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Chapter Four
Beatrice and her two friends, Miss Viola Beaton and Miss Isobel Mayberry, were ensconced in the drawing room, devouring thick ham and butter sandwiches and talking over one another while they caught up on everything that had transpired during her absence.
“Ihavemissed you,” said Beatrice to her friends, through a mouthful of ham. Her mother’s lectures on proper diet and etiquette for young ladies always made her want to eat everything in sight.
“We missed you, too,” said Viola, her green eyes sparkling. “When we held meetings of the Knitting League at the Duchess of Ravenwood’s apartments, everyone talked about how it wasn’t the same without you there to expand our vocabularies and teach us the origins of things.”
“Is the duchess back from Egypt yet?” Beatrice asked.
“Not yet,” Viola said. “We expect her in the coming weeks. We may need to find another house for our meetings.”
“Your brother and Mina haven’t returned from Italy yet?” Isobel asked.
“No, but I’m not too worried. As you know, Minahad some rather interesting activities planned for them on this honeymoon, including matters of”—she dropped her voice to a whisper—“espionage. If they don’t want us to know their whereabouts, I’m sure they have their reasons.”
“Weren’t you lonely in Cornwall with Thorndon and Mina off traveling?” asked Isobel.
“I could never be too lonely surrounded by books.”
“And carpenters,” said Viola, with a warm smile. “Your letters had quite a lot to say about your brother’s carpenter.”
Isobel made a motion as if she were donning a pair of spectacles. “‘Wright is repairing the rose trellis outside the library window today,’” she said, imitating Beatrice’s crisply enunciated way of speaking. “‘He refuses to wait until I leave for London. He’s an infernal nuisance.’”
Viola pretended to dip a quill in ink. “‘Wright is the most maddeningly arrogant man in the world.’” She set down her imaginary pen. “Wrightthis, and Wrightthat. You wrote more about him in your letters than about the progress on your dictionary.”
Beatrice brushed a crumb away from her chin, careful not to betray any emotion. “That’s because he hampered my progress. The accelerated pace at which he attacked the renovations on Thornhill House directly correlated to the decreased progress on my dictionary. He was excessively loud and distracting.”
“I had the distinct impression from your letters that he might also be excessively handsome,” said Viola.
“I suppose some might think so,” said Beatricecarefully. “But enough about me. Didn’t you win a prize while I was gone, Viola?”
“She won second place in the Royal Society of Musicians’ contest for new symphonic works,” Isobel proclaimed.
“I didn’t have the courage to go through with the plan to reveal my identity,” said Viola, her eyes solemn. “They thought the score had been composed by a Mr. Beam, who mysteriously never appeared to collect his prize.”
“We all know you won the prize, and that’s enough,” said Beatrice. “I’m bursting with pride. Have there been any other developments?”
Isobel adjusted an invisible cravat and cleared her throat. “I’m studying the history, principles, and practice of the Law of England relative to real property. An abstruse, yet endlessly fascinating, system.”
Beatrice gave a little laugh. “I still can’t believe the deception is working.”
Isobel was the most daring member of their secretly subversive league of ladies. Her brother was a homebound invalid and had given her permission to attend a School of Law using his identity.
“I’ve had some close calls.” Isobel glanced down at her chest. “This flat bust of mine does help, and my mannerisms are already mannish—or so my aunt delights in telling me.”
“And how is Ardella?” asked Beatrice.
Viola leaned closer. “She’s working on something highly secretive in that makeshift laboratory of hers. She says it might very well change the world as we know it.”
Miss Ardella Finchley, the only member of theLeague who actually knew how to knit, was also an experimental chemist.
“Intriguing.” Beatrice was proud of her friends’ talents and goals.
“And your dictionary?” asked Viola.
“Will have to be put on hold for the moment. My mother presented me with a social calendar and a list of rules today. She’s planned out every second of every day.” Beatrice took another defiant bite of ham instead of lettuce. “I’m afraid I’ll have no time for my own pursuits. I had to go all the way to Cornwall to find some room to breathe.”
“In fine fettle, is she?” asked Isobel.
