Exile for Dreamers

by Kathleen Baldwin

  Sera jumped up at the violence of my demand. My outburst seemed to convince her that Jane and Georgie were hiding something from me. From us. Because, clearly, Sera didn’t know either.

  She scoured each of their faces, hunting for clues. “Whatever it is. We’ve a right to know.” The hurt vibrating through her words seemed to land on them with more force than my anger.

  Without a sound, Maya retreated deeper into the shadows. Jane, on the other hand, looked squarely to Miss Stranje for guidance.

  So our illustrious headmistress and even Maya had a part in this tight-lipped conspiracy. I couldn’t blame them for their silence, not entirely. Everyone has secrets. I have mine. Besides, secrets were our stock-in-trade. But I meant to bite my teeth into this one and drag it out into the open.

  Now.

  I met Miss Stranje’s hawklike stare with a white-hot blaze of my own.

  “Hmph.” She did not look displeased with me. It was rather more as if I had passed some sort of test. She abruptly turned and dismissed Alice, our maid, with instructions to tell Greaves that we would be down to breakfast a few minutes late and to go ahead and serve our guest.

  Our headmistress gave Jane a curt nod of permission.

  Jane exhaled. “Thank goodness. We—”

  “I wanted to tell you right away.” Georgie quickly scooted closer to me. “And a hundred times since. But we—” She glanced over her shoulder at Miss Stranje. “The thought was that it would be better if you didn’t have to keep a secret this important from him, from Gabriel. Because if we tell you, you will have to keep this from him. Do you still want to know?”

  “Of course, I want to know. It isn’t as if we’re betrothed.” I emphasized my point with a great deal of heat. “Why should it be difficult? Lord Ravencross and I are no more than neighbors to one another. Mere acquaintances. Not even friends. Not really. If you must know, he finds me irksome. He said so himself only last night. Despite what you may think, Georgiana, I have no future with him. For that matter, no future with anyone, least of all him.”

  During this rather forceful protestation, Miss Stranje pressed her lips into a thin exasperated line and cast her gaze to the ceiling.

  I didn’t care if she believed me or not. It was nothing less than the truth. Nevertheless, I brought my strident pitch under control. “What I intended to say is that I care about him, of course, but I would not wish to make him suffer because of my dreams, not the way my father and grandfather did.”

  “Very well, then, I’ll tell you.” Georgie caught her lip, as if she was loath to spring the truth from its hiding place.

  Miss Stranje rolled her hand, indicating that Georgie should get on with it.

  “The fact of the matter is … well, you see, Lord Ravencross didn’t actually kill his brother.”

  I shook my head. “But—”

  Jane cut me off. “He thought he did. Everyone thought he had. But somehow Lucien survived.”

  Georgie gave a somber recitation of the facts. “Captain Grey and Lord Wyatt waited outside the farmhouse the day Gabriel went in to convince his brother to come back to Britain’s side of the war before it was too late. The exchange between Gabriel and Lucien quickly turned into a heated argument. When Captain Grey and Lord Wyatt heard steel ringing against steel they rushed inside. But it was too late. They found the brothers collapsed in pools of blood. They had fled before the enemy discovered them and only narrowly managed to escape with Gabriel and carry him to safety. Captain Grey and Lord Wyatt were both absolutely certain Lucien was dead.”

  Georgie stopped and shook her head. “Who knows what happened. The French surgeons are reputed to be the best in the world. Lucien was a leader in Napoleon’s Iron Crown, they must’ve moved heaven and earth to save him.”

  “But I saw it all in a dream,” I reminded her. “He fell down dead. There was no bringing him back from that.”

  “You’re right, and we don’t actually know how the man survived, only that he did. Like you, Sebastian believed Lucien was dead. He saw no breath signs and there was enough blood on the floor to warrant that conclusion. Although how much of that blood actually belonged to Gabriel rather than Lucien, we will never know.”

  “I saw his eyes. They were lifeless,” I muttered.

  “Yes.” She took a deep breath and pressed on. “But I assure you he is very much alive. We saw him. Jane, Maya, and I, we all saw him the day we rescued Lord Wyatt from the Iron Crown’s stronghold. The former Lord of Ravencross was very much alive.”

  I could scarcely breathe. “If this is true, it means that Gabriel is not…”

  Jane completed my worrisome conclusion. “Strictly speaking, you are correct. He is not rightfully Lord of Ravencross.”

  “Gabriel must be told,” I said with flat finality. “He would want to know.”

  “Would he?” Miss Stranje’s icy tone silenced everyone in the room. “What do you suppose he will do once he knows?”

  I didn’t answer. It was one of her traps.

  Georgie responded for me. “He would report it to Whitehall.”

  He would. He would feel it was his duty.

  Jane finished closing the door on the trap. “And then the title, his lands, and his family honor would be stripped away. Not to mention the disgrace that would be brought down on his head given the fact that his brother is now quite aptly named—”

  “No!” I sucked air. “Ghost.”

  My stomach shot straight through the feather ticking and crashed against the floorboards.

  It fit.

  Lucien had come back to life as Ghost, the elusive shadow leader of the Iron Crown. Ruthless. Brutal. And extremely efficient in his treachery. I closed my eyes, cringing as I considered the shame this would heap upon Gabriel.

  When I could breathe again, I made a feeble protest. “But he’s miserable because he thinks he killed his brother.”

  Miss Stranje shifted to her instructive mannerisms and voice. “And so you must ask yourself, would he be less miserable knowing the truth?”

  “That his brother is England’s most notorious traitor.” Sera stared out the window. “Gabriel’s loyalties would even come into question.”

  His own brother, leader of the Iron Crown? It couldn’t be. Yet it made perfect sense. Naturally Daneska would have allied herself with a murderous traitor. The gnawing betrayal I’d felt because of her, Gabriel would feel a hundredfold.

  His own brother.

  Gabriel’s brother hid behind the mantle of Ghost. I would make an honest man of him and turn him into a real ghost.

  I would kill Lucien.

  Georgie was right. “Gabriel must never find out.” The words echoed from my throat, hard and commanding. My soul turned into that of an assassin, dark as midnight and as calculating as sharp steel. “No one outside of this room must ever know.”

  Georgie looked at me, suddenly guarded. “But someday, won’t he…” She hesitated, wary of the hardness in me.

  “I will stop Daneska and Ghost before they come.”

  “We,” she said, her voice shaking. “We will stop them.”

  We?

  No. I shook my head. Georgie was too good and kind. I would never let death stain her as it had me.

  “Perhaps he ought to know.” Sera turned from the window. “Do we really have a right to hide this from him? I’m not so certain.”

  Yes. No. Who was I to decide his fate?

  “I don’t know.” I collapsed into my hands again, burying my face, uncertain of either path. But they were all waiting for some kind of decision. I had no right to decide.

  Suddenly I felt angry again. No, I wanted to be angry. I chose to be angry. I wanted a distraction. I needed the heat of rage to wrest the icy misery settling into my veins.

  “Why is it that I haven’t dreamed this? Why? What good are these infuriating visions of the future if they don’t even reveal something as important as that?”

  Miss Stranje, still playing at being our teacher, cocked on
e brow imperiously. “I believe you just did, don’t you think?”

  “Hardly,” I grumbled.

  Then, out of nowhere, a wry thought occurred to me, and I smirked as aptly as I am able to smirk, which isn’t much at all. It is Jane and Miss Stranje who can successfully pull off irony. Nevertheless, I took a stab at it. “And here I’d thought Lady Daneska had taken up with someone new.”

  Jane was the only one who thought it funny.

  Georgie slumped and propped her chin in her hand. She seemed to be pondering something in a completely different direction. “You said you dreamed of fire and water. Do you suppose that means they might have gotten the plans for the warship out of Mr. Sinclair?”

  “It’s quite possible.” Jane’s jaw tensed. “For all we know, he could be in league with them.” She started to pace. “What do we really know of Mr. Sinclair other than the fact that he is vulgar and ill-mannered?”

  Georgie shot up. “We know that Sebastian thought him worth rescuing.”

  Miss Stranje intervened. “Ladies, we must not leap to conclusions one way or the other. Let us simply discover what information he gave them before he was rescued and proceed from there. The Iron Crown may have forced his hand. We are all too familiar with the cruelty they are capable of inflicting upon their prisoners.”

  Jane stood very stiff and guarded. “How can we find out without tipping our hand? He’s more clever than he lets on. Too clever by half. It is quite possible he was never a prisoner at all. That he is one of them, sent here to infiltrate our ranks.”

  Georgie fumed at her. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I’m not. France allied with the Yanks when they fought us for independence. Have you forgotten, the Americans declared war on Britain in 1812? Last year they burned York to the ground.”

  Georgie rushed to his defense. “Yes, but attacking Canada was not a popular action in his country. Many of his countrymen rioted against the war. He may not sympathize with—”

  “We’re still at war.” Jane stiffened and elevated her chin. “He is our enemy. And don’t forget it. Mr. Sinclair has far more reason to swear his allegiance to France than to England.”

  “Yes, but it is highly unlikely.” Sera stood to the side, watching and observing as she always does. “He appears to be straightforward to a fault.”

  “Oh, yes. He’s excessively straightforward when it suits him. Rude, I should say.” Jane bristled. “Being blunt does not make him honest. Nor does it mean he’s on our side. He’s still an American. Who knows where his loyalties lie. He might very well be a spy.”

  “That’s preposterous.” Georgie propped her fists on her hips, and I rather expected she would stand by him to the death, because in so doing she defended Lord Wyatt’s decision to send the engineer’s apprentice to us. “His uncle has not taken either side in the war with Napoleon. Fulton offered his inventions to both sides. Surely Mr. Sinclair is as neutral as his uncle.”

  “There is nothing neutral about him,” Jane grumbled.

  Maya stood back by the curtains and laughed softly. I love Maya’s rare waves of laughter. They bubble up from a place of complete contentment and it warms the soul to hear them.

  Miss Stranje moved between Jane and Georgie and clapped her hands together, ending their debate. “I suggest we go down to breakfast and ask him. If he is as straightforward as Sera believes, he will tell us exactly what plans he did or did not give the Iron Crown. However, a word of caution. There must be absolutely no mention of Lady Daneska or Ghost until we are completely certain of this young man’s loyalty. Agreed?”

  We all nodded in response, but our headmistress turned and singled out Jane with a stern expression pinching her face. “Lady Jane?”

  “Me?” Jane’s hand flew to her chest. “Why would you doubt me? I’m not the one. It’s Georgie who trusts him. Not I. If it were up to me, I would never speak another word to the man.” She sniffed and stuck her chin higher. “For any reason.”

  “Very well. You may all go. But wait to question him. Tess and I will join you shortly.” She dismissed them and turned to me. “I’ll help you change into a morning gown. But first I would like to hear your answer. Do you intend to tell Gabriel about his brother, or not?”

  I looked down at my bare toes, and with a deep sigh, answered, “It’s not my place.”

  “Hmm. I wonder.”

  We were a few minutes late to breakfast. As it turned out, it might have been better to skip it altogether.

  Ten

  QUESTIONS

  The breakfast room is my second-favorite room at Stranje House. It always smells of bacon and toasted muffins. The walls are painted butter yellow and, no matter the season, light drifts through the broad windows and warms the soul. There is a secret passage through the cupboards along the south wall. I often sneak in here at other times of the day just to breathe in the homey scents and bask in its lovely warmth. I’m like a cat that way. I prowl and roam where I will. But today the breakfast room felt decidedly sullen, and it had nothing to do with the light.

  We found it filled with silent, brooding occupants. Maya was the only one who didn’t look disgruntled. She hummed to herself and cheerfully peeled an orange. Jane looked as if she planned to cut off someone’s head, and not the one belonging to the hapless fish under her knife. Georgie stirred the contents of her plate into an unrecognizable smear. Sera studied everyone at the table with nervous intensity.

  Upon our entering, Mr. Sinclair hopped up out of his chair, almost knocking it over. Miss Stranje greeted him and asked how he was getting on with his morning’s work.

  He bowed his head before answering and proceeded with cautiously chosen words. “I thank you for your hospitality, Miss Stranje. Your accommodations are generous and comfortable.” Then, rather more coldly, he added, “Lady Jane tells me you have some questions for me.”

  Miss Stranje sent a wordless scold in Jane’s direction.

  “He goaded me,” Jane sputtered with indignation. “Tell her.” She nudged Georgie. “Tell her how he tricked me into saying something.”

  Georgie shrugged at Jane’s outburst and appealed to the two of us. “They are like fire and oil.”

  Sera leaned across the table. “I think you might mean like fire and water. Opposites.”

  “No. If that were true, they wouldn’t keep bursting into flames, now would they?” Georgie turned to the food on her plate and began slicing a kipper.

  “You may be seated.” Miss Stranje nodded to Mr. Sinclair and took her place at the head of the table as she always does. A footman presented her with a silver tray containing the day’s notes and letters. She didn’t go through them right away as she usually does. Instead, she clasped her hands in her lap and addressed our guest. “Jane is right, Mr. Sinclair. I do have a few questions about your sojourn in France, if you would be so good as to indulge my curiosity?”

  “At your service, Miss Stranje. Ask away.”

  “I appreciate your candor.” She motioned for the footman to bring her a boiled egg. This she dealt with as she always does. A swift swipe of her knife, and the egg, shell and all, was split cleanly in two. She scooped out each half with a spoon and pressed it atop her buttered toast. I have attempted her method and sent my egg flying halfway across the room.

  She dispatched egg and toast, wiped her mouth, and turned to Mr. Sinclair. “I would like to know exactly what information you gave the French.”

  “Ah. So that’s it, is it?” Mr. Sinclair nodded, and his normally amicable expression turned serious. “They asked me a great many questions about my uncle’s steamships. I found it odd, considering Uncle Robert presented the idea to Napoleon himself and had been turned down flat.”

  He warmed to his subject and forgot for a moment his indignation at being questioned. “If I remember correctly, the high and mighty emperor said something along these lines, ‘Fire is the great fear of all sailors, Mr. Fulton, and yet you would make a ship sail against the winds and currents by lighting
a bonfire under her decks? I have no time for such nonsense.’” Mr. Sinclair forked a sliced potato and drew it through the egg yolk on his plate, scrawling something before continuing with his story. “And yet here come a half dozen of Napoleon’s finest engineers with a flurry of questions for me about how to connect the paddle wheel to the steam engine and the like.”

  “And did you tell them how to do it, Mr. Sinclair?”

  He set his fork down with a plunk. “No, Miss Stranje, I did not. And it isn’t because I fancied myself a great friend of Britain at the time. Because I’m not. I’m sure I need not remind you that we are at war with your fine country.” He held up his long tapered fingers, forestalling her reaction. “Before you sound the alarm and have me arrested, let me assure you I am no longer a friend of the French either. I am, however, loyal to my uncle. If I had given Napoleon’s engineer patented information about the steamship mechanisms, I would be robbing Uncle Robert of the price he asked Napoleon to pay. That would make me worse than a thief. Whatever else you may think of me, and I gather from some of your students that the general opinion of me here is rather low—”

  “Jane does not speak for all of us,” Georgie fumed.

  “Whatever the case,” continued Mr. Sinclair, “I would not do such a disservice to my uncle. A more generous man does not exist. Uncle Robert bought my mother a farm and handed the deed over to her and my da without strings of any sort. He did the same for my grandmother and aunts. He undertook my education and brought me to work alongside him as if I were his own son. I would not betray him.” He picked up his fork and gave the potato on the end a shake. “Not even at the cost of my life.”

  Miss Stranje acknowledged his devotion to his uncle with a squaring of her shoulders and one of her rare expressions of respect. Mr. Sinclair’s speech pleased her, but she pressed on. Her voice held no inflection that might indicate her deep concern, no current of condemnation or approval. “When you refused to help their engineers, what happened then?”