Madame Lefoux flinched slightly and shook her head. “He did not make it home this time.”

“Oh, dear! But then if not Quesnel, what could possibly be the matter? Truly, you do not look at all well.”

“Oh, pray, do not concern yourself, Alexia. Some trouble sleeping, nothing more. How are you? I understand you have taken a residence in town. You certainly look amplified. Have you been maintaining a tranquil environment? I read recently that it is terribly important for the baby to be surrounded by peace. Knowing your disposition, this has me worried.”

Alexia blinked at her.

Perceiving that her solicitude was unwelcome, the Frenchwoman moved hastily on. “Did you come to pick up Woolsey’s new glassical order, or is this merely a social call?”

Lady Maccon accepted the conversational redirection. She respected her friend’s need for privacy and her expertly cultivated aura of mystery. She also did not want to appear nosy. “Oh, is there an order? I suppose I could collect it. But, in actuality, there is a matter I should very much like to discuss with you.” Alexia noticed the curiosity in the eyes of the new shopgirl. “In seclusion, perhaps?” And then, as she was not certain as to the extent of the shopgirl’s knowledge, she confined her voice to a whisper. “Below?”

Madame Lefoux lowered her eyelashes and nodded gravely. “Of course, of course.”

Alexia looked to her escort. “Biffy, will you find yourself entertainment enough here for a quarter of an hour, or should you prefer to run along to the Lottapiggle Tea Shop on Cavendish Square?”

“Oh, I can abide a while among such loveliness as this.” The young werewolf waved a graceful gloved hand at the forest of dangling hats displayed all about him. He brushed his fingers along an exaggerated ostrich feather, much as a young girl would trail her fingertips through a fountain. “Beautiful brim rolling.”

“I shan’t be very long,” replied his mistress before following her friend toward the back of the shop, where a door in the wall led to an ascension room that took them down to a passageway, underneath Regent Street, and into the inventor’s much-vaunted contrivance chamber.

Madame Lefoux’s laboratory might have been a great wonder of the world, if only because it was a wonder the Frenchwoman could ever find anything inside it. The massive, cavelike laboratory was not only messy, but it was also noisy. Alexia often thought that the only reason it could not be heard in the street above was that Regent was one of the busiest thoroughfares in London. Then she wondered if that was why Madame Lefoux had chosen this particular spot.

As ever, Lady Maccon took in her surroundings with a kind of reverence that was part appreciation, part horror. There were engines and mysterious constructs galore, some of them running, many of them disassembled into component parts. There were diagrams and sketches of larger projects strewn about, mostly aeronautical devices such as ornithopters, as aetheric travel was one of Madame Lefoux’s specialties. It smelled of oil.