“Oh, Mother!” It was nice to know her parents still enjoyed physical expressions of affection even at their advanced age, but also very much not nice to know.

The matter was thus settled, as far as Rue was concerned. She retired before her Paw returned home with the certain knowledge that plans would continue the next evening.

Rue came down after sunset in a dove-grey visiting dress trimmed with black velvet and white beadwork to find Dama and his drones preparing for a trip. The vampire, unlike his hive-bound fellows, often went out on the town, taking in the latest play or opera, occasionally calling upon his mortal acquaintances. Every such jaunt was an event, for everyone and everything in conjunction with the expedition must be aesthetically coordinated. Tonight, Rue’s appearance in the grey dress occasioned a line-up, two drones on either side, as they were to make up a party of six in the landau.

Winkle was instructed to go upstairs and change immediately as his yellow waistcoat did not go with Rue’s muted colour pallet. The drone returned in a sage vest, carrying Rue’s hat. Queen Ivy’s millinery influence dictated this accessory be a massive affair richly decorated in what looked like the flattened corpses of three seagulls. Rue thought it rather detracted from the beauty of her dress but Uncle Rabiffano insisted it was the very latest thing, and Uncle Rabiffano was never wrong about hats.

“Was Mother successful, do you think?” Rue asked Dama as he helped her into the coach. The horses sported grey tassels at their bits and the coachman a grey silk top hat.

“You are in some doubt? My Puggle of little faith.”

Rue smiled. “Of course. Silly me. It’s Mother. She always gets her way.”

“Mmm,” said Dama. “Except, of course, when you do.” He made room for his four drones to join them.

They made a very fetching picture, and Rue was delighted with the entire outing. She savoured the envious looks of the other ladies parading through Hyde Park. Rue was accompanied by five of the best-looking men in all of London, and was still young enough to enjoy the envy and not mind that it had little justifiable cause. For young women of burgeoning romantic hopes, these men could provide only decoration and conversation rather than amorous solace or entanglement. They were, as far as any lady was concerned, like the fake fruit on Baroness Tunstell’s favourite hat – entertaining, pretty, and apparently delicious but not actually useful in the event of starvation or even an attack of the nibbles. Rue, secure in this knowledge, was free to enjoy their company without expectations. Which she did, to the mutual entertainment of all.