “Oh yes, Professor Belladonna Ruthven, out of Dublin. She wrote that marvellous paper on the beneficial medicinal properties of digitalis when used in small doses. Does the medical profession run in your family then, Dr Ruthven?”

  “Oh aye, I mean to say, nay. It dinna run in the family. I’m the only doctor. My sister Bella is a botanist. The micro-use application was my idea. I dinna have the patience for publication, so I let her write it up. Better if people know, aye?”

  Professor Tunstell gave her his full unblinking attention. His blue-green eyes were large behind the small gold spectacles. “You let her publish your findings?”

  “Nay. I merely mentioned to her that I’d success with small doses of digitalis to increase heart rate, rather than using it to murder people. Bella thought it a fine concept and looked into it further with me as consult.” Arsenic wrinkled her nose. “’Tis what she does. We deduced some verra exciting applications.” She knew she was about to start rambling, but they had. “To counteract constrictive breathing disorders. To allay sluggish speed malfunctions in the heart. Even atrial arrhythmias. Can you imagine?”

  She trailed off because everyone was staring at her.

  “My goodness” – Lady Akeldama squirmed in her chair – “she’s almost as bad as Percy.”

  “This is ridiculous,” said Miss Tunstell, although she was looking more thoughtful than annoyed. “We can’t justify another one, can we? Virgil may never forgive us.”

  “But listen to her,” objected the captain. “She’s brilliant! And she has a lovely accent. I find Sottish tremendously reassuring, don’t you?”

  Arsenic flushed in pleasure and dipped her head. She was beginning to rather adore Lady Akeldama. There was no artifice to her. Which, in Arsenic’s family, was unheard of. Even her beloved da, while open and loving, could be secretive.

  “You didn’t want to publish?” Professor Tunstell was staring at Arsenic as if she had spontaneously grown a third arm.

  Into this mild hysteria came the welcome relief of the dour Virgil. He knocked and then entered carrying a laden tea tray.

  Miss Tunstell waved him in. “Now, this is mostly for you, Dr Ruthven. Do help yourself. We’ve already had five portions. That’s a bit much tea in one afternoon, even for us.”

  “Heresy.” The captain looked fervent.

  Miss Tunstell gave a long-suffering sigh and began to pour. Despite her comments, everyone was given a fresh cuppa. Although only Arsenic was offered the plate of scones.

  Arsenic, too nervous to eat, waved it away.

  The captain seemed to find this the first thing about Arsenic not to her liking. “You don’t want a scone? But everyone wants scones.
”

  Arsenic didn’t know what to say. She didn’t like scones – nasty dry things – and she hadn’t a large appetite, regardless. She’d already consumed a perfectly sufficient breakfast. She wouldn’t need to eat again for ages. “I’m na… That is… I’m na a verra good eater.”

  “What?” The captain’s expression darkened and her peculiar yellow eyes narrowed.

  Miss Tunstell came over all placating. “Rue darling, that’d be a nice change aboard this ship.”

  Professor Tunstell added, “I’m not either, to be fair.” He gave Virgil an affectionate little nudge after the laddie delivered his tea. Virgil scowled approvingly back at the man.

  “No one cares about you, Percy.” Miss Tunstell sniffed.

  Arsenic scraped her brain for something witty to say to combat Lady Akeldama’s disapproval. Then, without reason or instigation, the sugar pot exploded.

  It wiggled a bit. Gave a loud wheezing bang and shot its lid up into the air.

  The thing was made of metal, so it didn’t shatter. Granules of sugar flew about. The lid clattered to the table before rolling onto the floor. Nothing serious.

  Arsenic jerked in her chair and then let out a surprised laugh. The lid hadn’t hit anyone but she couldn’t shut down her doctor nature if she tried. “Is anyone hurt? Sugar in the eye?”

  “See, there? Perfect.” The captain sounded triumphant.

  Some kind of test? Arsenic cocked her head, trying to decide whether to be annoyed or charmed.

  “Yes, well, I see your point, Rue dear.” Miss Tunstell’s blue eyes were warm on Arsenic’s face.

  Professor Tunstell wasn’t paying attention. “Not publish? Not publish!”

  Arsenic decided to ignore him, as that seemed to be the general tactic among the ladies and she was already beginning to consider herself one of them. She wanted to be one of them, almost more than she wanted the position. Besides, the professor was profoundly academic. Scholars could get outlandish and unhinged.

  “Weel, that was fun.” Arsenic stood to find the lid, which had ended up near the door on her side of the table.

  “You’re a good sort, aren’t you, Doctor.” Miss Tunstell was decided.