The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

protracted—”
    She stopped speaking as she saw Miss Temple.
    “Who is this?” she asked.
    “Celeste Temple—I believe you
have
met,” snapped the Comte. “Protracted how?”
    “I shall tell you later.” Miss Poole let her gaze drift to Miss Temple, indicating none too subtly the reason she preferred not to speak openly of her delay, then turned to wave girlishly at Mrs. Stearne. “Suffice it to say that I simply
had
to change my dress—that orange dust, don’t you know—though before you rail at me, it took no more time than Doctor Lorenz took to prepare your precious clay.”
    Here she handed the flasks to the Comte and once again danced away from the man toward Miss Vandaariff, lighting up with another beaming smile.
    “Lydia!” she squeaked, and took the heiress by the hands as Mrs. Stearne looked on with what to Miss Temple seemed a watchful, veiling smile.
    “O Elspeth!” cried Miss Vandaariff. “I came to see you at the hotel—”
    “I know you did, my dear, and I
am
sorry, but I was called away to the country—”
    “But I felt so
ill
—”
    “Poor darling! Margaret was there, was she not?”
    Miss Vandaariff nodded silently and then sniffed, as if to say that she did not
prefer
to be soothed by Margaret, as Miss Poole was well aware.
    “Actually, Miss Temple was there first,” observed Mrs. Stearne rather coolly. “She and Lydia had quite some time to converse before Mrs. Marchmoor was able to intervene.”

    Miss Poole did not reply, but looked over to Miss Temple, weighing her as an adversary. Returning this condescending gaze, Miss Temple remembered the petty struggle in the coach—for it was Miss Poole’s eyes she had poked—and knew that humiliation would remain, despite the Process, in the woman’s mind like a whip mark turned to scar. For the rest of it, Miss Poole had just that sort of willfully merry temperament Miss Temple found plain galling to be around, as if one were to consume a full pound of sweet butter at a sitting. Both Mrs. Marchmoor (haughty and dramatic) and Mrs. Stearne (thoughtful and reserved) appeared to be informed by injuries in their lives, where Miss Poole’s insistence on gaiety seemed rather a shrill denial. And to Miss Temple’s mind all the more repellent, for if she posed as Lydia’s true friend, it was only to better ply their awful
philtre
.
    “Yes, Lydia and I got on quite well,” Miss Temple said. “I have taught her how to poke the eyes of foolish ladies attempting to rise beyond themselves.”
    Miss Poole’s smile became fixed on her face. She glanced back at the Comte—still occupied with the boxes and flasks and lengths of copper wire—and then called to Mrs. Stearne, loud enough for all to hear.
    “You did miss so much of interest at Mr. Bascombe’s estate—or should I say Lord Tarr? Part of our delay involved the capture and execution of the Prince’s physician, Doctor—O what is his name?—a strange fellow, now quite dead, I’m afraid. The other part was one of our subjects; her reaction to the
collection
was averse but not fatal, and she ended up causing, as I say, rather an important problem—though Doctor Lorenz is confident it may be remedied…”
    She glanced back to the Comte. He had stopped his work and listened, his face impassive. Miss Poole pretended not to notice and spoke again to Mrs. Stearne, a sly smile gracing the corners of her plump mouth.
    “The funny thing, Caroline—and I thought you would be
particularly
interested—is that this Elöise Dujong—is tutor to the children of Arthur and Charlotte
Trapping
.”
    “I see,” said Caroline, carefully, as if she did not know what Miss Poole intended with this comment. “And what happened to this woman?”
    Miss Poole gestured to the darkened rampway behind her. “Why, she is just in the outer room. It was Mr. Crabbé’s suggestion that such spirited defiance be put to use, and so I have brought her here to be initiated.”
    Miss Temple saw she was now looking at the Comte, pleased to be giving him information he did not have.
    “The woman was intimate with the Trappings?” he asked.
    “And thus of course the Xoncks,” Miss Poole said. “It was through Francis that she was
seduced
to Tarr Manor.”
    “Did she reveal anything? About the Colonel’s death, or—or about—” With an uncharacteristic reticence, the Comte nodded toward Lydia.
    “Not that I am aware—though of course it was the Deputy Minister who interrogated her