It's quite another to learn to curtsy and throw a knife at the same time. Welcome to Finishing School. New York Times bestselling author Gail Carriger makes her young adult debut with Etiquette & Espionage, the first book in the Finishing School series. Etiquette & Espionage by Gail Carriger. YA Carriger Bk1. “In an alternate England of , spirited fourteen-year-old Sophronia is enrolled in a fin- ishing school. Activity Lead In: The events within Etiquette & Espionage take place in . http:// hypmarevlimist.gq
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GENRE: SOCIETY: TECHNOLOGY: PLACE: DETAILS: List other titles that are STEAMPUNK related: The Finishing School Series. ETIQUETTE & ESPIONAGE. Etiquette & Espionage Label and Sticker Printing Printed Labels from Etiquette Etiquette has decades of experience in converting and printing premium quality. gail carriger etiquette amp espionage finishing school 1 gail carriger book [pdf]. book file pdf easily for everyone and every device. etiquette.
Sophronia was not accustomed to seeing her mother rail roaded so effectively. But Mumsy! If Mademoiselle Geraldine thinks it best, then you had bet ter hop to it, young lady. Go change into your good blue dress and your Sunday hat. Ill have one of the maids pack your necessities.
May we have half an hour, mademoiselle? Of course. Perhaps I will take a little tour of the grounds while you organize? To stretch my legs before the drive. Please do. Come along, Sophronia, we have much to do. Frustrated and out of sorts, Sophronia trailed after her mother. Accordingly, she was given an old portmanteau from the attic, three hatboxes, and a carpetbag. With barely enough time to ensure a nibble for the driveto goodness knows where, at a dis tance of goodness knows how farSophronia found herself being shoved hastily into a carriage.
Her mother kissed her on the fore head and made a show of fussing. My little girl, all grown up and leaving to become a lady! And that, as they say, was that. Sophronia might have hoped for a grand sendoff with all her siblings and half the mechanical retainers waving tearstained handkerchiefs. But her younger brothers were exploring the farm, her older ones were away at Eton, her sisters were busy with fripperies or marriagespossibly one and the same and the mechanicals were trundling about their daily tasks.
She thought she spotted Roger, the stable lad, waving his cap from the hayloft, but apart from that, even her mother gave only a perfunctory waggle of her fingertips before returning to the house. It was a hired transport but decked out like a private conveyance, with walls of midnight blue quilted velvet to reduce road noise, and goldfringed blankets to ward off the chill. Sophronia barely had time to take it all in before Made moiselle Geraldine banged the ceiling with the handle of her parasol and they lurched forward.
More startling than the decoration was the fact that the carriage was already occupiedby two other students. They had, apparently, been sitting patiently the entire time Mademoiselle Geraldine took tea and Sophronia fell out of dumbwaiters and packed all her worldly goods into a portmanteau. Directly across from her sat a brighteyed, lively looking young lady, a little younger than Sophronia, with masses of.
She wore an enormous gilt and red glass brooch pinned to her bright red dress. The combination of the hair, the jewelry, and the dress made her look quite the scandal, as though she were in training to become a lady of the night. Sophronia was duly impressed. Oh, goodness! Which, for one left to sit idle in a carriage with no distraction or entertainment, it might well have been. How do you do? Isnt this a spiffing day? Really, quite spiff ing. Im Dimity.
Who are you? Is that all? What, isnt it enough? Sophronia Angelina Temminnick. Gosh, thats a mouthful. It is? I suppose so. As though Dimity Ann PlumleighTeignmott were a nice easy sort of name. Sophronia dragged her eyes away from the girl to examine the final occupant of the carriage. It was difficult to make out what kind of creature lurked under the oversized bowler and oiled greatcoat. But, if pressed, she would have said it was some species of grubby boy. He had spec tacles that were very thick, a brow that was very creased, and a large dusty book occupying the entirety of his lap and attention.
Whats that? Oh, that? Thats just Pillover. And whats a pillover, when its at home? My little brother. Ah, I commiserate. I have several of my own. Dashed inconvenient, brothers. Sophronia nodded, perfectly under standing the outlandish hat and coat. Pillover glanced up from behind his spectacles and issued them both a look. He seemed a few years younger than his sis ter, who was, Sophronia guessed, about thirteen.
Hes slated for Bunsons. For what? Bunson and Lacroixs Boys Polytechnique. You know, the other school? Sophronia, who had no idea what Dimity was talking about, pretended to follow out of politeness. The girl prattled on. She seemed to be a bit of a prattler.
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Sophronia was comfortable with this after living with her own family. They were big talkers, but with a lot less interesting things to say than Dimity. Mummy and Daddy want him to be an evil genius, but he has his heart set on Latin verse. Dont you, Pill?
The boy gave his sister a nasty stare. Pillover is terribly bad at being bad, if you take my meaning. Our daddy is a founding member of the Death Weasel Confed eracy, and Mummy is a kitchen chemist with questionable intent, but poor Pillover cant even bring himself to murder ants with his Depraved Lens of Crispy Magnification. Can you, Pill? Sophronia felt as though she was progressively losing the thread of the conversation. Death Weasel Confederacy?
Dimity nodded, curls bobbing. I knowcan you countenance. I tend to look on the bright side; at least Daddys not a Pickleman. Sophronias eyes popped. Uh, oh yes, rather. What in aether is a Pickleman? But Pill here is a sad disappointment to poor old Daddy. The boy in question put down his book, clearly driven to defend himself.
I made the articulated hassock that moved when someone went to sit on it. And there was that custard pot that never got cool enough for the pudding to set. Dimity provided parenthetical information against this defense. The hassock always ended up moving forward help fully. And Cook simply used the Custard Pot of Iniquity for keeping her buns warm. Oh, I say.
Thats not on. Telling family secrets like that! Face it, Pill, youre disappointingly good. Oh, I like that!
And youre so evil? Why, you want to get married and be a lady. Who ever heard of such a thing in our family? At least I try. Well, finishing school should help with being a lady. Shouldnt it? At least this was something Sophronia knew about.
The boy snorted derisively. Not half. Not this finishing school. Wrong kind of finishing altogether.
Or should I say right kind, but only on the surface? Im sure you follow. Pill over made a funny little leer at Sophronia, then, seeming to have embarrassed himself, resumed his book. What could he possibly be implying? Sophronia looked to Dimity to explain her brothers behavior. You mean, you dont know? Know what? Oh my goodness. Youre a covert recruit? No family connec tion at all? I knew they took them, of course, but I didnt think I would get to meet one.
How charming! Have you been under surveillance? I heard they do that sometimes. Mademoiselle Geraldine interceded at that juncture. Thats enough of that, Miss PlumleighTeignmott. Yes, Mademoiselle Geraldine. The headmistress went back to ignoring them. So where are we traveling to? Sophronia asked, figuring that was a safe question, since they clearly werent allowed to talk about the school itself.
You dont even know that much? Dimitys tone was full of pity. Sophronia shook her head. No, I mean, where is the loca tion of this school? Well, no one knows exactly, but to the south. Dartmoor, or somewhere around there. Why so mysterious? Dimity shook her head, curls flying. Oh, no, you see, Im not meaning to be. It isnt, you understand, at a fixed location. What isnt?
Etiquette by Emily Post
The academy. Sophronia imagined a building, filled with shrieking girls, scooting about the moor on tracks, like some massive, over excited mechanical. The school is mobile? What, on hundreds of tiny little legs? Well, yes, moving, only not on legs. I think its, you know. Dimity tilted her head back and looked to the ceiling. Sophronia was about to inquire further when a terrific jolt shook them where they sat and the carriage came to a stop so abruptly that it pitched Dimity on top of Sophronia, and Pill over on top of Mademoiselle Geraldine.
Mademoiselle Geraldine screamed, probably upset by extended contact with Pillovers grimy coat, and flapped her arms and legs to get the boy off. Sophronia and Dimity untangled themselves, giggling. Pillover extracted himself from the headmistress with remark able dignity for a boy of his age and dress and retrieved his bowler from the floor.
What on earth is going on? Mademoiselle Geraldine banged on the ceiling of the cab with her parasol. The carriage remained still. Or at least it didnt appear to want to move forward. Every so often it would bob upward, as though it were afloat on the open sea. The door to the carriage was yanked open to reveal not the coachman, but a bizarrelooking gentleman.
He was dressed for the hunt in tweed jodhpurs, boots, red jacket, and riding hat, but he also wore goggles, with a long scarf of the type donned by arctic explorers wrapped around the lower part of his face.
The carriage lurched again. One of the horses neighed in alarm. The strange man had a massive brass onion pinned to his cravat and was pointing a wickedlooking pistol at the occu pants of the carriage. Sophronias eyes, once caught by the weapon, remained fixed upon it. Never before had she come. She was shocked. Why, that thing could go off. Someone could get hurt! No, corrected Mademoiselle Geraldine, her teeth gritted.
There was something in her tone, felt Sophronia, that suggested she was not surprised. Sophronia was instantly suspicious of both Mademoiselle Geraldine and the flywayman.
The headmistress batted her long eyelashes. Why, sir, what could you possibly want from us? Im simply a headmistress transporting these children to their final destination. Laying it on a bit thick, isnt she? We have nothing of great value. We The flywayman interrupted Mademoiselle Geraldine.
We know perfectly well what youve got those pretty little mitts on. Hand over the prototype. I have absolutely no idea what you are on about. The head mistresss trembling smile was well executed, but apparently not convincing. Course you do. Where is it?
Mademoiselle Geraldine shook her head, eyelashes lowered prettily. Well, perhaps well simply have a look for ourselves. The man stuck his head, briefly, back out the door and yelled something indistinguishable up to the sky. There came a thump on the top of the carriage. Sophronia and the others could do nothing but watch, mutely, as their trunks, bags, and hatboxes were thrown from the roof to crash.
There they fell open, littering the dusty road with clothing, hats, and shoes. Two more flywaymen, dressed much like their leader, jumped down after and began rifling through the spilled contents. Whatever they were looking for appeared to be relatively small, as every piece of luggageno matter what the sizehad to be emptied.
One of the men even used a knife to slash the bot toms of the trunks, searching for hidden pockets. This was all highly embarrassing, to have ones private pos sessions strewn about in public!
Sophronia was particularly mortified that Pillover could see all her underthingsa stranger, and a boy! She also noted that Mademoiselle Geraldines trunks included some very salacious night garments. Why, there was a nightgown of purple flannel.
Imagine that! The flywaymens movements became increasingly frenzied. Their leader, while still guarding the occupants of the carriage, glanced frequently behind him at the activity in the road. After a quarter of an hour, the mans hand, the one holding the gun, began shaking from fatigue.
I told you, young man, you will not find it here. Whatever it is. She tossed her head. Actually tossed it! We know you have it. You must have it! The headmistress looked off to the far distant horizon, nose elevated.
Your information would appear to be faulty. Come with me. You, children, stay here. The man dragged Mademoiselle Geraldine from the carriage. The headmistress struggled briefly, but finding the mans strength superior to her own, she subsided. Wheres the coachman? Sophronia hissed to Dimity and Pillover. Probably overcome by physical assault, said Dimity. Or dead, added Pillover. Howd they get to us? I didnt hear any horses or anything.
Pillover pointed up. Sky highwaymen. Havent you heard of them? Well, yes, but I didnt think they actually existed. Pillover shrugged. Must have been hired by someone, Dimity said.
What do you think the prototype is for? Does it matter? You think she actually has it? Sophronia wondered. Pillover looked at Sophronia with something like pity in his dark eyes. Of course she has it. Question is, did she hide it well enough? Or did she make a copy? Is it safe to let them think theyve won? And was she thinking that far ahead?
Sophronia interrupted their speculation. Thats a lot of questions.
They heard Mademoiselle Geraldine say something sharp to the men rifling through the luggage. All three looked out the open door to see what would happen next. The flywayman with the gun struck the headmistress across the face with his free hand.
Oh, dear, said Sophronia. She suppressed panic and a strange urge to giggle. Shed never before seen a grown man actually hit a woman.
Dimity looked slightly green. Pillovers small face became drawn behind his round specta cles.
I dont think she planned for this. His assessment seemed correct, for Mademoiselle Geraldine proceeded to have a bout of hysterics, culminating in a very dramatic faint in the middle of the road. Quite the performance. My sister Petunia once acted like that over a mouse. You think shes shamming? Dimity was inclined to be impressed. Shamming or not, she seems to have hung us out to dry. Sophronia pursed her lips. I dont want to go to finishing school, but I dont exactly want to be kidnapped by flywaymen either.
The carriage lurched up again. Sophronia looked at the ceiling. The flywaymens transport must be tied to the luggage rails above. She put two and two together: Balloon transport. At which point Sophronia decided she had better do something about their predicament. We need to cut the balloons ties to the carriage and get to the drivers box and take command of the horses.
Once we get moving, can we out run them? Pillover nodded. No scientist has figured out how to make air transport move as quickly as ground.
Although there were some interesting dirigible prototypes in last months Junior Guide to Scientific Advancements and Amoral Superiority. Some thing about utilizing the aether currents, but nothing on bal loons, so Dimity interrupted her brother. Yes, thank you, Pill. What do you two have? Pillover emptied the pockets of his oversized greatcoat: Dimity produced a box of sandwiches, a wooden spoon, and a knitted stuffed octopus out of the small covered basket at her feet. All Sophronia had was the piece of sponge shed swiped at tea and stashed in her apron, now sadly crushed.
She split it into three and they ate the cake and thought hard. None of the enemy paid them any mind. The three flyway men had given up demolishing the luggage and now stood about arguing. Mademoiselle Geraldine was still firmly fainted.
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No time like the present, said Sophronia, grabbing Pill overs magnification lens. She climbed out of the small window of the carriage, the one on the side facing away from the flywaymen.
Carriages, as it turned out, were a whole lot easier to climb than dumbwaiters. Sophronia hoisted herself onto the top of the cab, unseen by the men below. There she found a large and colorful airdinghy tied to the roof. It wasnt made of one bal loon, but four, each attached to a corner of a passenger basket about the size of a small rowboat.
In the center of the basket sprouted up a mast, higher than the balloons, with a sail unfurled. Steering propellers were suspended below. These were moving slightly, hovering directly above Sophronias head as. They looked quite sharp. Keeping an eye on them, she made her way over to the mooring point. The rope was tied firmly about the luggage rail and impossi ble to work loose.
Sophronia pulled out Pillovers magnification lens and, angling it to catch the sun, began to burn through the rope. The acrid smell of scalded fiber permeated the air, but her activities remained unobserved.
It seemed to take forever, but eventually the rope burned away to a point where Sophronia could break it. The airdinghy bobbed up, caught a slight breeze, and drifted away.
Without pausing to survey the effects of her handiwork, Sophronia crawled over and lowered herself down onto the drivers box. The coachman lay slumped to one side. There was a large red mark on his forehead. She relieved him of the reins and clucked the horses into motion. She was perfectly well aware of how inappropriate it was for a young lady of fourteen to drive a coach, but circumstances sometimes called for extreme measures.
At that point, the flywaymen noticed what was happening and began shouting at her. The leader shot his gun rather inef fectually into a nearby tree.
Another took off after the air dinghy, chasing it on the ground. The third began running toward her. Sophronia whipped the horses up and set them a brisk can ter. The cab behind her swayed alarmingly. It might be the lat est design, but it was not meant for such a frantic pace. She gave the horses their heads for a few minutes before drawing.
When she came upon a junction wide enough, she turned the carriage about and pulled up. She jumped down and stuck her head inside the cab. Pillover and Dimity stared with wide, awed eyes back at her.
All righty, then? Tremendous, said Dimity. What kind of girl are you? Now I see why you were recruited, added Dimity. Im sur prised they left it until you were so old.
Sophronia blushed. No one had ever praised her for such activities before. Nor had anyone looked upon her as old. It was quite the honor. How on earth do you know how to drive a carriage? Pill over asked, as though this were some kind of personal affront. Sophronia grinned. I spend a lot of time in stables. Nicelooking stable boys? Sophronia gave her an arch look. So what nowgo back for the headmistress? But were safe, arent we?
Pillover looked alarmed by the idea. Is she really worth it? It is the polite thing to do. Hardly fair to abandon her among criminals, pointed out his sister. Plus the coachman is insensible. And hes the only other one who knows where we are heading. Sophronia was all for logic as well as manners. But they have guns, replied Pillover, also logically.
She looked at Dimity. Mademoiselle Geraldinehow useful do you think she is? Dimity frowned. Did she fib with you? Sophronia nodded. Im not convinced she can be relied upon to follow any kind of plan; you know how adults are. However, we must do something. Did I mention the guns? Oh, stuff it, Pill. Dimity dismissed her brother, turning her attention entirely on Sophronia. What do you suggest? If I go in quick, could you and Mr.
Pillover tie yourselves down and see if you cant simply grab her off the road? Remember, ladies, the guns? Pillover repeated.
Dimity was nodding. Itll require both me and Pill. Made moiselle Geraldine is slim, but not that slim. Pillover would not let up. What about the whole shooting at us part of the equation? Sophronia and Dimity said together, Stuff it, Pill.
We dont have any rope. Sophronia dangled the long ribbon from Pillovers pocket. Dimity firmed up her mouth, grabbed it, nodded her head sharply, and went to work. Sophronia shut the cab door and climbed back up onto the drivers box. The coachman was blinking blearily and clutching his head. Hold on, sir, suggested Sophronia.
Its about to get a mite bumpy. They dashed back toward the pile of clothing and luggage in. Mademoiselle Geraldine now stood a short distance away from the head flywayman, wailing tragically over one of the hatboxes. The other two men had vanished. Seeing the carriage charging toward him, the flywayman took aim and fired.
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The bullet whined over Sophronias head. She thought dark insults at the manslander shed learned from Roger, the sta ble lad. The coachman, after a yell of horror, hunkered down. Luck ily, he did not try to wrest the reins away from Sophronia. He probably thought he was in the midst of a bad dream.
She slurred the carriage around, bringing it up alongside the headmistress and pulling back on the reins at the same time. On cue, the cab door banged open and four little hands scrab bled for download on the black lace of Mademoiselle Geraldines fabulous dress. They yanked. Something tore. Mademoiselle Geraldine squealed and fell forward and into the carriage. Her legs dangled. The flywayman dropped his gun and dove for Mademoiselle Geraldine.
The headmistress dropped her pathetic act and kicked frantically, eventually losing her shoes, but also the fly waymans grip.
He fell to the road, clutching to his chest a pair of black satin slippers. Sophronia turned to face forward, flashing the whip. The horses hardly needed the encouragement, as they were already terrified by the gunfire and the erratic driving methods of their new coachgirl. They sprang into a gallop. This book is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright by Tofa Borregaard All rights reserved. In accordance with the U. Copyright Act of , the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the authors intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book other than for review purposes , prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at permissions hbgusa.
Thank you for your support of the authors rights. The publisher is not responsible for websites or their content that are not owned by the publisher. First Edition: Finishing school ; bk. In an alternate England of , spirited fourteenyearold Sophronia is enrolled in a finishing school where, she is surprised to learn, lessons include not only the fine arts of dance, dress, and etiquette, but also diversion, deceit, and espionage. ISBN alk. Boarding schoolsFiction.
Espionage Fiction. Great BritainHistoryVictoria, Fiction. Science fiction. It's quite another to learn to curtsy and throw a knife at the same time. Welcome to Finishing School. Flag for inappropriate content. Related titles. Jump to Page. Related Interests Carriage. Little, Brown Books for Young Readers. Little Brown UK. Random House Teens. Simon and Schuster. Jinhi Baron.
Macmillan Kids. Walker Books.
The Land of Stories 5: An Author's Odyssey by Chris Colfer excerpt. The Imaginary Veterinary Book 6: My Little Pony: Equestria Girls: Sophronia is more interested in dismantling clocks and climbing trees than proper manners—and the family can only hope that company never sees her atrocious curtsy.
Temminnick is desperate for her daughter to become a proper lady. But Sophronia soon realizes the school is not quite what her mother might have hoped. At Mademoiselle Geraldine's, young ladies learn to finish Certainly, they learn the fine arts of dance, dress, and etiquette, but the also learn to deal out death, diversion, and espionage—in the politest possible ways, of course.
Sophronia and her friends are in for a rousing first year's education. Set in the same world as the Parasol Protectorate, this YA series debut is filled with all the saucy adventure and droll humor Gail's legions of fans have come to adore. Editorial Reviews Horn Book "Blending intrigue and elements of the school story, Carriger introduces teen readers to a supernatural-meets-steampunk world full of action and wit.
It's one thing learn curtsy properly. It's quite another learn.There they fell open, littering the dusty road with clothing, hats, and shoes. But she threw a pillow at me! The bullet whined over Sophronias head. The carriage remained still. Pillover would not let up. Well, I suppose we were due. Sophronia hedged. The woman looked at Sophronias exposed petticoat. The retro-futuristic steampunk style continues strong in pop culture in general.
Her mother kissed her on the fore head and made a show of fussing.
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