Refuge for Masterminds

by Kathleen Baldwin

  If this happens,

  This will come next, and then this …

  Sometimes seeing the possibilities makes everything worse.

  It’s worse than I realized. I slump against her shoulder, my leg aches, I’m exhausted, but if I had an ounce of strength left, I’d go hunt down Ghost and shoot him between the eyes—if I could find him. “You see what will happen, don’t you? If they succeed. Not only will there be all those tragic deaths, everyone will blame Mr. Sinclair’s steam engine for the catastrophe.”

  “Oh no!” She straightens, dislodging me from her shoulder. “It’s not his fault, but they might think so.”

  “The navy is already skeptical about using fire to propel a ship. Aside from us, I doubt whether anyone else would believe the explosion to be Ghost’s handiwork rather than the fault of the steam engine. Britain will lose the advantage the warship might’ve won for us. And if Napoleon’s engineers are able to construct their own steam-powered ships, we will most certainly lose this war.”

  Then the rest of Europe will crumble.

  It’s only a matter of time.

  For a moment, the room fades and I see the rest of the world falling from their positions, knocked into a defeated heap; bishops, queens, and rooks, swept from the board after our British king is taken, and the game is lost.

  “Jane?” Georgie nudges me. “Lady Jane.”

  She stops when Tess emerges from the dressing room wearing a new riding habit, a long skirt with a flowing train to drape over the sidesaddle, and matching jacket. I blink, returning to the here and now.

  “Tess!” Georgie covers her mouth. “You look beautiful.”

  Madame Cho looks on with pride, as if Tess is more of a daughter than her student.

  A diamond of the first water.

  I do my utmost to smile despite the throbbing in my leg and the cruel chess match playing in my head. “That wine-colored velvet looks stunning on you.”

  Tess waves away our compliments. “It doesn’t matter. Ravencross won’t notice. I could dress like a scullery maid and he wouldn’t take any heed.”

  Georgie scoffs. “Lord Ravencross would have to be blind not to notice you in that.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Tess almost smiles. “He’ll notice me, just not the finery. The man doesn’t give a fig about velvet versus wool, and frankly neither do I. Miss Stranje needn’t have gone to all this expense.”

  I feel quite certain our headmistress didn’t give Tess a proper wardrobe for Lord Ravencross’s sake. She intended for us to blend into high society, so we might do our job.

  None of us fit in well in society, not really. We are all oddities, each in our own respect. Nevertheless, we can learn to play the part. After all, a good spy must hide in plain sight.

  Urgent banging on the front door knocker echoes throughout the house and at the same time the clocks in the house chime five. “Can that be him so soon?” Tess’s face already looks less drawn and, at his insistent knock, it infuses with more color.

  “Of course, it’s him,” I chuckle. “He would race here in his bedclothes if he thought you needed him.”

  Madame Cho clucks her tongue at me, in a wordless scold.

  “Don’t be silly.” Tess pulls aside the curtain and stares down into the street. “See there, he’s completely dressed.” Tess scoops up her train and hurries out.

  * * *

  After seeing Tess and Lord Ravencross off, Miss Stranje returns to the bedroom. “What did you think of her dream?”

  Georgie and I explain our theory. She listens attentively. “And what do you suggest ought to be done?” She asks this pointedly at me.

  “We lay a trap. Proceed as if we have no idea of their plan. We’ll have someone watching for when the bomb is placed in the stack. At that juncture, we have several alternatives. We could capture the henchman sent to do the dirty work. Interrogated properly, we may be able to ascertain the location of Ghost’s lair, although I doubt Ghost would risk revealing his hideout to any of his men. If his man doesn’t report back, Ghost will resort to placing the bomb another way, and we will know nothing about it.”

  Miss Stranje watches me as I explain, her eyes gleaming with something I dare think might be respect.

  I gulp down a sudden shyness. “Which is why I think we should let the henchman go, but follow him to see where and to whom he reports. This may lead us to Ghost or it may not.”

  “We could kidnap her.” Madame Cho grumbles, and I know she means Lady Daneska. But we all know that is out of the question. She’s under the Prince’s protection.

  “If we secretly remove the bomb and proceed with the unveiling, Ghost may sneak into the ceremony so he can be there to witness his handiwork. We may be able to capture him there. Failing that, at least if we remove the bomb, the Admiralty will see the ship, proceed with plans to build it, and no one will get killed.”

  Miss Stranje considers my strategy for a moment without speaking. Finally, she takes a deep breath and nods. She stands and peers down her nose at me with an expression I can’t quite interpret. She seems pleased, I think. I see respect. Pride maybe. But there is also a distinct hint of sadness.

  Why is she sad for me?

  Does she think it will fail? That Alexander will die?

  “You don’t think it will work?”

  Her lips press into a thin flat line resembling a smile, but still edged with inexplicable sadness. “Quite the contrary, Lady Jane. I believe it is our very best hope for a good outcome.”

  Madame Cho rises to stand beside our headmistress. No sadness or pity in her eyes, only fire. Madame Cho is a volcano and, even in this dim light, her black pearl eyes flash with danger. I generally expect her to erupt at any time, but this morning she grants me a grudging nod and pats me on the shoulder.

  Miss Stranje brings her hands together in a soft clap, a habit she has that usually signifies the end of a discussion. “Wake the others. Make certain Alice isn’t lurking nearby when you tell them what has happened. I know it is early, but it is time we all dressed. The unveiling will be in a few days. We’ve much to accomplish before then.” She turns and both women leave.

  Georgie and I stare at each other for a moment. “What do you make of her response?” I ask.

  Georgie shakes her head. “I can never quite tell what she is thinking.”

  Exactly, and I want to be just like her.

  Twenty-seven

  SECRETS EXPOSED

  I start fading at breakfast. When I catch myself falling asleep over my plate of kippers, Miss Stranje orders me back to bed.

  Doctor grumpy-bones-Meredith wakes me up late that afternoon to check on my stitches. “No sign of festering. Good. Keep it clean and dry. If you follow my orders, you should be fit as a fiddle in a day or two. I’ll pull out the stitches next week.” He folds up his spectacles and closes his kit. “I will tell you this much. It’s going to leave a nasty scar.”

  “So I’ve been told.” I don’t appreciate him quoting Lady Daneska.

  The following day Lord Wyatt, Captain Grey, and Mr. Sinclair join us for dinner. I’m not allowed even two minutes alone with Mr. Sinclair. It is agony. All I want to do is stand close to him and hold his hand and, well, maybe a bit more than that.

  They report that the Mary Isabella is completely reconstructed and ready for the unveiling on Thursday. Captain Grey has been apprised of Ghost’s plan to place a bomb in the boiler stack. His men are watching around the clock, waiting for Ghost to make his move.

  That night I sneak out to see the puppies.

  Tess is already there and hand-feeding Tromos some scraps of meat Cook salvaged for her from the kitchen. The pups are snuggled against Tromos, their little tummies bulging because they’ve just finished nursing. Even the silver cub, whom I’ve named Moonlight, must’ve eaten because her belly is round, too.

  Tess talks quietly, not so much to me, just talking to pass the time. “In the wild, Tromos would go without eating for days. Until she fel
t she could safely leave the cubs in Phobos’s care and go hunt.”

  “How is she supposed to feed her young if her own belly is empty?”

  Tess shrugs. “I don’t know.”

  Tromos stops eating and licks Moonlight, bathing the silver pup with her tongue. She looks up at me and nudges the baby in my direction.

  Tess’s brows arch up in surprise. “Look. She’s acknowledging you. She remembers you helped save the lame cub.” Tess turns a curious expression on me, one mixed with amazement and respect. “I think she wants…” Tess stares at the way Tromos is nudging the cub. “See if she’ll let you pet the gray one.”

  “Moonlight,” I say. “Her name is Moonlight. What if Tromos won’t let me?”

  Tess shrugs. “Then she’ll bite you.”

  The helpless ball of fuzz mews softly when her mother’s nose tickles her. I lean closer, and Tromos doesn’t growl. Slowly, I reach out and lightly brush my fingers over Moonlight’s downy fur.

  Tromos licks the baby where I have touched it. She may only be washing off my scent, but her tongue continues to flick against my fingers as I stroke the cub’s fur and I’m awed she’s allowing me to share her love for the little one.

  I draw back and dash away a tear that has escaped. “She loves Moonlight even though she’s lame, doesn’t she?”

  “Of course she does, it’s her pup.” Tess frowns at me.

  “But Moonlight won’t be useful. To the pack, I mean.”

  “Why should that matter,” she says sharply and Phobos growls. Tess’s mouth twists in a teasing smile. “You’re lame, and yet we still love you.”

  I blink. I hear Lady Daneska echoing in my head, why do they love you?

  “I’m not lame,” I mumble. Except maybe Tess thinks I am. She said, we love you. I didn’t think she did, not me, not really. “I’m useful,” I protest.

  “Phfft.” She snorts and turns away.

  I don’t know why Tess said that. I don’t know if it is a mean thing to say, or sweet, or completely upside down. I clench my teeth. “Sometimes I just don’t understand you.”

  I know the reason they keep me around.

  I’m useful, that’s why. I’m collateral for debts. I can repair dilapidated estates and turn them into productive ones.

  I solve problems.

  I organize.

  I plan.

  The tiny crippled sliver of moonlight wriggles closer to Tromos, to sleep cuddled by her mother.

  I’m … useful.

  Surely, this is the reason they love me, isn’t it?

  * * *

  The next morning Miss Stranje orders me to remain at home resting while everyone else gets to go shopping. I could’ve gone. I’m able to walk now without significant pain. “I should like to see that it remains so,” Miss Stranje says, restricting me to the house.

  They return home with various treasures. Tess found gloves roomy enough to hide an extra dagger. Maya purchased a packet of herbs from India, which if ground finely and placed in a glass of wine will induce instantaneous sleep. The exact dosage is apparently critical. Too much and the victim will never awaken. This inspires Miss Stranje to march us all up to the library for a lecture on various antidotes for poisons.

  The quiz afterward is blindingly difficult. “Knowing these antidotes could mean the difference between life or death,” our headmistress warns.

  In the middle of the test, Mr. Peterson scratches on the door. “Lady Jersey and Lady Castlereagh are here to see you, miss.”

  The Patronesses march into our inner sanctum as if they belong there. Lady Jersey picks up Tess’s paper and snorts. “Poisons? Dreary business poisons.” She plunks the paper down and taps her finger on one of the answers. “That one is wrong, m’dear. Your toes will curl up and fall off if you try that remedy.”

  She makes a shooing motion with her fingers which means we are to go away. Miss Stranje excuses us from the room and posts Madame Cho in the hallway as a sentry. “We’re not to be disturbed.”

  She shuts the door and we turn to leave, but a second later, she pokes her head out in the hallway again. “Lady Jane, your presence is required. Gather your notes and join us, if you please.”

  The other girls look at me as if I am in grave trouble. I hurry to the bedroom to retrieve my notebook out of the false bottom in my hatbox and Georgie quizzes me. “What do you think they want?”

  “I have no idea.” That’s not true. I have a hundred ideas. They’ve found Ghost. Something happened to Mr. Sinclair. Maybe they’ve found a way to imprison Lady Daneska. The possibilities are endless. “I’ll tell you as soon as I find out.”

  “Be careful,” Sera warns. “I think Lady Jersey is hiding something.”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me.” I imagine they’re all hiding things. Miss Stranje certainly has her secrets. And me. Aren’t we all hiding something? That is what spies do. But I fancy myself the unlocker of secrets. I will find out theirs and only mine will remain.

  I open the door to the Library with my note papers tucked under my arm. They’re speaking in hushed voices. “Speaking of innocents.” Lady Castlereagh smiles at me. “There you are, my dear.” She and Lady Jersey are wearing curious smiles to hide the fact that they are studying me as if I’m to be tested. Again.

  “We’ve a few questions.” Miss Stranje invites me to sit. “We’re interested in your opinion as to when you think the bomb will be planted. Captain Grey’s men have seen no movement thus far.”

  An easy enough question. “I should think it will be Wednesday night, or before dawn Thursday morning.”

  They glance at one another as if this is exactly what they had surmised.

  I explain my reasoning. “Ghost won’t want it exploding prematurely. He’ll want to do as much damage as he can with one blow. To do that, it must detonate when the Admiralty and government dignitaries, such as Lord Castlereagh and Prince George, are present. It will serve two purposes, killing key officials, and demonstrating Napoleon’s reach into Britain.”

  “Sounds about right,” Lady Jersey says dryly.

  “Egad.” Lady Castlereagh bows her head in her hand. “I do wish I could convince my husband not to go.”

  Lady Jersey sits back scrutinizing me. “How are you feeling after your ordeal?”

  “Well enough, thank you. Grateful to be alive.”

  “And do you still have a taste for this business?” She drops her accent altogether. “This life?” There’s no artifice in her question.

  “Truthfully, my lady, I don’t think I’m very good at being a spy. I’m probably better suited for the life of a country steward.”

  Lady Castlereagh chuckles. “Sounds like me, doesn’t she? I would’ve liked living in the country—being a simple farm wife.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Amelia.” Lady Jersey waves this sentiment away. “You’d have been miserable rusticating on a farm.”

  “You don’t know that.” Lady Castlereagh bristles momentarily, but stops and turns to tap the table in front of me. “But my dear child, you do know girls can’t be stewards.”

  I’m astonished to hear that sentiment from her. “You mean to say, we can dash around in the middle of the night, break into a foreign dignitary’s rooms in the royal palace, slide down a ship’s dock line to escape capture, and shoot at spies who are chasing us, but we’re not qualified to raise sheep?”

  “Exactly.” Lady Castlereagh’s smile is angelic in the extreme.

  Lady Jersey breaks into a guffaw. “Lady Jane, the point of all this is that we think you did a perfectly marvelous job at Carlton House. We would like to discuss your future.”

  There’s scratching at the door. Madame Cho opens it to find Mr. Peterson bringing us a message, but signals him to stay back. “You.” She points at me. “Lord Harston is here to see you.”

  “Tell his lordship I am indispos—”

  “Wait!” Lady Castlereagh holds up her hand to stop me from finishing. “What in the world is he doing here? Why would he
be calling on you, I wonder?”

  I’m inclined to say, he’s merely my future husband. Thank you for your interest in my private affairs. Instead, I say, “He was acquainted with my parents.”

  Madame Cho hushes the butler. “One moment.”

  “How very intriguing.” Lady Jersey hides a curious twist to her lips with the corner of her fan. “Tell Lord Harston we will all be down in a few moments.”

  Drat!

  “Run along and change.” Lady Jersey shoos me off. “Put on something prettier. Something green.” She holds a finger against her cheek, looking me up and down. “Yeeas, greeean will set off your complexion quite well.”

  I sigh. Madame Cho closes the door, and shakes her head at me. “You are in trouble now.”

  How does she know?

  She fusses at me, hurrying me down the hall. “You have too many secrets.”

  “Me? I don’t have half as many as you do.”

  She smacks the floor an inch from my foot with her bamboo cane, sending me dashing on my way.

  I do own a rather lovely green morning gown. I almost put on the blue silk just to prove to Lady Jersey I cannot be bullied on every decision. In the end though, I reach for the green damask gown, because Lady Jersey is right. Green is my best color. Though why I should try to look my best for Lord Harston is beyond me.

  Descending the stairs a few minutes later, we discover Maya and Sera are already entertaining our guest and his nephew. Maya’s laughter rises up the stairwell, a breathy sound as fresh and sweet as wind rippling through the trees. It never fails to make me smile. I’m amazed to see Lord Kinsworth has succeeded in making both girls laugh. Even Sera.

  The four of them look up at our arrival and the broad smiles on their faces shrivel at the sight of the Patronesses flanking me on either side.

  Lady Castlereagh takes a surprisingly firm tone. “Lord Harston, I’m surprised to see you here. How fares the Prince?”

  “Sleeping, my lady. Fast asleep, safe in his bed until three or four in the afternoon, as he is most days of late. My nephew was anxious to call on Miss Barrington, and I thought I might spare an hour to call on Lady Jane. We have, um, a small personal matter to discuss.”