Professor Lyal final y realized what it was about the contrivance chamber that was so different from his last visit: it was quiet. Usual y the laboratory was dominated by the hum of mechanicals in motion, steam puffing out of various orifices in little gasps and whistles, gears clanking, metal chains clicking, and valves squealing. Today everything was silent. Also, for al its messiness, the place had an air of being put away.

“Are you planning a trip, Madame Lefoux?”

The Frenchwoman looked at the Woolsey Beta. “That rather depends on what Alexia has summoned us together to discuss.”

“But it is a possibility?”

She nodded. “A probability at this juncture, if I know anything about Alexia.”

“Another reason to send Quesnel away to boarding school.”

“Just so.”

“You understand much of Lady Maccon’s character, for such a comparatively short acquaintance.”

“You were not with us in Scotland, Professor; it encouraged intimacy. In addition, I have made her a bit of a pet research venture.”

“Oh, have you, indeed?”

“Before Alexia arrives, I take it you al read the morning papers?” Madame Lefoux switched the subject, levered herself upright from the wal , and took up a peculiarly masculine stance: legs spread, like a boxer at White’s awaiting the first blow.

The men around her al nodded their affirmation.

“I am afraid they do not lie, for once. Alexia shows every sign of increasing, and we must presume that a physician has corroborated my initial diagnosis. Otherwise, Alexia would likely be back at Woolsey Castle, chewing Lord Maccon’s head off.”

“I never noticed any of the aforementioned signs,” protested Tunstel , who had also traveled to the north with Madame Lefoux and Lady Maccon.

“Do you think said signs are general y something you’re likely to observe?”

Tunstel blushed red at that. “No. You are perfectly correct, of course; most assuredly not.”

“So are we agreed that the child is Lord Maccon’s?” Madame Lefoux clearly wanted to find out where everyone stood on the matter.

No one said anything. The inventor looked from one man to the next. First Floote, then Tunstel , and then Lyal nodded their assent.

“I assumed as much, or none of you would have acquiesced to her request for this clandestine meeting, however desperate her circumstances. Stil , it is curious that none of you chal enges Alexia’s veracity.” The Frenchwoman gave Professor Lyal a sharp look. “I am aware of my own reasons, but you, Professor Lyal , are Lord Maccon’s Beta.

Yet you believe it is possible for a werewolf to father a child?”

Professor Lyal had known this moment would come. “It is not that I know the answer as to how. It is simply that I know someone else who believes that this is possible.

Several someones, in fact. And they are usual y correct in these matters.”

“They? They who?”

“The vampires.” Never comfortable being the center of attention, he nevertheless attempted to explain himself further as al eyes turned to him. “Before she left for Scotland, two vampires tried to kidnap Lady Maccon. While she was on board the dirigible, her journal was stolen and someone tried to poison her. Most of the other incidents up north after that can be placed in Angelique’s hands.” Professor Lyal nodded to Madame Lefoux. “But those three episodes could not have been the maid. I believe the Westminster Hive was responsible for the attempted kidnapping and the theft of the journal, probably under Lord Ambrose’s orders. It seems like Ambrose; he always was ham-handed with his espionage. The kidnappers, whom I intercepted, said they were under orders not to harm Lady Maccon, but simply intended to test her—probably for signs of pregnancy. I believe they stole the journal for the same reason—they wanted to see if she was recording anything about her condition. Of course, she herself had not yet realized, so they wouldn’t have learned anything. The poisoning, on the other hand…”

Lyal looked at Tunstel , who’d been the inadvertent victim of that bungled attempt at murder. Then he continued. “Westminster would wait for confirmation before taking any action so final, especial y against the wife of an Alpha werewolf. But those who are outside hive bonds are not so reticent.”

“There are very few rove vampires with the kind of social irreverence and political clout needed to risk kil ing an Alpha werewolf’s wife.” Madame Lefoux spoke softly, frowning worriedly.

“One of them is Lord Akeldama,” said Lyal .

“He wouldn’t! Would he?” Tunstel was looking less like an actor and more like the semiresponsible claviger he’d once been.

Professor Lyal tipped his head noncommittal y. “Do you remember? Formal complaints were filed with the Crown when Miss Alexia Tarabotti’s engagement to Lord Maccon was first printed in the papers. We brushed them off at the time as a matter of vampire etiquette, but I am beginning to think some vampire suspected something like this might occur.”

“And with the morning gossip rags printing what they did…” Tunstel looked even more worried.

“Precisely,” said Professor Lyal . “The vampires have had al their worst fears confirmed—Lady Maccon is pregnant. And while the rest of the world sees this as proof of an infidelity, the bloodsuckers would appear to believe her.”

Madame Lefoux’s forehead creased with worry. “So the hives, original y inclined toward nonviolence, have had their fears confirmed, and Alexia has lost the protection of the Woolsey Pack.”

Floote’s normal y dispassionate face showed concern.

Professor Lyal nodded. “Al the vampires now want her dead.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Tea and Insults

Lady Maccon was on her third piece of toast and her fourth pot of tea, entertaining herself by glaring at some young lady or another simply to evaluate the color of the blush that resulted. She was no closer to determining who might want her dead—there were just too many possibilities—but she had made some concrete decisions about her more immediate future. Not the least of these being that, without Lord Akeldama, her safest course of action was to leave London. The question was where? And did she have the necessary finances?

“Lady Maccon?”

Alexia blinked. Was someone actual y talking to her? She looked up.

Lady Blingchester, a mannish-faced matron of the stout and square variety with curly gray hair and too-large teeth, stood frowning down at her. She was accompanied by her daughter, who shared much the same expression and teeth. Both of them were known for having decided opinions on matters of morality.

“Lady Maccon, how dare you show your face here? Taking tea in such an obvious manner with”—she paused—“an agitated hatbox for company. In a respectable establishment, frequented by honest, decent women of good character and social standing. Why, you should be ashamed! Ashamed to even walk among us.”

Alexia looked down at herself. “I believe I am sitting among you.”

“You should be at home, groveling at the feet of your husband, begging him to take you back.”

“Why, Lady Blingchester, what would you know about my husband’s feet?”

Lady Blingchester was not to be forestal ed. “Or you should have hidden your shame from the world. Imagine dragging your poor family into the mire with you. Those lovely Loontwil girls. So sensible, with so much promise, so many prospects, and now your behavior has ruined them as well as yourself!”

“You couldn’t possibly be talking about my sisters, could you? They have been accused of many things, but never sense. I think they might find that rather insulting.”

Lady Blingchester leaned in close and lowered her voice to a hiss. “Why, you might have done them a favor by casting yourself into the Thames.”

Alexia whispered back, as if it were a dire secret, “I can swim, Lady Blingchester.

Rather well , actual y.”

This latest revelation apparently too shocking to tolerate, Lady Blingchester began to sputter in profound indignation.

Alexia nibbled her toast. “Oh, do shove off, Lady Bling. I was thinking some rather important thoughts before you interrupted me.”

The hatbox, rattling mildly against its confining cords throughout this conversation, gave a sudden enthusiastic upward lunge. Lady Blingchester squawked in alarm and seemed to feel this the last straw. She flounced away, fol owed by her daughter, but she paused and had some sharp words with the hostess before leaving.

“Blast,” said Alexia to the hatbox when the proprietress, looking determined, headed in her direction.

The hatbox ticked at her unhelpful y.

“Lady Maccon?”

Alexia sighed.

“You understand I must ask you to leave?”

“Yes. But tel me, is there a pawnshop in the vicinity?”

The woman blushed. “Yes, my lady, just down off Oxford Circus past Marlborough Bank.”

“Ah, good.” Lady Maccon stood, untied the hatbox, and gathered it up along with her reticule and parasol. Al conversation quieted as she once again held everyone’s attention.

“Ladies,” said Alexia to the assembled faces. Then she made her way, with as much gravity as possible for a woman clutching an epileptic pink hatbox to her bosom, to the counter, where she paid her account. The door behind her did not close fast enough to cut off the excited squeals and babble that heralded her departure.

The road was now crowded enough for safety, but stil Lady Maccon walked with unseemly haste down Regent Street and into a smal pawnshop. There she sold al the jewelry she was currently wearing at a shockingly devalued rate, which nevertheless resulted in quite an obscene amount of money. Conal might be an untrusting muttonhead, a Scotsman, and a werewolf, but the man knew a thing or two about feminine fripperies. Mindful of her circumstances alone in the city, Alexia secreted the resulting pecuniary return in several of the hidden pockets of her parasol and proceeded furtively onward.

Professor Lyal looked at the French inventor with a cutting eye. “Why is Lady Maccon involving you in this matter, Madame Lefoux?”

“Alexia is my friend.”

“That does not explain your eagerness to be of assistance.”

“You haven’t had many friends, have you, Professor Lyal ?”

The werewolf’s upper lip curled. “Are you certain friendship is al you want from her?”

Madame Lefoux bristled slightly. “That is a low blow, Professor. I hardly think it your business to question my motives.”

Professor Lyal did something quite unusual for him. He colored slightly. “I did not intend to imply… that is, I had not meant to insinuate…” He trailed off and then cleared his throat. “I planned to hint at your involvement with the Order of the Brass Octopus.”

Madame Lefoux rubbed the back of her neck in an unconscious gesture. Hidden under her short dark hair, just there, was a smal octopus tattoo. “Ah. The Order has no direct involvement, so far as I can tel .”

Professor Lyal did not miss the implication of that phrasing. Madame Lefoux might literal y be unable to tel of the OBO’s interests if she had been instructed to remain silent.

“But it is undoubtedly scientifical y intrigued by Lady Maccon?” Professor Lyal pressed her.

“Of course! She is the only female preternatural to enter our sphere since the Order’s inception.”

“But the Hypocras Club—”

“The Hypocras Club was only one smal branch, and their actions became sadly public. Quite the embarrassment, in the end.”

“So why are you such an eager friend?”

“I cannot deny a certain fascination with Alexia as a scientific curiosity, but my research, as you well know, tends to be more theoretical than biological.”

“So I was inadvertently closer to the mark initial y?” Professor Lyal regarded Madame Lefoux with a wealth of understanding.

Madame Lefoux pursed her lips but did not deny the romantic insinuation. “So you wil al ow my motives to be, if not pure, at least in Alexia’s best interest? Certainly, I care more for her well -being than that rubbish husband of hers.”

Professor Lyal nodded. “For now.” He paused and then said, “We must convince her to leave London.”

At which Lady Alexia Maccon herself bustled into the laboratory. “Oh, no convincing needed, I assure you, my dears. The ladybugs did that. In fact, that was why I summoned you. well , not because of the ladybugs—because of the leaving.” She was clearly a little flustered. Stil , al efficiency, she stripped off her gloves and dropped them, her reticule, her parasol, and a gyrating pink hatbox on a nearby worktable. “It is about time I visited t he Continent, don’t you feel? I thought, perhaps, one or two of you might like to accompany me.” She gave them al a timid smile and then remembered her manners.