The blond vampire relaxed, but only slightly. A hive-bound vampire simply did not visit the house of a rove without sending a card first! Such matters of etiquette existed for very good reasons.

Rue was annoyed on Dama’s behalf and amused by her friend’s discomfort. Prim was usually so poised. “Really, Prim, doesn’t your mother ever learn?”

Prim hurried to gather up her wrap and reticule. “Sadly, no. I apologise again, Lord Akeldama. Please excuse me. Rue, I’ll call tomorrow. Just after sunset?” She bobbed a curtsey and blew them both a quick kiss before hurrying to intercept her mother’s vampire before he actually caused an incident by trying to enter Dama’s home, without invitation.

Rue watched her friend depart. “Why must we be cursed with such troublesome parents?”

“My dear Puggle,” objected her Dama in mock injury, “what could you possibly be implying?”

Rue shifted next to him and carefully rested her head on his well-padded shoulder. “Oh, not you, of course, Dama. Never you.”

“That’s my girl.”

CHAPTER TWO

FOR QUEEN AND CUSTARD

Rue watched her mother’s face for signs of distress.

The aristocratic features remained inscrutable except for a slight flare of the nostrils. Rue touched her own nose, checking for signs of expansion. It was a characteristic mannerism adopted whenever she was in Mother’s company. She’d developed it as a child, worried that her nose might suddenly, out of envy, begin to grow into a similar beak. It hadn’t yet but it still might.

Rue’s mother wrinkled said protuberance and swished the tea carefully about her mouth as though she were a French wine expert in imminent danger of expectorating. Except, of course, that Mother never expectorated. Apart from the indecorous idea of an aristocrat spitting, she would abhor the waste of tea.

Rue had never entirely forgiven her mother for naming her Prudence. Despite a shared and inexplicable love for treacle tart, their relationship was contentious at best and combative the rest of the time.

Rue’s mother was a veritable battle-axe, boasting a shape not unlike that of a tragic soprano in a Germanic opera, only with less inclination to throw herself off bridges. In fact, she was not overly demonstrative about anything, least of all bridges. Not that Rue felt she suffered from the lack. As muhjah to Queen Victoria herself, Mother had an empire to manage which should take precedent over such inconsequential distractions as fashion, household management and child-rearing. All three of which she left in the capable hands of Dama. With good reason, for if asked, Rue had no doubt that Mother would have stated, in tones of mild disgust, that the vampire was not only better at such mundanities, but actually appeared to enjoy them.

Her mother took another sip of the tea and then rendered judgement. “Aggressive malt overtones, lots of smoke, a little like licking the inside of a fireplace.”