I rounded the east side of the house and loped in long-legged strides toward the pasture and the woods, where … I’d killed a man.
My feet slowed as I neared the spot where I’d thrown my knife. I saw his face. A phantom of the man I’d killed. Saw him falling. Not in a dream. Or a vision. A memory. My feet stilled completely. I saw it all again.
The first death by my hand.
I crouched, shivering, and hushed Phobos and Tromos, who wanted to keep running. I drew them close for warmth and dropped to my knees. Tromos whimpered and laid her wet nose over my shoulder.
She remembered, too.
Soon, very soon, I would have to add one more killing to my account. Would I be able to do it? Cold prickles skittered up my arms. I shuddered and looked away, burying my face in Tromos’s dark fur. I should not have stopped here. I should’ve kept running.
I sprang up and took off at a furious pace, trying to outrun those thoughts. After exhausting myself in a ragged race around the sheep pasture, I walked back toward Stranje House. When I arrived at the gap between the two properties, I slowed down, watching the guards MacDougal had hired taking their patrols around Ravencross Manor. That ought to discourage his brother. Except I knew better. Ghost was clever and cunning . Even worse, the man was patient. He would bide his time and strike when least expected. As leader of the Iron Crown, Ghost was as relentless as Napoleon himself.
I wondered if Gabriel might try to ride out that morning, which would leave him vulnerable. Naturally, I waited. The sun peeked over the horizon and shot pink and orange streaks across the sky, and there was still no sign of him, no movement about his house and no big brown horse in the distance. So I gave up. His shoulder must not be healed well enough for riding.
Maybe tomorrow.
I dawdled walking back to the house, sighing and kicking stones along the way. Georgie sat on the garden step, waiting. I knew it was Sebastian she was waiting for, not me. “Lord Wyatt won’t be along until much later.”
“I know.” She sighed. “It’s just that I can’t bear it, knowing he’s only a mile or two away, when I—”
“Yes, yes, I know. You’ve missed him fiercely these last weeks. Come along.” I pulled her to her feet. “Sitting here won’t make the time go any faster.”
“As if you weren’t doing the same thing. I saw you waiting near the place where Lord Ravencross usually rides.” Her voice had a chastising scrape to it. “You shouldn’t have turned him away yesterday. I would never send Sebastian away without seeing him.”
She didn’t understand. How could she? I plucked a yellowing leaf from a nearby bush and studied the pattern of veins on the underside. “It’s different for you. You have an understanding with Lord Wyatt, don’t you?”
She turned the color of the pink clouds in the dawning sky. “Of sorts. The life of a spy is not—” She stopped and covered her mouth briefly. “Excuse me. I meant to say that the life of a man in diplomatic service is not conducive to having a wife and children.”
“But at least you have the possibility of a future.”
“Perhaps.” Georgie kicked at a pebble. “But only if this wretched war with Napoleon would ever end. Even then, there are no guarantees. His first allegiance is to the crown.”
“The war can’t last forever,” I said, and instantly regretted how feeble that statement sounded. I wished I could’ve reassured her with more conviction, so I attempted a lighter tone. “Imagine your mother’s delight at having you wed to a viscount.” Her mother was keenly interested in advancing herself socially. If Georgie made an advantageous marriage she might finally win her mother’s approval.
She chuckled. “I daresay she would swoon at the idea. But, I dare not look that far down the road. The future is too uncertain. That’s why I intend to seize every possible moment with Sebastian.”
I said nothing to that. It was different between her and Lord Wyatt. I envied her. She had a future. It might not be a perfect one, but at least they had the hope of one.
“Come.” I tugged her up the stairs. “Let’s find out how Lady Daneska is faring as our prisoner.”
We roamed the house in search of Miss Stranje. Our elusive headmistress was nowhere to be found. Odd, how she always shows up at the most inopportune moments, and yet when one wants something, she seems to vanish entirely.
Breakfast arrived at the same hour it always did, but for me it felt as if time had ticked by slower than an old woman’s cane. Georgie and I were the first ones seated. The other girls filed in shortly after, as did Mr. Sinclair, who seemed particularly buoyant at that hour of the morning. At exactly nine o’clock, Miss Stranje took her seat at the head of the table.
I frothed at the bit, waiting to find out how Miss Stranje planned to extract the information from Daneska. Except we couldn’t speak of it, not yet, not with the servants and our American guest listening. So we ate in strained silence.
I contemplated various methods of interrogation in my head. Confining Daneska with only bread and water would never work. She was made of sterner stuff. I stabbed a potato drenched in rosemary and butter.
How? How could we get her to talk?
Mercifully, Mr. Sinclair broke through the tension and diverted us with his enthusiastic plans for building the small prototype of his warship engine. “We’ll need to find something to serve as the piston rod. But we’ve nearly finished the steam cylinder. Now if I can fabricate a sturdy crank out of something…” He twirled his fork in his fingers while he was thinking. Judging by the look on Jane’s face, I thought she might grab it straight out of his hands. But he set it down with a plunk and brightened. “Perhaps I might have one or two of your pokers?”
Miss Stranje followed his covetous gaze to the fireplace tools stored on the hearth. “You may, if that is what is necessary.”
“I noticed you’ve other sets on most of your hearths.”
“Yes.” She nodded, drawing back. “But do try and leave one or two behind so that we have something with which to tend our fires.”
“Yes, miss, certainly. And of course I shall need to visit a wheelwright to have a small flywheel constructed.”
Her face puckered momentarily. “I do not think that wise, Mr. Sinclair—”
“Alexander.”
“Very well, Alexander. A journey to the village puts you in too much danger. If you will make a drawing and a list of the exact dimensions, I shall send Philip to the wheelwright. It will attract far less attention if the order comes from one of us rather than a stranger.”
“Excellent! In that case, we’ll be whistling right along.” He grabbed up his fork as if it were a shovel. “I should also like to try out Miss Barrington’s and Miss Fitzwilliam’s contributions to my torpedo.” He smiled broadly at Georgie. “Installing Congreve’s compression trigger was pure genius. It will be sensitive enough to explode upon impact but not so sensitive that it blows up while we’re loading it.”
Jane gaped at him. “Egad, I should certainly hope not.”
He glossed over her concerns with a cheery wave of his hand. “Don’t fret. It’s simply a matter of adjusting the spring pressure correctly.” Jane did not look mollified. He aimed his next request at me. “Do you think Lord Ravencross might lend us his assistance in building today?”
My only answer was a shrug.
“No matter.” Sinclair scooped up another helping of eggs and sausage. “I’ll send a note requesting his help. I’m certain he’ll oblige us. Then, if we are industrious and finish construction on the prototype tomorrow or the next day, I would like to attempt a test shot.”
“A test shot?” Miss Stranje set her spoon down with a sudden and uncustomary clink. “What, exactly, do you propose to blow up?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it? To test the weapon properly, we’ll need to aim at something some distance from the shore—”
Our headmistress snapped a piece of toast in half and dropped both halves on her plate. “Wouldn’t it suffice to set up a woo
den target out in the north pasture? There are trees there to hide the—”
“The blast. No. Wouldn’t work.” He shook his head, set down his fork, and blotted his mouth with the table linen. “A dry inland test proves nothing. We must see how it performs in water.”
Sera spread marmalade on a muffin and mumbled, “Let us hope Mr. Chadwick is not visiting in the vicinity on the day of your test.”
“Oh, yes, I see the problem. Might alarm the neighbors.” He drummed his fingers briefly on the tablecloth and drank the last of his pear juice. “I have it.” He set down the goblet with a plunk and grinned. “If we test it at night, it’s bound to make for some picturesque fireworks. If anyone asks, we could simply say we’re celebrating.”
“Celebrating what?” Jane looked at him as if he was completely balmy.
“I don’t know. Anything.” Quite jauntily, he added, “My birthday, for example.”
“Is it your birthday?” she asked.
“No. I spent that day locked in a room in France. But I wouldn’t say no to a delayed celebration. My mother usually bakes a spice cake for the occasion. Delicious. A thick layer of sugar icing, like so.” Holding up two fingers, he showed us exactly how thick. His normally lively countenance turned melancholy for a few seconds. “Don’t know when, or if, I’ll ever taste it again. But no matter.”
Sera looked at him quizzically. “Ordinarily, we don’t make that much ado over our natal days.”
“Ah. More of your English stoicism, I suppose.” He studiously mopped up egg yolk with a wedge of toast, as if giving the problem some consideration. “Perhaps this once, if the question arises, you might make an exception.”
Finished with the last of his eggs and sausage, he pushed back his plate. “Although it may not be necessary. You are fairly isolated here. It’s quite possible no one will notice our little experiment.”
“No, and why should they?” Jane spooned clotted cream on her raspberry scone and spread an equally ample serving of sarcasm over the top of her comment. “Surely no one will notice bombs bursting along the shoreline.”
“Good heavens.” Georgiana glanced up in alarm. “If Mrs. Pinswary sees flames, you know full well she’ll march straight over here and accuse me of trying to set fire to the whole county.”
We all remembered our neighbor’s frantic visit shortly after Georgie first arrived at Stranje House. Miss Pinswary had received a tittle-tattle letter warning that Miss Stranje’s newest student was a dangerous arsonist. It was true that Georgie had accidently set fire to her father’s stables while trying to cook up an invisible ink. But her parents kept mum about the cause of the fire and when they sent her away to Stranje House, people gossiped and came to some rather unsavory conclusions. Miss Pinswary had been told Georgiana was a criminal who would murder us all in our sleep.
“Very well. A birthday celebration it is.” Miss Stranje laid her spoon down carefully. “We shall simply explain to anyone who asks that you are my American cousin and it is your custom to celebrate with fireworks. Advise us when your equipment is ready to test, and we will have Cook bake a cake.”
“Excellent.” He beamed. “Cake and fireworks. I like the sound of that.”
“I’m happy it pleases you. Now, if you would be so good as to excuse us, Mr. Sinclair. The young ladies and I have a few private business matters to discuss.” Miss Stranje inclined her head, indicating the door.
“I see. Business matters.” He rubbed his chin. “And you want me to make myself scarce.” The corner of his mouth curled up mischievously. “I reckon this is your equivalent of when the gentlemen excuse themselves so they might enjoy a glass of brandy and discuss horse racing and pugilism, isn’t it.”
“Not at all, Mr. Sinclair.” Miss Stranje smiled genially. “I assure you we won’t be discussing anything so important as which horse to back at the races. Ours will simply be a dull conversation about embroidery threads, watercolor lessons, and whatnot. You know the sorts of things young ladies like to discuss in private.”
He laughed then, out loud and quite heartily. Rising from his chair, he treated us all to a regal bow. “Then I shall leave you to your discussion of embroidery threads, ladies. My only request is that you do not land us all in a tangle.”
He winked at Jane, who turned quite red, and chuckled to himself all the way out of the breakfast room. At a signal from Miss Stranje, the footmen and Greaves followed him out and closed the doors, giving us our privacy at last.
Miss Stranje did not mince words. “I suppose by now you all know we are holding Lady Daneska prisoner?”
I rushed to ask, “You looked in on her this morning to make sure she hasn’t escaped?”
“Yes. You may set your worries aside. She’s well secured. Although it troubles me that she appears so contented with her accommodations.”
I frowned at that. “Did you use the irons?”
“Of course.”
“Then she’s pretending. Underneath her bravado, Daneska is seething. You have my word on it.” Some devilish part of me felt eager to see her wearing iron cuffs and chains instead of her customary diamonds. But first, I needed to know how best to interrogate the prisoner. “How are we going to get Ghost’s whereabouts out of her?”
Sera shook her head. “If you are thinking of torture, it won’t work. You know she would simply lie. Not only that, she would do it so effectively that we would be following false trails for months.”
“Yes.” Miss Stranje carefully sliced a strawberry into four sections and cut away the greenery. “Captain Grey and I came to the same conclusion.”
“What, then?” I slammed my hand against the table, rattling the silverware. It startled even me. “Sorry.” I glanced at them apologetically. “We have to find him. Before…” Before he comes here and destroys his brother’s life or murders him.
“We must approach this logically.” Miss Stranje meticulously wiped strawberry juice from her fingers.
I groaned. She was going to use this moment to exercise her role as our teacher. I wanted to scream Not now, but I bit my tongue to hold back my impatience.
“We must ask ourselves, what is it we want?”
I kept my voice level and steady, even though I felt like shaking her. “We want to know where Ghost is.”
“True. Finding the leader of the Iron Crown is of vital interest. But at the moment we face a problem of even greater significance.”
I stared at her, not liking the direction she was leading us.
Jane nudged me with her elbow. “Napoleon might invade.”
“I haven’t forgotten.” I understood Napoleon’s attack took precedence. Except there’d been other matters pressing on my mind. Matters such as protecting Georgie and Lord Ravencross. Except he wasn’t Lord Ravencross anymore—protecting Gabriel. And there was only one way to do that.
Kill Ghost.
“I think we can all agree that Napoleon’s impending attack is our highest priority.” Miss Stranje speared one of the strawberry sections with her fork. “With Lady Daneska as our captive, we have a unique opportunity. If we can convince her to get word to Napoleon, warning him that England is prepared for his invasion and that he would be ill-advised to proceed, there is a strong likelihood he will change plans. At the very least, he might postpone his attack.”
“But we aren’t prepared, and Daneska would never do that.” I stared at Miss Stranje, blinking, unable to comprehend her thinking. “Why would she? It’s not true. And anyway, we couldn’t force her to do it. Are you thinking of sending a letter in her name? I noticed last night she has her signet ring with her, so I suppose—”
“A letter would be too suspect.” Miss Stranje took her time delicately consuming the last of her strawberry. “I agree with you that she would never willingly cooperate with us. And I believe I know her well enough to say she cannot be coerced.”
Sera had been sitting quietly, studying our headmistress, drawing with her finger on the tablecloth. “You’re thinking of m
isleading her, tricking her into carrying false information back to Napoleon.”
“Exactly.” Miss Stranje tilted her head respectfully at Sera. “If Daneska thinks she alone possesses critical information, she will view it as a prime opportunity to distinguish herself further in Napoleon’s esteem.”
Jane appeared to be deep in thought. Her crystal goblet hummed as she played the edge with her forefinger. “I daresay she might be even more motivated if she thought giving him this information would sabotage us.”
“This is useless conjecture. It’s impossible,” I said impatiently. “How do you propose to accomplish any of this with Daneska imprisoned here in our—” I stopped, suddenly afraid of Miss Stranje’s answer. “You wouldn’t.”
Miss Stranje clasped her hands in a tight fold.
“Escape!” I turned to the others. “She’s suggesting we let Daneska escape.” I could see Jane and Sera had already tumbled to this idea. Maya, too. But Georgie looked as horrified as I felt.
“No, you can’t.” Trembling, I grabbed the edge of the table to steady myself and pleaded. “Have you forgotten she tortured Lord Wyatt? Her betrayal? The secrets she’s given our enemies? She’s too dangerous. She’s a traitor. She’s…”
My enemy.
All the air seemed to have left the room.
My arguments paled to a silent frozen whisper.
I hated that Miss Stranje waited patiently for me to calm down. I hated the sad expression on her face as if she understood my agony. Most of all, I hated that she was right.
Jane gently laid her hand on my arm, and I finally drew a breath. “It might not be so bad,” she said somberly. “It’s possible we’ll catch two birds with this one dreadful stinking stone. Think, Tess. She’ll probably go straight to him as soon as she escapes. This way, she’ll carry false information to Napoleon and, at the same time, she might lead us to Ghost.”
Exile for Dreamers Page 20
