“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.”