Read Online D2D_Poison or Protect by Gail Carriger - Free Book Online

what an absurd fellow.
    Mr Jackson’s wide mouth relaxed out of its perpetual smile. He squinted in thought. Clearly, devising non-lobster gestures of affection taxed his mental capacities.
    A lull descended over the guests as the soup was removed and cod in supreme sauce brought out.
    Until that moment, the table had included an empty chair, its place unset. The sun now below the horizon, that chair began to fill with the ghostly form of the deceased daughter, Formerly Constance Bicker-Harrow. The family encouraged their guests to refer to her, rather coarsely, as Formerly Connie.
    The ghost, from what one could see of her in the bright candlelight, looked much like her sisters, although thinner and more somber by way of general expression.
    How novel – a dour ghost.
    Formerly Connie was, naturally, not served. She was included in conversation, however, and seemed fresh enough in her ghostly state to follow most of it. Her voice was breathy and she was wispy about the hair. Preshea was inclined to regard this last as carelessness, or perhaps Connie had been flighty when alive.
    The company was impressed by the novelty. Few families could boast a ghost. This daughter must have been quite creative to linger so. It had been thoughtful of the duke to bury her nearby, where she might interact with guests. Although, Preshea wondered if it were not kinder to consign her to a proper graveyard, where she might enjoy the company of other ghosts going through the same experience. After all, no one at the table knew what it was to be dead. In consequence, Formerly Connie had little to add to the conversation.
    The company was disposed to be equally impressed by the food. So it goes. If you are careless enough to die, your merit shall be weighed against the pleasantness of a meal. Could be worse, I suppose. It was delicious. Preshea was hard put to stick to her regimen. She didn’t like to overindulge, but the Snodgrove cook was excellent. There was beef stewed with pickles, stuffed loin of mutton, and roasted teal with sea kale. The afters were equally glorious, comprising apricot venetian creme and almond blancmange, with Stilton for those who preferred savory.
    After dinner, it was back to the drawing room for the ladies, where Formerly Connie’s tether allowed her to join them. They conversed politely on matters of little interest for the requisite half-hour, at which point the gentlemen reappeared, smelling strongly of cigars.
    At this juncture, the party redistributed itself according to taste. With one of the footmen acting as her hands, Formerly Connie played whist with her father, brother, and Miss Leeton.
    Preshea spent time with Lady Violet and Mr Jackson, more to appease the Duke of Snodgrove’s glares than with any ulterior motive. Nevertheless, she used the aura of conviviality to press him into wild declarations and romantic nonsense, pleased every time he said something that made Lady Violet wince.
    “My pearl of the sea,” he declared at one point, “I will find for you all the delectables of the briny deep. Have you ever had winkles?”
    “Pardon me?” Lady Violet was taken aback.
    “Winkles!” said Mr Jackson loudly. “Sea snails, don’t ya know? Like whelks, only smaller. Very tasty. You must try them. Next time I visit the seaside, I shall return with a bouquet of the little creatures.”
    “Oh, dear.” Lady Violet was coming over faint. “I don’t think. Not a snail. Too far, I’m sure.”
    “Oh, but my dear Lady Vi, they are dee-lish!” Mr Jackson hardly needed Preshea’s encouragement. His boisterousness was doing more to nip the burgeoning romance in the bud than any scheme of hers. Really, even if he were not a fortune hunter, these two were most ill suited.
    Lady Violet seemed a sensible little thing. Given time, she would figure this out on her own. Ridiculous of her father not to have more faith in her.
    Still, there was the other assignment to think on. Preshea stared out the window a