by Erica Ridley
“Heaven forgive me, I thought Miss Spranklin was nice.” Mrs. Pine’s voice cracked. “She visited the orphanage last year, and ended up taking a young girl named Agnes home with her. I thought... I thought it was a fairytale. Like Chloe and Thomasina, Agnes was kind and clever. I thought she’d make a brilliant governess.”
“Agnes makes porridge and boiled vegetables,” Dot said. “She’s in the kitchen before dawn and cannot sleep until the last dish is clean.”
“I put her there,” Mrs. Pine whispered, her face pale and her eyes tortured. “I signed the papers and let her go with nothing more than a smile and a wave.”
“You didn’t know,” Chloe said softly. “From the sound of it, no one knows but Miss Spranklin and the girls themselves.”
She could still remember the wretched indecision she’d felt when Bean had offered to give her a home. He was rich and titled. Even at ten years old, it had sounded too good to be true. The only adult who had ever treated Chloe with compassion was Mrs. Pine. It was thanks to her encouragement that Tommy and Chloe were now safe and comfortable and part of a big, loving family.
Bean’s forehead lined. “Perhaps this ‘school’ is a ruse that allows Miss Spranklin to collect money as well as unpaid servants. Particularly if she specializes in ‘teaching’ children who aren’t expected to ever return home.”
Mrs. Pine twisted her hands. “Dot’s foster family must have thought they were providing for her. They could rest easy, confident they’d left her better off than how she’d started.”
“I’d rather live in the orphanage with you than go back to Miss Spranklin,” Dot said.
Mrs. Pine took the girl’s hand and squeezed. “You and Agnes were my favorites and I could scarcely bear to part with you, but I thought... if you could have a home like Chloe and Thomasina had found... It had seemed like a miracle then, and I wanted you to have a miracle, too.”
Chloe’s heart twisted. She hated to think that her good fortune had led to Agnes and Dot’s misfortune. She wished every orphan could find a Bean. Instead, Dot and the other girls had been saddled with Miss Spranklin, who seemed to feel orphans were tools to be used, not children to be loved.
“You’re not going back,” Chloe assured Dot. “First thing in the morning, Baron Vanderbean can file charges of—” Absolutely nothing. Chloe winced. “I see your point. We have no legal standing. Miss Spranklin was paid to take custody of Dot.”
Mrs. Pine nodded unhappily. “The courts can’t help us. I went to Bow Street and pleaded with the magistrate, all to no avail. They’ll do nothing without proof of wrongdoing, and I have no evidence that laws have been broken. Chores are legal. Boarding schools are legal. Workhouses are legal. I’m just an old fool. They told me not to bother them again.”
“She said we’d go to gaol if we ran away.” Dot’s eyes were wide. “I did it anyway.”
“You’re not going to gaol.” Mrs. Pine turned back to the Wynchesters and grimaced. “The contract I signed for Agnes was similar to an apprenticeship. It’s legally binding.”
“Dot is back in the orphanage?” Chloe asked.
“Not with the other children,” Mrs. Pine answered. “She stays in my small office whilst I’m working, and then sleeps in my room with me. I know it’s not ideal... If Miss Spranklin were to return, and happened to spy her...”
“Dot can stay with us,” Chloe said without hesitation. She didn’t need to ask Bean and her siblings to know they would happily open their home and their hearts. “We’ve plenty of guest rooms and—”
“No.” Dot threw her arms about Mrs. Pine and burst into tears. “Please don’t take me from her. Not again.”
Chloe remembered all too well what it had felt like to leave Mrs. Pine, the closest thing to a mother figure Chloe had ever known. She could just imagine Dot’s joy at being adopted by wealthy family, only to be abandoned all over again. This time, at an institution where there was no Mrs. Pine. Just grueling hours of drudgery and hopelessness.
“Of course.” Chloe’s voice scratched. “You’re right. You should live wherever you choose.”
Dot sobbed into Mrs. Pine’s chest, inconsolable.
“Look.” Jacob knelt before her with the puppy in his arms. “Would you like to pet Goldenrod whilst the rest of us form a plan?”
Dot peeked over her shoulder.
“I warn you,” Elizabeth said from the sofa. “That puppy is a chatterbox and none of her jokes are funny.”
Dot let go of Mrs. Pine. “Puppies can’t talk.”
“I can!” said the puppy.
Dot squeaked and fell back against the cushion in surprise.
“Won’t you hold me?” asked the puppy.
Dot narrowed her eyes at Jacob with suspicion. “How are you doing that?”
“It was me.” Elizabeth could throw her voice and make it sound like anyone—or anything—she chose. She smiled at Dot.
The little girl reached out her arms. Jacob placed the puppy in her lap. She immediately licked Dot’s cheek, to her surprise and delight.
The butler, Mr. Randall, appeared in the doorway. “Pardon the interruption—”
Before he could explain further, the interruption himself flew into the parlor with a framed painting beneath one arm.
The Duke of Faircliffe. Father to Chloe’s favorite politician. A man who visited several times a year. Whenever he needed money.
Chloe stepped in his path. “Your Grace, this is not the moment for—”
The duke swept past her, heedless of his boots scraping mud against the hem of Chloe’s dress. Commoners were no more important to him than dust motes.
“I’m in a bad way,” the duke said to Bean. “You like unusual paintings. Why not purchase this one? The Three Witches of Macbeth. See the witches? It’ll match the demon painting you bought last time. Isn’t it nice?”
Chloe turned to Mrs. Pine. “I’m sorry. He’ll leave in a moment.”
“Perhaps he can help us,” Mrs. Pine said, her eyes bright.
“I wish he would,” Chloe murmured back. “Unfortunately, he never helps anyone but himself. Without grounds for a legal case, even a peer is limited on what he can do.”
“Then it’s hopeless?” Mrs. Pine asked, her voice bleak.
“Nothing is hopeless,” Chloe said firmly. “Lords may be powerless, but Wynchesters can do anything.”
“I’ve two other canvases out in my curricle,” the duke was saying to Bean. “If you’d rather purchase one without witches—”
“I’d rather not have you barging into my parlor while I’m entertaining guests,” Bean replied evenly.
The duke’s cheeks bloomed with color. “You cannot speak to me like that, you... you...” He seemed to remember where he was and why he was there. “It’s worth five hundred pounds. I’ve had it appraised. You can have it for three hundred. Two hundred, if you must.”
“I don’t want it at all.” Bean arched a brow. “As you mentioned, we’ve already got one.”
Their painting was called Robin Goodfellow in the Forest with Fairies, but the Wynchesters called it Puck & Family, and considered it a family portrait.
In Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Puck was a mischievous imp who played tricks and meddled, often in an attempt to improve the lot of those around him. In the painting, Puck and six other merry goblins danced in a circle in a magical forest. Puck was Bean, and the sprites were the siblings.
The summer that Bean had assembled his motley group of orphans, the Duke of Faircliffe had come to the house in much the same state he was in now. Out of money, and hoping to sell items from his home to chase creditors away.
Puck & Family had been the Wynchesters’ first acquisition as a team. For several of the children, it had been the first item they’d ever owned. They loved it because it symbolized their bond and their new future together as a family. The painting belonged to them, just like the Wynchesters belonged with each other.
The duke didn’t understand any of that. According to the g
ossip columns Graham read, the duke barely spoke to his own son, and had sold almost every heirloom his family had ever had, only to return to the gaming tables the following night.
“One hundred and seventy-five pounds,” the duke said desperately. “One hundred and fifty. Name your price.”
“No, thank you,” Bean lifted a palm. “If you’ll excuse us, Your Grace?”
“One hundred pounds,” said the duke. “That’s my final offer.”
“If we wanted more art in our parlor,” said Elizabeth, “Marjorie could paint it. Or bring something home from all of those exhibitions she goes to.” Elizabeth turned in her seat so that Marjorie could see her face. “Who will we see next Wednesday?”
“Albus Roth,” Marjorie said loudly.
The duke tucked his painting back under his arm. “Albus Roth?”
“We’re all curious,” Chloe explained. “At the time Roth painted Puck & Family—I mean, Robin Goodfellow—he wasn’t well known, but he’s become popular in recent years, and is to have his first London exhibition next week.”
“We should take Puck & Family with us,” Jacob teased Marjorie. “Have it signed twice.”
“Sell it to me,” the duke demanded. “I want it back.”
Every face in the parlor swung to him in disbelief.
“No,” Bean said simply. “It belongs to us.”
“Just because the artist wasn’t famous then, but is becoming so now,” Graham sputtered. “I suppose you think you can have it back at the same price you sold it, too!”
“Give it to me at once,” the duke commanded imperiously. “I demand its return.”
“Your Grace!” his driver called from out in the corridor. “I see one of your creditors. We must flee!”
The duke dashed from the parlor.
Chloe raised an eyebrow at Elizabeth. “Didn’t the duke say he drove himself here in a curricle?”
Elizabeth smiled innocently. “He’ll remember that once he steps outside.”
“It will be too late.” Jacob grinned at his sisters. “Mr. Randall will bar the door tight behind him.”
“I wish he wouldn’t appear once a month with some canvas to sell, and then snub us on the streets as though we were the urchins,” Graham grumbled.
“We were the urchins,” Elizabeth reminded him. “There’s no shame in being poor or an orphan.”
“None at all,” Chloe agreed, and turned back to Dot and Mrs. Pine. “You rescued one. We’ll rescue the rest. We cannot leave children in such abominable conditions.”
“We cannot rescue them yet.” Graham rubbed his jaw. “If we go and kidnap a dozen young girls—”
“Two dozen,” Dot murmured.
“—two dozen young girls,” he amended, “people will notice and there will be questions. At the moment, Miss Spranklin has guardianship and the courts would side in her favor.”
Chloe straightened. “If there is no law that can stop her, then we have no choice but to shut down this so-called Seminary for Girls ourselves.”
“I’ll pay a visit tomorrow morning,” said Bean. “Whilst Miss Spranklin is distracted with me, the rest of you can—”
Mrs. Pine shook her head. “I tried. No visitors allowed.”
“Perhaps not from you or me,” Chloe said gently. “But Bean is a baron—”
“Not even from lords.” Mrs. Pine’s expression was bleak. “Miss Spranklin allows no visits from anyone at any time of the year.”
“Parents cannot see their own children?” Jacob said, appalled. “No holidays or outside contact of any kind?”
Mrs. Pine shook her head. “None at all. I suspect any parent that would agree to such terms must be like the family who abandoned Dot. Most children were placed there because they aren’t wanted at home.”
“Or don’t have a home,” Dot said. “Only a few students leave for Christmas or summer holiday.”
“When is summer holiday?”
“The month of August,” Dot answered. “Right after the musicale.”
Mrs. Pine turned to stare at her. “The what?”
“The musicale,” Dot repeated. “The girls whose parents do care enough to take them home for Yuletide expect their daughters to become respectable ladies. The annual musicale is when Miss Spranklin shows off how accomplished her students have become, and convinces the parents to pay higher tuition.”
Chloe straightened. Perhaps that was their opportunity to search for evidence against Miss Spranklin. “There will be fewer people at the school for the entire month?”
Dot shook her head. “Not this time. Mrs. Spranklin is expanding the school. She hopes to house a dozen more students after the construction finishes.”
“To finish in under a month, carpenters may have to work round the clock,” Bean murmured.
Chloe nodded. They could not break in whilst the school was swarming with additional witnesses, nor could they wait for the carpenters to finish and risk a dozen more girls falling into Miss Spranklin’s web. They had to act as swiftly as possible.
“We have one month,” Bean said. “Let’s not take more than a week.”
Chapter 3
Early the next evening, the Wynchester family reunited in the upstairs Planning Parlor, a sound-dampened private sitting room they used for plotting stratagems.
Chloe picked her way carefully across the dark slate floor, part of which already displayed a large chalk map of the Spranklin Seminary for Girls and its surroundings. Tommy was the one who scouted maps. Her careful disguises and casual demeanor let her stroll any street unchecked.
“Excellent work,” Chloe said.
Tommy grinned back at her. “Thank you.”
Bean and the siblings were scattered about the room in their usual spots. The Wynchester family had a habit of arranging themselves in the same order as the painting hanging above the mantel. The canvas bore their beloved forest scene of Puck and his happy, dancing imps. The idea of selling it back to the Duke of Faircliffe was laughable.
The painting was priceless.
Bean, being Puck, took the central winged chair with his back to the unlit fireplace. Although the beau monde considered him a recluse, the truth was Bean was frequently out in the world—just not in the sorts of places the aristocracy was likely to visit. He was the mastermind behind their missions.
Acrobatic Graham and easy-going Tommy sat in needlepoint armchairs between tall, open windows. A hint of gray had begun to cover the rich colors of sunset, and the scent of impending rain was thick in the air.
Lounging upon a chaise, delightfully bloodthirsty Elizabeth polished the serpent handle of her sword stick. Artistic Marjorie was lost in her own world, sketching at the long walnut-and-burl table with secret compartments in the center of the room. And strong, sensitive Jacob...
Chloe frowned. “Where’s Jacob?”
“Out in the barn,” Elizabeth replied.
“Jacob is training some animals he hopes might be useful on this mission,” Tommy explained.
Graham closed his eyes. “Please tell me it’s not weasels again. I can do without any more wild animals.”
“They were useful,” Tommy chided him. “They did exactly as Jacob trained them, and we were able to get justice for that nursemaid.”
“Yes, but...” Graham shuddered. “Weasels.”
“Tommy, shall we begin with you?” Chloe prompted. “Tell us about the map.”
Tommy raked her fingers through her short brown hair, leaving a streak of white chalk dust behind. She grabbed a long wooden rod to point out various aspects of the map.
“Elizabeth and I spent the day reconnoitering. That is the main road. This loop is just big enough for a dogcart, but it does circle around the school. These are walking paths, and these”—Tommy tapped with the rod—“could certainly be used to smuggle orphans out one by one.”
“We cannot kidnap every child in the boarding school,” Elizabeth reminded her.
“Of course we can,” said Bean. “It’s just no
t Plan Number One.”
“Have we got a Plan Number One?” Graham asked.
“We’re working on it,” Elizabeth said. “Whilst Tommy was mapping escape routes from the grounds, I sneaked about counting windows and doors. If they had caught me doing so, I would have pretended I was on my way to visit a relative and had paused to rest beneath the shade of the school building. Once anyone sees my cane, they tend to assume I’m harmless.”
Tommy grinned. “If only they knew the damage you can do with the hidden blade inside it.”
“Only when my joints allow spry movement,” Elizabeth said with a smile. On a good day, she could take down a pack of ruffians in seconds. “I counted twenty-five children, twenty of whom were in a salon being taught arithmetic. So there is education… for some of them.”
“And the others?” Chloe asked in trepidation.
Elizabeth sighed. “The others were working their fingers to the bone, just as Dot described. It turns my stomach to report that the youngest of the lot appeared no older than six or seven years of age.”
“It is one thing to offer gainful employment to an adolescent,” said Graham. “It is quite another to exploit and terrify a child.”
A maid and two footmen entered the room and laid the table for dinner.
“Thank you, Zinnia,” Chloe said. “Please tell Mr. Randall that if a package arrives for me, he’s to send it up at once.”
“I suppose I know better than to ask what’s in the package,” Elizabeth murmured as she reached for a plate.
Chloe’s cheeks flushed. She did receive a great many packages, most of which were ushered straight into her private chamber, where they remained forever after.
“I have commissioned new calling cards,” she explained. “You’re looking at ‘Jane Brown, Governess.’”
Tommy piled her plate with cakes. “I would have let you borrow one of my cards.”
“I would make a terrible vicar or blacksmith,” Chloe said with a grin. Tommy was the master of disguises, but Chloe rarely needed one at all.
“Jane Brown is looking for employment,” Bean told Tommy. “Miss Spranklin may run her school by herself now, but when she expands, she will find herself in want of good help.”
