Where was he?
I swept seaweed out of my eyes and thought I saw him. At least I saw something splashing in the water toward me. It could’ve been dolphin or a sea serpent for all I knew. But I aimed for it, fighting to keep afloat.
When next I chanced to look, I saw him fling one arm out of the water, grasping for purchase in the rolling waves. He was headed in my direction, doing his best to come to me. But when it was his other arm, his wounded arm’s turn to carry him forward, he sank.
My scream was cut short by a surge of salt water slapping my face. I spewed it out and pushed toward where I saw him go under.
He burst up, several yards in front of me, flailing with one arm to stay up, his mouth open, gasping for precious air, just as he’d done in my wretched dream.
Mr. Sinclair shouted, “Good Lord, he’s going under again. Ravencross, grab the barrel. It’s right behind you.”
He wouldn’t.
I was in front of him. He wouldn’t turn back. He wouldn’t go anywhere but straight ahead.
To me.
Someone aboard the warship held a lantern down closer to the water. Just enough light for me to see Gabriel pitch forward and sink.
Before that night I had thought myself merely a competent swimmer, not nearly as good at it as I am at running. But the thought of him sinking under the waves set me to paddling harder than Mr. Sinclair’s steam engine.
Right there in the frigid waters of the Atlantic I decided I wanted to live. I wanted to live very much. And the reason I wanted to live was drowning, right there, a few yards in front of my face. So I swam, and I thrashed my way through those swells with every last ounce of fire I had left in my furnace.
We nearly collided.
Sputtering, gulping, and spitting salt water, he cast his good arm out, trying to pull one-sided through a wave. I grabbed him and shoved him high enough that he could get a clean breath. Then I bobbed up from under the wave that enveloped us. In fits and starts he tried to talk. “Should’ve … taken off … m’ boots,” says he.
My shoulders shook at his proclamation. I kicked with all my might toward Cook’s pickling barrel, dragging him along, wishing to heaven I could grab enough air so I could laugh, or cry. I wasn’t sure which. We slapped our hands on the pickle barrel, gasping.
Someone tossed us a rope, and as I turned to snatch the end out of the water, I caught a glimpse of Daneska’s sloop sailing away. Escaping. I coiled the rope around my wrist and Ravencross wrapped his good arm around my waist. Lord Wyatt and Captain Grey quickly pulled us to the warship. But when we reached the side of the craft, Gabriel kept hold of the barrel and insisted they lift me onto the boat first.
Captain Grey and Georgie hauled me out of the water. They no sooner pulled me onto the flat deck of the Mary Isabella than my stomach lurched. I crawled to the side and coughed up seawater while Georgie pulled back my hair and held my shoulders. Captain Grey warmed his coat on the furnace, and as soon as I finished my indelicate business and managed to right myself to a sitting position, he wrapped the warmed coat around my shoulders.
Jane and Lord Wyatt were tugging Gabriel aboard. I grabbed hold of the captain’s arm. “You must go after them.” He said nothing but patted my shoulders and went to help Lord Wyatt, who shouted that Gabe’s ruddy boots weighed more than an anchor.
Georgie wrapped an arm around my shoulders. I pointed at the sloop’s sail skating farther and farther away from us. “Go after them,” I gasped. “They stole the plans.”
Jane squatted down beside us. “No, Tess. Those were red herrings.”
“A bit of misdirection,” said Mr. Sinclair from the rudder.
Was I understanding her? “Red herrings?” I asked.
“Yes. Fakes.” Jane’s face brightened with mischief. “My idea.”
I blinked. She’d kept another secret from me. But we could talk about that later. “What of Madame Cho?” I choked. “Is she—”
Georgie rubbed my arms, trying to warm away my shivers. “Miss Stranje, Sera, and Maya are with her. They sent for the doctor. We think she’ll be all right.” Georgie patted me. “Let’s go home and see.”
At last they pulled Gabriel aboard. Jane jumped aside as he sloshed up onto the Mary Isabella beside me.
“Your poor chest.” I rested my hand on his shoulder, trying to see if there was blood mixed in with the muck from the ocean. “You’ve probably torn out every single stitch.”
He was still grappling for breath and coughing up seawater. He shook his head and reached for my face, his fingers skimming the side of my cheek. I imagined he wanted to say something profoundly romantic, like I love you so much I would rather have died a thousand deaths than lose you. Instead he rolled to the side and let loose with more salt water.
Even in that light I could see the purplish bloom spreading across his chest. “Jane! He’s bleeding. What do we do?”
But it was Captain Grey who sprang to Gabriel’s aid. “For starters, we need to cut him out of that wet shirt.”
Lord Wyatt threw another shovel full of coal into the furnace, slammed it shut, and rushed to kneel beside us. He drew a knife out of his boot.
“No need.” Gabriel tried to object. He got as far as saying, “I—I can take it off,” before he retched again. I smoothed his wet hair back from his face. All he could do was nod.
Lord Wyatt slit the cambric so that Gabriel’s shirt slid down his arms. “Gabe, turn so we can see the wound.”
Gabriel nodded and flopped over. He swiped at his mouth and sat up, leaning back against me for support.
“Georgie, hold the lamp a bit lower, if you would.” Sebastian produced a handkerchief and blotted gingerly at the wound. “You’ve torn it, and we’ve no alcohol to clean it out with.” He stood and whipped off his coat, and after warming it as Captain Grey had done, he tucked it over Ravencross. “Keep him as warm as possible.”
Captain Grey called out the order, “Make haste to shore, Mr. Sinclair.”
“Aye.” Mr. Sinclair saluted. “Lady Jane, consult your telescope to check our direction, if you please. Point us straight for the beach. Toss in more coal, my lord, and we’ll see what she can do.”
Moonlight illuminated the sail of Daneska’s sloop, a tiny white wedge disappearing on the horizon.
I softly kissed the top of Gabriel’s sodden head as he lay against me. It pleased me that he reached for my hand and wound his fingers in mine.
Twenty-seven
THE VOW
Captain Grey offered to carry me up to the house, but I assured him that would not be necessary. “I rather think walking might put a stop to this infernal rocking and sloshing going on in my head.”
“Ah.” He nodded as if he’d experienced the feeling. “It might at that.”
It was Gabriel I worried about. He was so tall and broad, how would we haul him up the cliffs?
He grumbled at me for even suggesting the idea. “My chest is torn open, Tess, not my legs. I am perfectly capable of making it up those cliffs.”
All the same, Captain Grey and Lord Wyatt insisted that Gabriel walk between them on the hike up to the bluffs. We finally straggled to the top and were making our way to the house when Miss Stranje came running out, flapping toward us like a raven in the night. She carried a blanket, and the minute she reached me she wrapped it around me.
The fact that she carried a blanket surprised me. “You knew I’d jump.”
“Oh, my dear sweet girl, of course I did.” She pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I knew you would get away.” She turned with a grateful smile to Captain Grey. “And that they would find you.”
“Ravencross needs this more than I.” I handed the blanket back. “Without him I would’ve drowned. His stitches are torn out, and he—”
She was already rushing to his aid.
Sera raced up, her elfin features twisted with worry. She clasped me as if I had returned from the dead. Although she is slight and weighs no more than air, she hugged me fiercely and
didn’t let go. A rush of feelings flowed from her and warmed me better than Miss Stranje’s blanket. Sera’s shoulders quaked and, in strangled fits and starts, she managed to say, “I was afraid we’d lost you.”
If she were my little sister I couldn’t have loved her one ounce more. I didn’t know what to say or how to comfort her. So I teased her with false bravado. “You needn’t have been afraid. It would take a great deal more than Lady Daneska to do me in.”
“Indeed.” She swiped away the tears on her cheek and grinned at that, shining brighter in that dark night than even the moon.
“Madame Cho?” I asked. “How is she?”
She caught her lip pensively. “Her chin required a few sutures but it will mend. But the injury to her head was quite severe.” Sera guided me into the house.
Miss Stranje caught up to us. “When Madame Cho regained consciousness, her first words were asking after you. You can go see her as soon as we get you out of those wet clothes.”
“But Gabriel—”
She tugged me aside as Lord Wyatt and Captain Grey helped Gabriel up the stairs. “The doctor is here and the men will see to changing his clothes. There’s nothing you can do for him until after the doctor has examined him and taken care of what must be done.”
I was dismissed. She followed the men up, issuing directions as to which spare room to put Lord Ravencross in, and sending Philip to fetch the doctor from Madame Cho’s room.
“Come.” Sera urged me up the stairs.
“What of Mr. Chadwick?” I asked, worried he might still be lurking about.
“We sent him home as soon as Miss Stranje realized you weren’t coming back to the dining room. She guessed something was wrong. I saw her check the clock on the mantel at least three times. Not fifteen minutes passed before she feigned a severe headache and sent him packing.” Sera’s eyebrows lifted as if she found some private joke amusing. “Of course he knew she was pretending. Poor Mr. Chadwick, his curiosity about us is nearly driving him mad. Fortunately, I suspect he is far too polite to do anything about it.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure.”
Sera helped me change and we slipped into Madam Cho’s room.
Maya sat in a chair by the bed. She rose immediately when she saw me and hugged me gently, kissing each of my cheeks. “I knew you would escape.”
“I wish I could’ve been so certain.” I smiled awkwardly, unaccustomed to so much affection. “How is she?”
The three of us turned to look at our teacher. Madame Cho’s head was bandaged awkwardly, leaving tufts of her dark hair sticking out around the edges. “She looks so very pale.”
Maya squeezed my hand. “The doctor dosed her with laudanum. Our main concern is that she holds steady through the night.”
“May I sit with her for a while?”
She nodded, and I took her chair. They stood beside me for a bit longer, watching the rise and fall of our patient’s chest. “They’ve situated Lord Ravencross in the guest bedroom,” I explained quietly to Maya. “But they won’t let me see him. He tore open the old wound. Will you two please see if you can find out anything?”
Maya rested her hand on my shoulder for a moment. “We will. But you must not worry. He is very strong.”
“Even strong men die of infection,” I said.
Maya swept a lock of hair back and tucked it behind my ear. “Fear will not keep infection away.”
I nodded, too weary to argue. They left and I leaned forward, resting my head on the bed beside Madame Cho. The sound of her breathing comforted me. When I’d been younger and alone in the house, she would sometimes come to the dormitorium and sleep in the bed across from mine, especially after I’d had a bout of bad dreams. The sound of her even breathing was like a soothing lullaby.
Ours was a wordless kinship. We shared the joy of strength and movement. I relished sparring with her, whether with sword, knife, or staff. She always challenged me to fight harder, smarter, faster. She’d given me a deep appreciation for a perfectly timed throw and taught me to anticipate movements in a fight as easily one does a partner’s dance steps.
And we both understood the relentless instruction of pain.
I glanced up when her breathing faltered. “Fight,” I whispered the words she’d urged me on with so often. “You must fight.”
A moment or two later she fell back into the familiar breathing pattern and I laid my head down again, too exhausted to hold it up.
I don’t know how much time passed before I felt Cho’s hand stroke my hair. I grabbed her hand and kissed her palm. “You’re awake.”
“Water,” she rasped.
I helped her sip from a cup rigged with one of Georgie’s slender glass tubes. She finished drinking and issued an order in a gravelly voice. “You look terrible. Go rest.”
“Thank you for the pretty compliment.” I stroked her hand. “But I’m staying right here.”
“You need not stay. I have no fear of death, child.” She breathed heavily and closed her eyes.
“Exactly,” I whispered, not sure if she still heard me. “Which is why I must stay here and make certain you don’t give up on life too easily.”
“Why should I not?” Her old eyes flashed open, shining black in that dim light, hard and sharp, like two dagger points of obsidian. “You do.”
“Not anymore.” I clutched her hand and kissed it, and a tear slipped free and burned down my cheek, and then another. Never again would I give up without a fight. “Never again.”
Madame Cho’s lips spread in a contented smile. “Good.” Her eyes closed and she drifted back to sleep.
A half hour later, Maya and Sera came back and delivered their report.
“We listened at the door,” Maya confessed, as if the activity compromised her dignity.
“They must’ve dumped a great deal of alcohol on the wound because we could smell it from outside the door.” Sera looked worried. “Not only that, but I heard Lord Ravencross grumble about it being a waste of perfectly good whiskey.”
Maya hesitated and then said, “The doctor asked for Miss Stranje to hand him his scalpel and the sulfur powder, and to thread his needle.”
Sera shifted uncomfortably. “So they must’ve cut away the damaged flesh and taken more stitches. After that it was just, you know…”
“Groans,” I said.
They both nodded.
I left Madame Cho in their care and took off down the hall, where I paced up and down in front of Gabriel’s room. My frustration boiled up and was ready to bubble over. I raised my hand, ready to pound on the door, when Miss Stranje opened it and stepped out into the hall.
“He’s asleep now. We’ve given him laudanum. There’s no sign of infection. Not yet. The doctor will sit with him through the night to make certain he doesn’t become feverish.”
I let out the breath I’d been holding.
“You, young lady, must get some rest. We will need a full accounting of events from you in the morning. Be at breakfast. We’ve plans to make.”
I stared at her. Did she actually expect me to sleep while he was in pain? Apparently she did, because she shooed me down the hall as if I were a goose rooting around in her garden.
* * *
I fully intended to sneak into his room during the wee hours of the morning. But I am ashamed to say I drowsed and fell fast asleep. My only excuse was that I was exhausted. I awoke to find the sun was already up and it was time to go down to breakfast.
Miss Stranje caught up to me in the hallway outside the breakfast room. “Madame Cho is much improved this morning. Seeing you last night must’ve been a tonic.”
“Wonderful.” I smiled, greatly relieved. “Since I am such a tonic, when can I see Gabriel?”
Her back straightened and she turned very stiff and formal. “The doctor left orders this morning that Lord Ravencross is to be confined to bed for a few days until we can be sure the new stitches will hold. I certainly can’t allow you to visit a gentleman’s bedroom. T
hat would not only bring shame to my establishment, it would put you in complete disgrace.”
“But I have already visited in his—”
“Hush.” She held up one finger. “Regardless of what you may or may not have done in the past, in my house you will behave within the bounds of propriety.”
We strolled into her sunny yellow breakfast room, but it might as well have been painted a dismal storm gray, for such was my temperament.
In terse sentences I related the events of the previous evening. When I explained that Lady Daneska had been free of her manacles since the second day of her imprisonment here, Captain Grey set down his fork and stared out the window.
“I wondered why she had been so easy to capture in Rye.” He spoke softly, as if it pained him to admit it.
At this Lord Wyatt added, “It did seem a bit too easy.” He and Georgie exchanged worried glances.
Miss Stranje tilted her head, studying the captain. “Then Lady Daneska wanted to be our prisoner all along. Knowing Rye was closer to Stranje House than to London, she would be fairly certain you would bring her here for questioning rather than London.”
Captain Grey set his fork on his plate and sat back stiff shouldered. “I’m afraid we played straight into her hands.”
“No matter.” Mr. Sinclair finished a bite of his blueberry scone and dusted off his fingers. “It all turned up right in the end. They found the dummy plans, so at least they won’t be hunting me for the time being.”
Captain Grey agreed. “Yes, and the sooner we get you, the real plans, and the prototype to London so Lord Castlereagh and the foreign office can have a look at it, the better.”
“How soon will you be going?” Jane very carefully set down her glass, as if the lemon water were so precious it must not incur even the smallest ripple.
Captain Grey answered, “Tomorrow, or the next day, as soon as the craft is ready for travel and the plans and notes are ready.”
Exile for Dreamers Page 30
