Rue nodded, her own smile slightly forced.

“Like that, is it?” Primrose looked at Rue sideways and then suddenly caught sight of something aboard ship that needed her attention. “Oh dear, my skirt tapes appear to be in some danger. The sooties are turning them into slingshots. If you would excuse me.” With which she opened one of her parasols, a frothy white affair with small green embroidered leaves, and bustled up the gangplank. She was wearing a sage travelling dress with cream lace sleeves and collar decorated with more embroidered leaves. Prim had such an enviably effortless style. She used the second, closed parasol, with equal effortlessness to prod her way through the masses.

Quesnel came over. “And where has the charming Miss Tunstell gone? Was it something I said?”

“Perhaps the cut of your jib offends,” suggested Rue.

“I assure you my jib is very well cut indeed.” Before Rue could sputter he changed the conversation. “I can’t say I approve of what you’ve done with the place. Why the spots?”

“I like spots.”

“She’s rather over-decorated for a dirigible.”

“So she should be. You stick to your jibs and leave the dirigible to me.”

“A man, mon petit chou, has only one jib.” Rue did sputter at that. “Now, what did you decide to call her?”

“The Spotted Custard.”

Quesnel couldn’t suppress his snort of derision. “Goodness, that sounds like a disease of the unmentionables.”

“You and your jib should know,” Rue shot back without thinking.

“Jealous of my experience, mon petit chou? You’ve only to ask and I’d be happy to teach you all the rigging.”

Rue tried not to be shocked or intrigued – after all she had rather asked for it. She was actually tempted to open negotiations on that very subject right then and there. She’d wager he could teach her a great deal, and she was quite curious. Instead she stuck her nose in the air. But it was a retreat and they both knew it.

Quesnel didn’t press the advantage, instead assessing propellers, belay lines, sail, and smoke stack. “N’importe quoi. Who cares about the name as long as she floats smoothly?”

Rue arched her brows at him. “Well, that would be your responsibility now, wouldn’t it, Mr Chief Engineer?”

“A responsibility at which I have no doubt I shall excel.” He became distracted by Prim gesticulating wildly at a deckhand. “Why is the Honourable Primrose Tunstell accompanying us? What purpose could she possibly serve? Is it a safe journey for a woman of her delicacy?” Quesnel seemed genuinely concerned.

Rue sniffed – he didn’t give a toot for her delicacy. “Don’t worry about Prim. All will become clear.”