I don’t want him to stop.
Except he does.
He draws back and peers at me with soul-melting eyes. That is the exact moment I know—I have picked the locks of his heart. The latch clicked open. His secrets are poured out before me.
“Oh my goodness.” I blink up at him, amazed. “You love me.”
He laughs. “My lady, it’s supposed to be the gentleman who declares his sentiments. Not you.”
“Yes.” I try to sound suitably chastised. “It’s just that I’m so surprised to discover it.”
“You mean to tell me, even with that giant-sized brain of yours, you’re only now tumbling to that fact?” He releases the brake and pulls the reins out. With a cluck of his tongue, the horse obediently takes to the road.
I dive into a lecture on the subject. “Perhaps you failed to notice, I’m not the lovable type. You do realize, I’m managing. I order everybody about whether they wish to be or not. I’m also stubborn, and according to my brothers, my tongue is sharp enough to split a man’s skull at thirty paces.”
He has the decency to laugh. “Aye, my lady. I know all those things.”
“Yet you still love me. I’m astonished. A pity you’re going back to America after the Admiralty signs the papers for the warship design.”
He has no retort. Only a swallow. An uncomfortable jog of his Adam’s apple.
Nothing.
Suddenly, all the lightness and joy I felt vanished into the darkness of the night. Silence is sometimes as killing as knife blades.
* * *
As we pass Drury Lane headed for St. James’s I ask him to slow down. “No.” He objects. “We need to take you to Haversmythe House and care for your injuries.”
“But we have to find Miss Stranje and the others first, and they’re not at the house. Not yet.” Especially Tess. If we wait too long she’ll go to Lady Daneska. “They’re still out looking for me. They’ll be in pairs or threesomes. Tess and Georgie will be with Phobos. They’ll have gotten this far, and if Phobos picked up any scent at all, they’ll be concentrating their search near the river.”
We drive slowly down toward the Thames and then up again, and down the next street. It’s still so blasted dark. I strain to see into the shadow and past the fog rolling up from the water.
“This is no use, Jane. It’s like trying to find a needle in a haystack.”
“There!” I point. “Stop. Stop!” I scramble down from the wagon. “Tess!”
She runs for me, Phobos on a lead gallops beside her. It’s not Georgie, it’s Sera running behind her. In seconds, Tess’s arms are around me. She lets go and grabs my head, pressing her forehead against mine. “You’re alive. I’d almost given up. I was about to go back to Carlton House and—”
“I know. I know. Thank you.” Finally, it’s okay to let some of the water welling up behind my eyes leak out.
Sera throws her arms around both of us, clinging to me as if I’d returned from the dead. “I can’t believe you’re walking. All that blood. I thought for certain he must’ve cut you so badly you’d be too weak to move.”
I wish she hadn’t mentioned it. The darn thing is burning like the very fires of hell and it feels as if it’s starting to ooze again. “Where’s Miss Stranje? Or Captain Grey? There’re things I must tell them immediately.”
Phobos yips and sniffs my palms. Sera points. “The next street over. We have a signal if we find something.”
Tess puts two fingers in her mouth and issues a shrill whistle. Phobos adds his high-pitched howl to it, and sniffs the blood near my bare feet.
“You’re bleeding.” Sera stoops down to inspect. “Mr. Sinclair, we need to get Jane home. Quickly.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling her.” He puts on the brake, and climbs down to lift me into the back of the wagon and help Sera up beside me.
Tess waves us on. “Go! I’ll meet Miss Stranje and Captain Grey at the top of the street. I have Phobos with me. I’ll be fine.”
Sera sits beside me, holding my hand. “How did he find you?” She tilts her head in Mr. Sinclair’s direction. She means, how could he have found me, Mr. Sinclair, an engineer, not trained in this sort of thing, when she and Miss Stranje could not.
“He didn’t. I found him.”
“Ah.” She nods, as if this is a perfectly logical answer, and begins to figure out exactly what I’ve been through tonight by observing every mark, bruise, missing shoes, rip and tear on my person. She is too kind to mention any of that. “I think short hair will look quite charming on you.”
Twenty-four
REPORTS AND ALTERATIONS
Mr. Sinclair carries me upstairs at Haversmythe House. Our frantic butler, Mr. Peterson in his nightcap and wrapper, follows him carrying an oil lamp, stopping to mop up droplets of blood and complain. “I don’t see how this could’ve happened at Carlton House. Most unusual.”
Mr. Sinclair is always honest, so what he says is true, incomplete, but true. “The young lady was set upon by criminals. Hold that light steady, Peterson, otherwise we’ll all go tumbling down the stairs.”
He orders Peterson to get the maids out of bed to help. “And send for a doctor. Are you deaf? Don’t stand there gawking, man. Go.”
Two minutes later Mrs. Creevy and Alice rush into our bedroom. “Dear heavens! You poor child.” Mrs. Creevy claps her hand over her throat. “We’ll take it from here.” She dismisses Mr. Sinclair. He stands by the door looking dreadfully worried.
“Shoo, young man. We’ve got to undress her.” She pushes him out of the door.
“If you need me, I’ll just be downstairs, waiting for Captain Grey and Miss Stranje.”
“Run along,” I say as if he is a nuisance, rather than the one person whose arms I wish were still holding me. “These soiled clothes make it look worse than it is. I’ll be right as rain in no time.”
“Never have understood what’s so right about rain,” he mutters, as Mrs. Creevy closes the door.
Sera and Mrs. Creevy do a splendid job of cleaning up my wound and dressing me for bed. Alice helps peel off my destroyed undergarments. “Oye, m’lady, that’s a horrid-looking cut.”
I can tell Sera wants to rip into Alice for having sided with our enemy, an enemy who would do this to her dearest friend, but at my warning glance she resists. By the time Miss Stranje arrives I am sponged off and tucked up in bed with a towel around my leg.
Our headmistress looks drawn when she comes and sits beside me on the bed. “I was afraid we’d lost you.” She smooths her hand over my brow even though Sera has already brushed my hair back from my face.
I lean up on my elbow. “I’ve urgent news to report.”
“I’m sure you do.” She takes a deep breath. “However, you must rest. Sera told me your injuries are quite severe. You need sleep—”
“If you bring me a map I can show you where Ghost’s ship is docked. He’s not hiding in Spitalfields. He’s staying aboard an old galleon anchored about a mile past London Bridge.”
“That’s all well and good, but think, Lady Jane. By now he will have moved the ship or gone to ground somewhere else.”
I sigh and sink back into the pillows. “You’re right, of course. I suppose it was wishful thinking on my part. I’d hoped if we got there fast enough…”
“He is called Ghost for good reason. He is a master at hiding and vanishing.”
“And he always has secondary plans.” I say this, wishing our enemy was not so brilliant.
“Yes, and sometimes he lays in more than a secondary contingency. In any case, he always has an escape plan. The man’s a genius. If only he hadn’t turned for Napoleon.” She shakes her head.
“I believe he may be building a bomb of some kind. At least I think he’s making a bomb. He had black powder and some odd-shaped canisters.”
“Good heavens—”
Mrs. Creevy scratches on the door and peeks in. “The doctor’s arrived, miss. Shall you be needin’ me, do you think?”
>
Miss Stranje stands. “No, I’ll assist him, Mrs. Creevy, thank you.”
Dr. Meredith is his name, and the man is a sadist. “Needs stitching,” he grumbles, as if he’s irritated with me.
It isn’t my fault Ghost decided to make such a deep cut.
“I’ve dosed her with laudanum, but it’ll still take two strong footmen to hold her down. Legs are the worst. Even young ladies can kick like mules when I’m doing the stitching.”
“I am not a mule,” I say groggily. Something sneaks into the corner of my mind, tiptoeing just beyond my reach. What is that? Oh yes, the letter! The letter I saw in Daneska’s room. “Miss Stranje, there’s something else I needed to tell you. It’s important.”
Miss Stranje presses me back against the pillow. “Later, my lady. Later. Close your eyes. There’s a good girl.” She turns and speaks to the grumpy doctor who thinks I’m a mule. “No, Dr. Meredith. I will not allow footmen to view any part of this young lady’s anatomy. I’ll get the other girls to help me hold her steady.”
“It’s only her thigh, Miss Stranje, not—”
“No! Absolutely not.”
I drift into a distorted nightmare. Hands. Hundreds of hands hold me down while Dr. Meredith sews me up. I scream. I think I’m screaming, but it echoes oddly. Suddenly it isn’t Miss Stranje and the doctor, it’s Ghost and that awful Jack jabbing me with needles. Go away. Go away. But it’s me who goes away.
Trapped in a dark malignant forest, I wander aimlessly. Any minute Jack will spring out from behind one of these misshapen trees.
* * *
A heavenly light awakens me.
Either I am dead or it is day. I blink. My eyes feel dry as hearthstones. My tongue is so sticky I wonder if that sadist, Dr. Meredith, coated it with glue to keep me from screaming. My leg is tender but I can move it without causing undue pain.
Someone is lifting my head to help me take a drink. It’s Maya. Her hands are soft and soothing as she lifts me toward the glass. I swallow greedily.
“How looong has she been uncooonscious?”
Galloping Goats. That sounds like Lady Jersey. I tug the covers up and struggle to focus. My vision clears. It is her! Either that or I’m hallucinating. And it looks as if Lady Castlereagh is standing behind her.
“Ten and a half hours,” Miss Stranje answers.
“Well, I muuust say, young lady. You certainly added some excitement to the evening.” Lady Jersey has on purple gloves, and she sweeps them in my general direction. “You’ll have to do something about that hair.”
“What time is it?” I manage to ask. Since my mouth is open Maya spoons broth into it.
Sera leans down and whispers, “Three in the afternoon.”
“Where’s Mr. Sinclair?” I rasp.
“He’s all right.” Georgie stands back by Tess, who looks like she didn’t sleep all night. “Went home with Captain Grey after the doctor assured them you’d be all right.”
Miss Stranje stands by the bedpost. “Do you feel well enough now, to tell us what you found?”
“Yes.” I cough trying to clear the dryness in my throat. “But I would thank you to never give me laudanum again.”
At Miss Stranje’s signal, Madame Cho goes out to check the hall and stand sentry. She closes the bedroom door. The room feels crowded with the other girls and the two Patronesses.
Maya fortifies me with another spoonful of broth.
Lady Castlereagh practically vibrates with curiosity. “You found Lady Daneska’s letters, didn’t you?”
“Yes. It’s not good news. One of you must speak to the Prince as soon as possible.”
“What did you find?” Miss Stranje sits on the foot of the bed.
“Lady Daneska isn’t here to kill the Prince. Not yet anyway. Napoleon sent her to persuade Prince George to parley with him. She is supposed to tell him Napoleon desires peace and wants to present Prince George with an offer to appoint him Supreme Ruler over England. Supreme. Better than being king. No more meddlesome Parliament.”
“Good gracious!” Lady Jersey fans herself with a lace handkerchief. “Judging by the way Prinny was talking about Napoleon at dinner, he’s well on his way to agreeing to it. Here I thought he’d simply had too much wine again.”
I reach out to her. “Then you’ll speak to him?”
She draws back. “Is that how you think it’s done?” Lady Jersey gapes at me as if I’ve just sprouted a second nose.
Lady Castlereagh clicks her tongue in a wordless scold, and shakes her head. Anyone would think I had suggested we give the Prince a spanking.
“No, no, my dear child. Never.” Lady Jersey stuffs the kerchief back down her sleeve. “One does not simply march in to a king, or a prince who’s playing at being king, and say, begging your pardon, Your Royal Highness, but you mustn’t listen to Lady Daneska. She’s filling your ear full of poisonous twaddle. And whatever you do, don’t meet with Napoleon privately to negotiate peace. The Emperor is a bad fellow and you simply can’t trust him.” She says this in a mocking little girl’s voice.
Lady Castlereagh chuckles silently.
Lady Jersey directs my attention to her friend. “See. Lady Castlereagh understands. She wouldn’t dream of approaching her husband so bluntly, and he adores her. You simply cannot handle men that way. It takes kid gloves, my deaaar. Kid gloves. And you most certainly do not handle a ruler in that manner.” She smacks the bed to emphasize her point. “If Prince George hasn’t come to that rational conclusion on his own, nor listened to his trusted advisers, he certainly isn’t going to come around on your say-so. Or mine. No, my dear, it must be handled with more finesse than that.” She exchanges a pointed grimace with Miss Stranje.
Duly chastised, I fiddle with the sheets, preferring not to look into her disappointed face. “There was another letter from Napoleon written in code. I didn’t have time to decipher the entire thing, but he authorized her to offer Prince George a bribe. A monetary prize, he called it.”
“How much?” Lady Jersey’s accent disappears.
“I was trying to figure that out when Lady Daneska caught me.” I don’t tell her I noticed Mr. Sinclair’s warship mentioned and was frantically trying to decode that part first. “The sum looked substantial.”
Lady Castlereagh laces and unlaces her fingers. “Dear me, the money will sorely tempt him. Never mind that Parliament paid his debts to get him to marry Caroline, now that he’s regent, he’s draining the coffers. His expenditures at Brighton and Carlton are outrageous. Despite all that, I think Napoleon’s offer to rid Prinny of the House of Commons will hold the greatest allure. Come, Lady Jersey, I must go home and warn Lord Castlereagh. Poor man, as if his hands aren’t full enough.”
The Patronesses leave and Miss Stranje accompanies them out.
* * *
Maya raises another spoonful of broth to my lips. “You must eat to regain your strength.”
“Thank you. You’ve been very kind, but I am feeling well enough to finish it myself.”
“Very well.” She hands me the bowl and spoon. I wobble one spilling spoonful to my mouth and give up. The darned laudanum has played havoc with my coordination. I set the spoon on the side table and gulp down the rest of the broth straight from the bowl.
“Lady Jane!” Georgie scolds laughingly and takes the bowl from me. “Where’s all that elegance you’re so fond of?”
“I suppose I had it beaten out of me.” I meant it as a joke, but her face falls.
Sera bites her lip and turns away. Tess paces and finally flings the door open. She doesn’t look back at me, but stops in the doorway. “I need to check on Tromos. She’s going to whelp any day now.”
Silence hangs in the room like a rotting carcass until Georgie asks the question they all wonder. “Was it bad?”
“No.” I reach for her hand. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to joke about it. It was unpleasant and frightening, but nothing like what happened to Lord Wyatt or Mr. Sinclair.” She doesn’t
look convinced. None of them do. “I’m fine! In fact, I would dearly love to get out of this bed, and if one of you thinks you can improve upon this hairstyle Ghost gave me I would be much obliged.”
It’s as if the sun suddenly beamed straight into the room. Their faces flush with enthusiasm. Maya tilts her head this way and that, viewing me from different angles. “I have long wished to change your hair. You always pull it back too tight.”
Georgie is fairly jumping up and down. “Oh yes, you’ll look adorable with short hair.”
Uh-oh. Their eagerness worries me. I laugh tensely. I’ve given them carte blanche to do as they please and that may be a mistake. “Adorable?” I question their objectives. “That’s setting the mark a bit high, don’t you think? I shall be delighted if you achieve passable.”
Sera’s eyes glitter with excitement. “Oh, we’ll do much better than passable.” She holds up the scissors and gives them an unnerving snap. She has an idea and I feel uneasy as I take the chair. Maya grins and wraps a sheet around my shoulders.
For the next thirty minutes, my hair is the center of much discussion and scrutiny. “Cut that piece shorter.” “Oh look how this wave swoops beneath her jawline.” “If we cut it shorter here, these locks will fall in charming little curls around her face.”
“Not shorter,” I plead, but they ignore me. I am no longer master of my own hair.
They argue about what should be done with the back. There is far too much snipping and evaluating to suit me. Must they stand back to check the results of each clip?
Sera surveys their handiwork. “Imagine it without that purple bruise on her cheek.”
Maya nods sagely. “Perhaps if we contrast it with a yellow ribbon.”
“No. White, I think.” Sera pulls one out of my drawer. She ties it around my head and stands back. All three of them smile.
I’m beginning to feel like a one-eyed toad. “Have done with it! Am I presentable or not?”
Refuge for Masterminds Page 22
