“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.
Arsenic retrieved the lid and sat back down, glowing with their approval.
“It was only a little explosion.” Professor Tunstell seemed a touch annoyed by his sister’s praise.
“For show?” suggested Arsenic.
The captain laughed. “How did you know?”
“My family has interests that are occasionally subversive.”
“They like tricky little devices, eh?”
“My mother’s usually explode with greater purpose,” Arsenic said without really thinking about it. Oops.
Lady Akeldama became momentarily serious. “Your mother doesn’t know my mother, does she?”
“Who’s your mother?”
“Lady Maccon.”
“I dinna think so.” The name rang some faint bells but not in connection with Preshea Ruthven. Lady Maccon was something else… political? Or scandalous? Perhaps both? Arsenic rarely paid attention to London gossip. She grew up in Scotland, never had a London season, and then promptly left in pursuit of an education.
“If her interest is in devices, she’s more likely to know Quesnel’s mother,” said Miss Tunstell.
“Who’s that?” wondered Arsenic.
“Madame Lefoux.”
That was a name Arsenic knew. “Aye, of course. But that hardly makes a difference, everyone orders from Lefoux.”
“True, true.” The captain, for some reason, preened at this. Apparently, Arsenic had said something bang on. Really this was the oddest interview.
“Quesnel is the inventor’s son, then?” Arsenic wondered what connection he had to the ship.
“Could we get through one afternoon without talking about that man?” Professor Tunstell had a pained expression on his face.
“Never!” Lady Akeldama grinned.
The professor made an exasperated noise. Then glanced at Arsenic and went red about the ears. He stared hurriedly back down at her accreditation papers, which he’d been fiddling with restlessly.
Arsenic reached over and extracted them from him.
“Righto, yes.” He frowned at her gloveless hands.
Arsenic wondered what he found so continually objectionable about her. He’d barely looked at her the entire interview. And now the absence of gloves offended? She couldn’t very well stitch up a wound wearing fancy-wear, now could she?
Another knock sounded, and since he was still there, no doubt collecting gossip for the decklings, Virgil opened the door.
An extremely handsome swarthy gentleman stuck his head in.
Arsenic’s mother was one of the most beautiful humans on the planet, which had taught Arsenic to be wary of anyone gorgeous. Not those like Professor Tunstell, who was awkwardly unaware of his allure, but those like this man. Whoever he was, he knew what he looked like. His gaze was self-assured and direct.
Predator, thought Arsenic, noting the way he moved, how he occupied the doorway – barring it but also watching the hallway with his peripheral vision. Trained. He was admirably fit, too. The way he stood, so balanced. She assessed his stance. Not fencing, something rougher, closer… Knives, perhaps?
He looked away from her and at the captain. There was a passing physical resemblance between them, although the eyes were different. His were dark and fierce.
“Little cousin,” he said, which answered that question, “we must make with going.” He had a strong Italian accent.
Lady Akeldama introduced him to Arsenic in a matter-of-fact tone. “Dr Ruthven, this is Mr Tarabotti, my cousin. Charming man, he once tried to kill me.”