Lady Maccon was left in a quandary. She now had to get out over the side of the passenger basket. She could conceive of no possible way her exit would be any less humiliating than her entry. She did not want to go through such a process again, let alone in front of such august bodies as those now glaring at her. But she could swear she heard the crashing sound of the octomaton, and she really had no time to spare for anyone’s decorum, even her own.

“Mr. Bootbottle-Fipps, Viscount, if you would be so kind?” She puffed out her cheeks and prepared herself for mortification.

“Of course, my lady.” The ever-eager Boots stepped over to assist her. Tizzy, it must be admitted, moved with less alacrity. As they prepared to boost her (there really was no other way of putting it) over the edge of the gondola (at which juncture she foresaw landing on her much-abused bustle yet again), a savior appeared.

No doubt alerted by the disapproving cries and exacerbation of activity in the street, Miss Mabel Dair emerged from the hive house, dramatically silhouetted against the crowded, well-lit interior. She paused, center stage, on the front stoop. She wore an evening gown the color of old gold with a low square neckline, trimmed with loops of black lace and pink silk roses. There were fresh roses in her hair and her bustle was full—the more risqué trends out of Paris with the smaller bustle and form-fitting bodice were not for her. No, here, under her mistress’s guarded eye, even an actress like Miss Dair dressed demurely.

Lady Alexia Maccon, at the side of a dirigible passenger basket, looked as though she was in imminent danger of not playing by the rules.

Miss Dair yelled from the step, using her stage voice to cut through the noise of the crowded street. “Why, Lady Maccon, how delightful. We did not expect you. Especially not in so elaborate a transport.”

“Good evening, Miss Dair. It is rather smart, isn’t it? Unfortunately, I seem to be having difficulty getting out.”

Miss Dair bit her lower lip, hiding a smile. “Let me fetch some help.”

“Ah, yes, thank you, Miss Dair, but I am in a wee bit of a hurry.”

“Of course you are, Lady Maccon.” The actress turned back into the house, signaling with a sharp gesticulation of a satin-gloved hand. Mere moments later, she turned and traipsed down the steps followed by a veritable herd of dignified-looking footmen, all of whom took to the lifting and depositing of Lady Maccon as they would any household task, with gravely serious faces and not one flicker of amusement.

Once Alexia had attained her freedom, Boots touched his hat brim with one gray-gloved hand. “A very good evening to you, Lady Maccon.”

“You won’t be joining me?”

Boots exchanged a telling look with Mabel Dair. “Not at this particular party, my lady. We would make things”—he paused delicately—“prickly.”

Lady Maccon nodded her understanding and gave the matter no further thought. There are some places where, despite their universal skills at being ubiquitous, even Lord Akeldama’s drones could not go.