Miss Hisselpenny hid a smile under one gloved hand. “This from the woman who last night accidentally”—she paused—“parasoled a man. I should think that talking to an actress in public would be the least of your worries.”
Miss Dair's bright blue eyes followed this exchange. She laughed again. “That incident, my dears, would be the reason for this rather discourteous meeting.”
Alexia and Ivy were surprised that she knew what they were whispering about.
“You must forgive my brazenness and this intrusion on your private confidences.”
“Must we?” wondered Alexia under her breath.
Ivy elbowed her in the ribs.
Miss Dair explained herself at last. “You see, my mistress would like to visit with you, Miss Tarabotti.”
“Your mistress?”
The actress nodded, blond ringlets bouncing. “Oh, I know they do not normally go in for the bolder artistic types. Actresses, I am under the impression, tend to become clavigers, since werewolves are far more intrigued by the performing arts.”
Miss Tarabotti realized what was going on. “My goodness, you are a drone!”
Miss Dair smiled and nodded her acknowledgment. She had dimples as well as ringlets, most distressing.
Alexia was still very confused. Drones were vampire companions, servants, and caretakers who were paid with the possibility of eventually becoming immortal themselves. But vampires rarely chose drones from among those who occupied the limelight. They preferred a more behind-the-scenes approach to soul hunting: recruiting painters, poets, sculptors, and the like. The flashier side of creativity was universally acknowledged werewolf territory, who chose thespians, opera singers, and ballet dancers to become clavigers. Of course, both supernatural sets preferred the artistic element in a companion, for there was always a better chance of excess soul in a creative person and therefore a higher likelihood that he or she would survive metamorphosis. But for a vampire to choose an actress was rather unusual.
“But you are a woman!” objected Miss Hisselpenny, shocked. An even more well-known fact about drones or clavigers was that they tended to be male. Women were much less likely to survive being turned. No one knew why, though scientists suggested the female's weaker constitution.
The actress smiled. “Not all drones are after eternal life, you realize? Some of us just enjoy the patronage. I have no particular interest in becoming supernatural, but my mistress provides for me in many other ways. Speaking of which, are you free this evening, Miss Tarabotti?”
Alexia finally recovered from her surprise and frowned. She had no concrete plans, but she did not want to go into a vampire hive uninformed. So she said firmly, “Unfortunately, I am unavailable tonight.” She made a quick decision to send her card round to Lord Akeldama, requesting he stop by for dinner. He might be able to fill her in on some of the local hive activities. Lord Akeldama liked perfumed handkerchiefs and pink neckties, but he also liked to know things.
“Tomorrow night, then?” The actress looked hopeful. This request must be particularly important to her mistress.
Alexia dipped her head in agreement. The long cascade feather on her felt hat tickled the back of her neck. “Where am I expected to go?”
Miss Dair leaned forward from her box seat, keeping a steady hand to her frisky horses, and handed Alexia a small sealed envelope. “I must ask you not to share the address with anyone. My apologies, Miss Hisselpenny. You understand the delicacy of the situation, I am sure.”
Ivy held up her hands placatingly and blushed delicately. “No offense taken, Miss Dair. This entire affair is none of my concern.” Even Ivy knew better than to ask questions of hive business.
“For whom do I inquire?” asked Miss Tarabotti, turning the envelope about in her hands but not opening it.
“Countess Nadasdy.”
That was a name Alexia knew. Countess Nadasdy was purported to be one of the oldest living vampires, incredibly beautiful, impossibly cruel, and extremely polite. She was queen of the Westminster Hive. Lord Maccon might have learned to play the social game with aplomb, but Countess Nadasdy was its master.
Miss Tarabotti looked long and hard at the bubbly blond actress. “You have hidden depths, Miss Dair.” Alexia was not supposed to know many of the things that went on in Countess Nadasdy's circle, let alone her hive, but she read too much. Many of the books in the Loontwills' library were left over from her father's day. Alessandro Tarabotti had clearly felt a strong inclination toward literature concerning the supernatural, so Alexia had a tolerably clear concept of what occurred in a vampire hive. Miss Dair certainly must be something more than blond curls, dimples, and a perfectly-turned-out rose dress.
Miss Dair bobbed her ringlets at them. “Whatever the gossip columns may say, Countess Nadasdy is a good mistress.” Her smile was slightly quirky. “If you like that sort of thing. It has been delightful to meet you ladies.” She tightened the reins to her blacks and snapped them smartly. The phaeton jerked forward sharply on the uneven grass, but Miss Dair maintained a perfect seat. In mere moments, the high flyer was gone, rattling down the footpath and disappearing behind the small coppice of birch trees.
The two girls followed, the airship in all its technological glory having suddenly lost its appeal. Other more exciting events were afoot. They walked a little more slowly, conversing in a subdued manner. Alexia turned the small envelope around in her hands.
The jaunt through Hyde Park appeared to be doing the trick as far as Alexia's prickly feelings were concerned. All of her anger at Lord Maccon had dissipated to be replaced by apprehension.