Refuge for Masterminds

by Kathleen Baldwin

  Egad. He’s not going to tell everyone, is he?

  I clear my throat. “Nothing of consequence, I assure you.”

  “Nonsense. We are all friends here.” Lady Jersey holds out her hand to Lord Harston and allows him to bow over it. “What can possibly be so very private between two of our most trusted young people.”

  “Most trusted?” I accidently ask aloud.

  Lady Castlereagh spreads her fan and whispers to me. “Remember, I told you we have tasked Lord Harston with keeping a close watch over our dear Prince.”

  It is a decision I question. I don’t see how we can entrust the Prince’s safety to an inveterate gambler and rake such as Lord Harston. “I notice he is often in Lady Daneska’s company.”

  Lady Castlereagh brushes one of the ribbons from her enormous Turkish turban over her shoulder and collapses her fan. “Sometimes, my dear, one must run with the foxes in order to keep the chickens safe.”

  Chickens? I gape at her. Is she likening the Prince Regent, head of our government, to a chicken?

  She rattles me further when she says, “I don’t see how anything can be so urgent that you would risk leaving him alone?”

  I squint at Lord Harston, remembering the debt I owe him, and feel I ought to try to rescue him from the Patronesses’ criticism. I extend my hand in greeting. “Lord Harston, how very kind of you to come. You mustn’t trouble yourself over that other matter. It’s of no consequence.”

  It’s only my future and yours.

  I curtsy. “There’s no hurry. We can discuss it another day.” Let’s say in, perhaps, twenty or thirty years? “Surely it can wait for a time when you are not needed so urgently by the Prince Regent.”

  He opens his mouth to answer, but there is such a racket out in the foyer that everyone in the drawing room turns to see who or what can be raising such a fuss. We don’t have long to wait. One strident voice I instantly recognize as it crescendos above that of poor Mr. Peterson.

  “Swindlers! Crooks, I say! No, sir, you will not keep me standing here with my hat in my hand. I demand to see my sister. Show her to me this instant.” Thus, my dear sweet brother charges into the drawing room waving a fist full of papers, and Mr. Peterson tugging on his arm. “Ah! Now I see how it is.” He gesticulates wildly at Miss Stranje. “You mean to marry her off behind my back.”

  I glance sideways, alarmed to see that behind her fan Lady Castlereagh has a small lady’s pistol aimed at my brother’s heart. Turning to my other side, I note Lady Jersey has slipped a small dagger into her palm. Lord Harston has his hand on the hilt of his sword, and Maya seems to be sprinkling some kind of powder into a glass of port. Sera, bless her, is edging toward the poker on the fireplace.

  My brother is about to be murdered in five different ways if I don’t do something immediately.

  Miss Stranje steps forward, unarmed, thank goodness. “Lord Camberly, how lovely to see you again.” She extends her hand. “So soon.”

  Francis rudely bypasses her greeting. “I see Jane does own something besides those rags you had her wearing the other day.”

  I find it ludicrous that my brother chooses this inauspicious moment to comment on my wardrobe of all things. I would laugh if it weren’t so humiliating. “What do you want?” I snap and regret it the moment those words slip out.

  Toad garters. I have sunk to his level of rudeness, which is a testament to how very out of sorts I am.

  “Sneak thief!” My brother accuses me and waves his sheaf of papers in my face. “I’ve been to our man of business, and when I mentioned our plan to marry you off, you’ll never guess what document he produced.”

  If I haven’t already turned pale, I’m fairly certain I’m a rather spongy color now. My bad leg weakens and I must drop into the nearest chair or I will fall down.

  Francis leans down still forcing the papers at me. “Can’t do it, says old man Stanton. She’s already taken.”

  “Taken?” Lady Jersey slides her dagger back up her sleeve. “Fascinating.”

  “Yes, and by none other than that man, right there.” He points at Lord Harston. Of course, he points. There is no ruder oaf in all of Christendom than my oldest brother. I slump against the chair. Madame Cho is right. I’m in trouble now.

  “It’s all right here.” He swings his pointy finger to my signature on the incriminating evidence. “Signed a note, along with our parents. They’re betrothed, all right. Lock, stock, and barrel.”

  “I think you’ll find there wasn’t actually much stock in that barrel,” I mutter.

  Francis is not finished fuming. Indeed, he’s practically foaming at the mouth. I turn to my friends. “Maya, perhaps you’d like to offer my brother some of your special port?”

  She looks down at the poisoned cup in her hand, purses her lips, tosses it into a potted plant, and fills it with fresh undrugged port.

  “Don’t want any.” My brother waves the cup away and hunches over me, so we are face to face. Judging by his breath, he’s obviously had enough port for one day. “You knew all along, didn’t you? And you weren’t going to tell us, were you? You, my very own sister, and you were willing to let us float all the way down the River Tick while you set yourself up with a rich baronet.”

  “Baron,” says Lord Harston.

  “Hear that, Jane? A baron! And a rich baron according to old man Stanton.”

  “Not that rich.” Harston clears his throat. “Pardon me, but it seems to me you boys have been doing a pretty good job of paddling down River Tick all by yourselves without any help from your sister.”

  “You’re engaged?” Sera, who is usually mum as a church mouse, squeaks into this quagmire. “And you didn’t tell us.”

  Didn’t tell a soul.

  Now the whole world knows.

  At this point, I can do nothing else but slump all the way over and bury my face in my hands.

  Bernard, bless him, pats my shoulder. “It’s all right, Janey. Chin up. I forgive you. In fact, I think it’s fine news. Better than fine. First off, now you won’t have to be a lady’s maid the rest of your life. And second, me and Francis won’t end up in the poorhouse. Turns out your betrothed owns half of our vowels.”

  He says this so cheerily, I just want to shake him.

  “Personally, I think it’s a splendid match.” Lady Castlereagh puts away her pistol. “I wish you happy.”

  She and Lady Jersey kiss Miss Stranje on the cheek. “We shall leave you to deal with this … this…” Lady Jersey waves a circle with her hand indicating all of us. “Well, I dooon’t actually know what to call all of this. But I trust you will be ready for Thursday?”

  “Of course.” Miss Stranje kisses her friend’s cheek in return.

  In the doorway, Lady Castlereagh turns back. “Lord Harston, you mustn’t leave the Prince for too long. Sleeping or not—every minute is a risk.”

  Lord Harston stares at my brothers, like a man facing the axe but having no intention of going willingly to the chopping block. He swallows hard and says, in a voice that startles me into sitting to attention, “Gentlemen, the terms of my contract do not designate a date for the nuptials. Your sister and I will discuss this and any other potential arrangements at our convenience. It may be three months, or three years from now. But mark my words, if you impose upon either of us in the meantime, those IOUs you mentioned will become due and payable immediately. Do I make myself clear?”

  Bernard nods mutely. Francis raises his wretched finger. “But—”

  Lard Harston makes a low warning growl and puts his hand on the hilt of his sword. His nephew steps up beside him and does the same. The two of them are a matched pair of warriors that make me tremble. Whatever argument Francis might’ve ventured, withers on the vine. He backs away with the contract still clutched in his hand.

  Bloodbath in the parlor averted, Miss Stranje moves into the fray. “Thank you for calling, gentlemen.” She gestures toward the door. “Peterson, their hats, if you please.”

  She adept
ly maneuvers all of the men out to the foyer, and as soon as they’re gone she returns to us in the parlor.

  Maya stands beside the window covertly watching them depart. Miss Stranje joins her.

  I silently pray Francis keeps his big mouth under control. “They’re not knocking swords in the street, are they?”

  “Going their separate ways.” Miss Stranje smiles at me as if I’ve done something marvelous. “Well, my dear, I must say that was a perfectly exhilarating afternoon.”

  Georgie strides into the room with Tess right behind her. “Everyone was so loud, we couldn’t help but overhear—”

  Tess plops on the sofa. “I can’t believe you’re engaged and didn’t tell us.”

  I groan. “I knew I shouldn’t have come to London. Now my life is ruined.”

  “Not ruined.” Miss Stranje crosses her arms. “Altered.”

  “Too many secrets. I warned you.” Madame Cho leans in the doorway.

  They are all staring at me. Sera looks hurt. “I don’t see why you couldn’t have at least told me.”

  “You still haven’t heard the worst of it.”

  “There’s more?” Maya looks surprised.

  “It’s a wretched ugly story. One I’d hoped to take to my grave.”

  “Apparently, you failed to die young enough.” Tess crosses her arms and leans back against the sofa.

  I laugh cheerlessly. “So it would seem.”

  Georgie sits beside Tess. “We’ve three hours until dinner. You may as well tell us.”

  “Very well. I don’t suppose you will dislike me any more than you already do.”

  Sera takes the chair next to mine. Her blue eyes stab directly into my soul. “I could never dislike you, Jane. You, Tess, Georgie, Maya, you’re like sisters to me. That’s why I don’t understand why you felt you had to hide this from us.”

  “You hide things,” I say softly, toying with the lace on my dress.

  “Not secrets. Not exactly.” A shadow falls across Sera’s face. “Sometimes I can’t find words to explain what I’m thinking. That’s different.”

  I pat her hand. “I don’t know what that means. But I believe you.” Late-afternoon sun glints through the window, washing golden light over all of them, their faces turned to me with nothing but kindness. Now I see that believing is very like trusting.

  Trust.

  So, I tell them the whole shameful story, every last disgraceful detail.

  Afterward, they don’t look at me as if I’m a creature to be pitied. They don’t pull away from me in disgust. They sit quietly beside me, silently mourning with me.

  Finally, Sera catches my chin in her hand. “They didn’t know you, Jane. Your parents, I mean. They didn’t see you. They couldn’t have. If they had seen how truly remarkable you are, they would never have traded you. Not for anything.”

  Sera holds me while I cry, and the others circle around us.

  Twenty-eight

  PLANS INSIDE PLANS

  By now, Alexander knows I am engaged.

  Someone will have told Captain Grey. Captain Grey will tell Lord Wyatt, and he will tell Mr. Sinclair. Which explains why I have not heard a single word from him.

  Not one single word.

  Wednesday dawns and I hide under the covers wishing the sun would go away. Not that there is any sun today. There isn’t. Nothing but rain and gloom out the window. I throw back the covers. “The puppies!” They’ll be cold and miserable. “They could die.”

  We throw on our clothes and all of us head down to the garden. Tess is already out there, drenched. Water pools in Tromos’s makeshift den and Tess has the pups cradled in her skirts. “We have to move them.”

  So much for her letting nature take its course.

  I thought to bring an umbrella out and we all huddle under it. “The gardener’s shed,” I shout over the clatter of the rain. “It’ll have to be the shed.” Tess nods and we run for the small out-building but find the door locked. “I need lock picks.” Georgie dashes back to the house for the tools and towels.

  The shed door has a very loose old lock. Easy as pie to pick. We pry open the squeaky door and Tromos trots in beside Tess, who still carries the babies. Immediately the mother wolf shakes the rain out of her fur, sending a shower over the rest of us. When she’s done, her ruff stands out, thick and almost dry.

  There’s scarcely room in the shed for both dogs and the five of us. I start drying Moonlight first. Tromos circles around our legs growling and uneasy. Phobos roots through the shed, agitated, chasing something scurrying through the shovels and buckets. As soon as the cubs are dry, we fold an old vegetable cover for Tromos to lie on and set the puppies next to her tucked inside the towel. Except for Moonlight. I hold her for a few minutes longer.

  Sera strokes her little tummy. “She’s so sweet. Georgie, maybe you could build something to help with her missing leg?”

  “You mean like a peg leg for a dog?” Georgie asks. Her mind is already churning with ideas. I love that about her.

  She inspects the pup’s hip. “It can be done. We’ll have to wait a month or two till she’s fully grown. In the meantime, maybe I can rig a small wheel that straps to her hip. We could call her Peg, or Willa, you know, because it sounds like wheel.”

  “We most certainly will not.” I continue chaffing the cub until it stops shivering and set her next to Tromos to nurse. “Her name is Moonlight.”

  Sera nudges me. “Who said you could name them?”

  “I only named this one. You can name the rest.”

  Maya kneels next to them. “It’s hard to believe they start out so small and grow into such magnificent creatures.”

  “They almost didn’t.” Tess looks up at me, and both of us remember Moonlight’s rough start. “And this morning, they nearly drowned.”

  “It looks like you nearly did, too. You’re soaked through. We’d better get you inside by the fire.” I hold the umbrella over Tess as we leave the shed and run back to the house. “How long have you been out here with them?”

  She shrugs. “I should’ve been out here sooner.”

  “You need some hot tea straightaway.”

  After warming Tess in the kitchen, all of us climb the stairs to change into dry clothes. Miss Stranje asks us to gather in the library, where she spreads a sketch of the Woolwich Naval Yards on the worktable for us to study. Tess sneezes and Miss Stranje sentences her to spend the rest of the day in bed. “You’re chilled, and I will not have you getting sick. We need you at the unveiling ceremony tomorrow.”

  “I’m not sick. I never get sick.” Tess sneezes again.

  “Of course not. Nevertheless, we shall keep you warm and tucked up in bed as a precaution.”

  “I can’t stay in bed all day. Who’ll feed the dogs?”

  “I will,” I volunteer. “Tromos trusts me.”

  Tess glares at me as if I have said something wrong.

  “Well, she does.”

  Tess shivers and Miss Stranje pulls out the finger of doom and points. “That’s it. To your room this instant. Into bed. We will bring you a tray.”

  This is the warm, sunshiny way our day begins.

  We spend the afternoon studying the layout of the grounds, determining where our most vulnerable positions are, going over various scenarios, and deciding the best course of action if an explosion occurs here or there. We discuss how best to protect the Prince, the admirals, and the ship.

  Late that night, after the household has gone to bed, a messenger arrives with a note from Captain Grey. I slip on my wrapper and follow Miss Stranje to the foyer. The note informs us that they spotted a man climbing over the naval yard wall and saw him plant a bomb on the Mary Isabella. So far events are going according to our plan. Captain Grey and Mr. Sinclair were able to successfully remove the explosive. Lord Wyatt and his men followed the perpetrator at a safe distance. But unfortunately, they could not follow him into Spitalfields without being detected.

  Tomorrow is the unveiling, and I
cannot get Tess’s nightmare of the Mary Isabella exploding out of my head. I find it difficult to fall asleep that night.

  * * *

  The morning of the unveiling dawns fair and clear as a jewel. Today, we will either succeed in outplaying Lady Daneska and Ghost, or we will all be blown to bits.

  Lady Jersey is right, I am a gambler. I hate that I am, and I hate that the stakes are life and death. We at Stranje House are all gamblers, and whether I deserve them or not, the other girls here are my friends. Friends who, for whatever reason, care about me as much as I do them.

  I sit in the garden in the early dawn, contemplating the task ahead. Tromos allows me to hold Moonlight. She’s stronger now and scoots about quite well despite the fact that she has only three paws. The black cubs are adorable and growing bigger every day. I rub my cheek against Moonlight’s soft silver coat. She will always be different from her brother and sister, different like me. Unusual. Peculiar. Luckily, she’s a brave little lass. “Aren’t you, Moonlight?”

  She mews at me, and attempts the tiniest of yips. I laugh. “Today I need to be brave, too. And I must trust the others, just as you must trust your pack.” Her fur is unfathomably soft, and she curls against my chest sleeping and squiggling. I know she’s getting hungry. The others are inching down from where they nest on Tromos’s side, making their way to nurse.

  “Courage, little one,” I say as much to her, as to myself, and place her back with her brother and sister, watching as she scoots three-legged to her mama. Tromos lifts her head to me in farewell. “If it goes badly at the ceremony,” I tell her. “You and Phobos must take your children and race to the woods. Run as far from London as you can.” Phobos stares at me, tilting his big head, almost as if he understands. “It’s what everyone should do, if we fail today. Run. Hide. Because Napoleon will be invading.”

  The shed door creaks open and I know it is Tess. “Have you been coddling her again?” she scolds, as if she doesn’t do the very same thing.

  “Of course I have. Are you ready for today?”