The young woman gave her the full once-over. “Lady Maccon?” she hazarded a guess.
“Indeed.”
“I had been warned to keep an eye out for you.”
“Warned? Warned! Were you, indeed? Well, now I am here and?.?.?.?and?.?.?.?” She floundered. It was terribly hard to be angry when one wasn’t. “I have a very grave matter to discuss with your patroness.”
“I told you, madam, and I do apologize, but she is not available this evening, even for you.”
“Unacceptable!” Alexia was rather pleased with both the word choice and her execution. Very commanding, indeed! That’s what living with werewolves will do for a girl. Now where to go from here? “I’ll have you know I have been swindled! Absolutely swindled. I will have none of it. I shall call on the constabulary. You see if I don’t.”
By this time, Lady Maccon and the now-trembling shopgirl had attracted the attention of the entire establishment, both patrons and hire.
“I came here looking for hairmuffs. I hear they are the thing for dirigible travel, and I desire a set that matches my hair, and what do I find? Not a single pair of the appropriate shade. Where are they all?”
“Well, you see, madam, we are currently out of the darker colors. If madam would like to put in an order—”
“No, madam would not like! Madam would like a set of the hairmuffs right this very moment!” At this juncture, Alexia contemplated stamping her foot, but that was probably excessively dramatic, even for this audience.
Instead, she waddled over to the muff display stand near the shop window. She grabbed a cluster of her own curls, artfully arranged over the shoulder of her blue and green plaid visiting dress, and waved them at the stand. Then she backed off as though physically repulsed by the mismatch.
“You see?” She stood away and pointed with the tip of her parasol at the offending hairmuffs.
The shopgirl did see. So, in fact, did all the other ladies present. What they saw was that Lady Maccon, only a few days from her confinement, had still extricated herself from bed and the bosom of her husband’s affection in order to come to this very shop to buy hairmuffs. They must, perforce, be back en mode. Lady Maccon, wife to the Earl of Woolsey, was known to fraternize with the trendsetters and fashion leaders of the ton. She herself might prefer more practical garb, especially in her present state, but if she was buying hairmuffs, then Lord Akeldama approved the accessory. If Lord Akeldama approved, then the vampires approved, and if the vampires approved, well, that was simply it: hairmuffs must be the living end.
Suddenly, every lady in that shop had to have a set of Mrs. Tunstells’ Hairmuffs for the Elevated Lady Traveler. They all stopped admiring whatever hat they were fawning over and swarmed the little stand. Even those who had absolutely no intention of ever setting foot on board a dirigible suddenly were in a mad passion to own hairmuffs. For what became fashionable for floating descended to the ground—witness the craze for decorative goggles.
Lady Maccon was swarmed by a gaggle of bustled and trussed ladies, all grabbing for the muffs, squealing at each other while they tried desperately to snatch the colors that matched their own coiffures. There was even a little pushing and some shortness of breath. It was practically a rout.
The shopgirls obligingly descended into the milieu as well, notepads out, trying to convince the ladies not to purchase right away but to place an order for the appropriate color and perhaps multiple styles and different-size ringlets as well.
In the resulting chaos, Lady Maccon extracted herself and lurched, as stealthily as was within her limited capacity, to the very back of the shop. Here, in a shadowed corner under an attractive display of gloves, was the handle to the entrance to the ascension chamber. She activated it, the hidden door swinging quietly open. Alexia noted with relief that the chamber was already at the upper level waiting for her. She clambered inside, drawing the door to the shop closed behind her.
After many months of friendship, not to mention parasol maintenance and aethographor repairs, Alexia was more than familiar with the operation of Madame Lefoux’s ascension chamber. What once had upset her stomach and frightened her was now standard procedure on her visiting rounds. She flipped the lever that operated the windlass machine and did not even stumble when the contraption landed with a jarring thud.
Lady Maccon waddled down the passageway and thumped loudly at the contrivance chamber door.
Silence.
Figuring that Madame Lefoux probably could not hear her knock, for inside the chamber was always a cacophony of mechanical noises, she let herself in.
It took her a long moment of scanning over all the piles of machinery, but she eventually became convinced that Madame Lefoux really was not in residence. Nor was her new contraption. The shopgirl had not lied in the interest of social niceties. Madame Lefoux was definitely unavailable. Alexia pursed her lips. Genevieve had said something about relocating in order to put the finishing touches to the latest invention. Alexia debated trying to remember where and following her there or simply leaving the papers behind. They’ll probably be safe enough. She placed them on a nearby metal tabletop and was about to depart when she heard something.
Alexia had no werewolf’s hearing to be able to note some strange noise among the rattling, humming, hissing clatter. Even without the Frenchwoman in residence, some machines never ceased their activity. But she definitely heard another sound, an underlying keen to the rattles that might, or might not, be human in origin.
It might also be a very excited mouse.