A School for Unusual Girls

by Kathleen Baldwin

  Her question wormed into my mind, burrowing into dark corners I wanted left untouched. It was better not to question my parents’ motives. Better not to dwell on their lack of affection for me. Better to never think about such things.

  Ever.

  But Jane waited for an answer, and the longer I hesitated the more knowing her expression became. Cruel of her to guess at their intentions. Anyway, she was wrong. I swallowed down the bile rising from my stomach. She didn’t know them. She couldn’t possibly know how invisible I usually was to them. No, the facts of the matter were simple. I’d caused a problem for my parents, that was all. I’d been a nuisance. Stranje House was simply their reaction to the fire. I refused to put any other construction on it.

  I backed away and shook my head. “No. It’s simple. Cause and effect. I started a fire and now I’m being punished.”

  “What were you doing when it started?” Tess asked.

  “Mixing chemicals.” I answered too quickly, and awakened the worm again. It started gnawing away at my raw places. No, no, no. I pushed it away, and threw a question back at Jane, where it belonged. “Why would anyone send you away simply because you made too much money?”

  They all stared at me. The fire forgotten. Rats forgotten. Lord Rotten Ravencross forgotten.

  Jane rubbed the bruise on her jaw. “You might just as easily ask why Sera is here for drawing a picture.”

  Tess glanced up from the rat she cradled. “To be fair, it was an extremely accurate sketch of her grandfather. Which would not have caused such a stir except he had died when Sera was only two.”

  “Hardly a reason to lock her in a closet with nothing but bread and water for a month,” Jane protested. “Or you, Tess, exiled because your uncle’s stallion kicked him.”

  Tess shifted uncomfortably and mumbled, “A bit more to it than that.”

  Jane paid her no heed. “And what about Maya, who never did anything to anyone except be born too beautiful and with a voice—”

  Maya inhaled sharply. “No more, Jane. Please.”

  But Jane ignored her, and with a sweeping gesture asked, “Can anyone here guess how the patronesses of Almack’s would react upon meeting a young lady who mixes chemicals in her father’s barn?” I couldn’t tell if she intended to laugh or if she was choking on the words. “Never mind that it caught fire. You’re not exactly the beau monde’s image of an ideal young lady, are you? You know how they abhor bluestockings.”

  Jane frowned at me, hands on hips. “You can’t truly believe you were sent away solely because of a fire, Georgiana? What did you think? You would serve out a sentence for your crime and then go home, welcomed back into your family’s arms? There’s no going home again for us. Not really.” Her eyes flashed, as if she wanted to slap sense into me. “Starting a fire is awful, yes, but you’re here for the same reason we are. Because you don’t fit in.”

  It was a cold hard slap. I edged away. I didn’t want to hear anymore.

  “You’re here because you’re odd. Exceptional.” Unrelenting, Jane followed me to the edge of the circle. “You’re unusual, Georgiana. And that is far more dangerous than any fire.”

  My stomach lurched. For a moment it felt as if the floor might fall out from under me. I could only shake my head.

  “You know it’s true.” Jane clucked her tongue and wagged a finger at me. “If only you’d sat in the corner like a good little girl, doing needlepoint and reading poetry. Maybe then they wouldn’t have booted you out. Maybe. But even that trick didn’t work for Maya.”

  “No. You don’t understand.” I backed away from her. “It isn’t that at all. They—”

  “Oh, I understand well enough. You didn’t sit in the corner, did you, Georgie?” Jane kept coming. “No. You were out doing things. Alarming people. Upsetting the proverbial apple cart.” She jabbed my shoulder. “And, tell me, Miss Fitzwilliam, what did the people who are supposed to love you do about that? Did they whip you like Tess’s uncle did? Or did they lock you in the attic like they did Sera? Or did they simply do what my brothers—”

  “Jane! Stop.” Sera’s normally gentle voice echoed through the room like an iron bell. “You’re hurting her.”

  Jane clamped her lips together for a moment, composing herself. “She needs to know.”

  “She’s not ready.” The brass telescope rested in Sera’s lap. Moonlight spun a halo about her silvery hair.

  With a resigned sigh, Jane dropped into the nearest chair. “You know perfectly well she’s bound to figure it out.”

  “Not yet. Not tonight.” Moonlight cast a haze over Sera. She looked like a ghostly princess holding a golden scepter and her word appeared to be as absolute as any monarch’s. “You mustn’t rush her.”

  Too late. Jane’s words had already dug talons into my brain.

  “You m-m-must excuse me,” I stuttered. I never stutter. My mouth felt as dry as burnt toast. I backed toward the passage, bumped into a tower of crates, and glanced behind, toward the dark opening. “I’ve had a long journey today.”

  Jane waved her hand dismissively at me. “Bound to get even longer, isn’t it, if you keep running away?”

  I plunged into the black gloom behind the wall and ran headlong down the crumbling stairs. Fragments of jagged stone bit into the soles of my feet. I didn’t care. I’d a hundred times rather face rats and spiders in the darkness than the monstrous truths Jane had unleashed.

  Five

  ESCAPE

  I darted downstairs. Not caring if I tripped. Not caring that the passageway quickly became a pitch-dark pit. I couldn’t run fast enough to escape Jane’s words hammering in my head. I stopped and covered my ears with my hands, willing myself to blot out the noise.

  “It isn’t true,” I said aloud. “Lies.” My parents loved me. Underneath their anger about the fire, my experiments, the card party, and everything else, surely they loved me. They had to. They must.

  And yet they’d left me in this vile place.

  Was I too peculiar? Did I frighten them, as Jane suggested? I leaned my forehead against the moldy wall, mourning the fact that the lies weren’t Jane’s. They were mine.

  Our families should’ve seen our worth. Instead, they’d sent us away. I felt sick. My hands dropped to my sides, useless. My life was over. I would be whipped into shape or tortured to death. One way or the other my parents would be rid of me. At least, they would be rid of the real me—weird, peculiar, frightening me.

  I didn’t cry. Oh, I may have choked on a few salty streaks of weakness that slid onto my lips. But I didn’t cry. Blubbering was pointless. I wanted to kick something, not cry. I swiped the offending moisture from my cheeks, brushed the grime from my brow, and trudged blindly down the steps. Down, down into hell and forever, around another corner, up another flight, and that’s when I realized I was lost.

  Again.

  Furious, I slammed my hand against the wall. My reward was a palm full of moldy plaster and splinters. Clenching my teeth, I knocked off the debris and plucked at the slivers. Neither anger, nor despair would do me any good. This situation required a logical analytical approach.

  Fact: the panel to the dormitorium lay somewhere in this passage.

  Fact two: at the very least, I should be able to find another exit into the house.

  Fact three: unlike my other problems, this one was solvable.

  Even in thick darkness, deep in a tangled maze, there are telltale indications of the terrain. If one stands very still, faint drafts of air tease the senses and briefly relieve the stuffiness, and there are minute sounds. I stilled my thundering heart, calmed my ragged breathing, and listened.

  Blocking out the patter of mice, ignoring the surges of wind buffeting the outer wall, I heard the low whistle of air through an opening.

  A panel. I hurried to check. But my toe stubbed against a block of wood. The wood flipped sideways as if on a hinge. The floor beneath my foot sagged.

  My next step fell on nothingness.

 
No wood.

  No stone.

  Nothing.

  My elbow smacked against the mouth of the trapdoor. I dropped into blackness. A rush of cold air swallowed my shriek. Wind billowed out my nightdress as I spiraled down a chute, falling, sliding, bumping, scraping against the rough sides. Rocks and debris peppered my shoulders and face. I flung my arms up to shield myself as I plummeted down the black pit.

  It seemed to drop forever. Yet, it must’ve only been seconds before the shaft opened to a broad expanse of air.

  No more walls.

  A dim light.

  Swoosh. I plunged into icy water. Suspended in murky green darkness. Salt and foam flooded into my mouth and nose. I sank amid a torrent of bubbles.

  Shock held me captive. Disoriented. Lost. Sinking.

  I came to my senses, owing to a desperate need to breathe. Clawing frantically at the water, I followed the rising bubbles toward the surface, paddling like a dog. A drowning dog. At last, I broke through the waves, gagging and sputtering, half blind with confusion.

  It took me a moment to realize where I was. Waves sloshed against the sides of a cave. I recognized the flickering oil lamp as it hissed from where it hung on a rough-hewn docking post. I, gulping and grappling, half swimming, half drowning, bobbed my way to the rowboat. No sooner had I grabbed hold of the prow when I spotted something unthinkable sitting against the far wall. My heart nearly spewed out of my throat along with the seawater I’d swallowed.

  A skeleton. Bones wearing a tattered pink gown. A noose hung around its neck and a faded placard warned: BEWARE THE HANGMAN’S WALTZ!

  I screamed, lost my grip on the rowboat and sank once again beneath the dark waves.

  When I burst back up through the surface my nightdress ballooned under my arms. I angrily flung away a strand of seaweed, spit out fishy seawater, and shook off my fear. Bones could not hurt me. But the monsters who’d left that girl here to rot certainly could. I swam for the boat with grim determination. Fate had offered me a chance to escape Stranje House and I intended to take it.

  Except when I tried to pull myself into the rowboat the ruddy thing tipped, almost to the point of flipping over. So, I swam, or rather thrashed toward the dock and heaved myself onto the stone ledge like a great flopping fish. I lay there shivering, a wet muddy mess. As soon as I caught my breath, I took one last look at the skeleton with her ghastly warning, and climbed aboard the rowboat.

  The skiff was surprisingly well equipped. In the stern, atop a box of supplies, lay a woolen blanket, which I immediately wrapped around me. Inside the box I found a bottle of brandy and a neatly wrapped parcel containing bread and cheese. Having had very little to eat that day I ripped off a hunk of bread and took a quick bite. That would have to do for now. I needed to get underway before Captain Grey and Sebastian returned for their boat.

  It had to be theirs. Most likely the two of them were smugglers. Or pirates. Lord Wyatt, indeed! That couldn’t possibly be his real name. Sebastian was no gentleman. And even if he was, it didn’t matter. Their rowboat was mine now. I set the two oars into place and tugged the rope loose from the docking post.

  Rowing proved trickier than I’d expected. The boat banged against the cave walls a number of times. The oars knocked one side or the other so often, it was a small wonder the entire household did not come running. I battled the current and managed to maneuver the craft toward the small mouth of the cave. Luck was with me. I caught an outgoing wave, ducking as the dinghy thumped and bumped its way through the low arch to freedom.

  Stars blinked in and out as clouds raced across the inky sky.

  I’d done it. I had escaped.

  Surf roared in my ears and the rowboat lifted high atop a wave. I set to the oars, suddenly aware that the cave had provided shelter from the wind and this violent tide. It took every ounce of my strength to keep the skiff from crashing against the rocky shore. I rowed like mad, but the sea lifted up the boat and tossed it down as if it was a child’s toy.

  I’d escaped, but to what end. Death?

  The thought of drowning in that dark sea, of sinking unnoticed and unremembered into a vast unmarked grave, of being eaten by indifferent fish and scavenging snails made a shudder run through me. Fear gave way to a warming anger. I would not surrender to death. Not without giving it a good fight.

  I rowed harder, leaning into every stroke. My life depended on it. Waves pelted me. Salt bit against my cheeks. Wind whipped the blanket from my shoulders, but I dared not stop to adjust it. I put my back into the task of rowing, lifting off the seat to push harder. Even with my newfound strength the oars grew heavier and more awkward with every stroke.

  Waves splashed over the sides, turning my woolen blanket into a sodden mess, filling the hull with frigid water, sloshing against my calves. I pulled in the oars, grabbed the bucket from the corner in order to bail, but the boat started to spin and tilt to one side. I rushed to put out the paddles again. The left oar slipped from the blocks. I lunged for it, but my fingers only grazed the handle before it sank in the swells.

  The next wave slapped me soundly for my stupid mistake.

  No time for regrets—not if I wanted to live. I struggled with the lone oar, trying to distance myself from the deadly rocky shore. It seemed like I rowed forever and yet the outline of the cliffs still loomed perilously close. My arms ached and I couldn’t stop shivering. The contents of my stomach had long since left me. Over and over, the boat rose heavenward six or seven feet and then dropped like a stone into a trough. Miraculously it didn’t capsize.

  Exhausted from being tossed about like an unwanted doll, I yearned for solid land. The rowboat rode up the back of a gigantic swell. This time, instead of plunging off into a valley of water and being thrashed by the falling wave, we stayed atop the curl. I have never moved so fast in all my life.

  Moonlight exposed the beach. All rocks. As the sea flung me toward the cliffs I realized the little boat would be smashed to pieces. I wrapped the soggy blanket around me, crouched low, and braced myself against the crosspiece.

  I remember a splintering crunch, and the marvelous sensation of flying through the air. After that, I only recall my head thudding against stone.

  Hot white fireworks.

  And the sudden inability to draw breath.

  It’s quite possible I may have died. I’m not certain. It’s all rather hazy. I do remember feeling terribly cold. Then sinking into a peaceful warmth.

  Oblivion.

  I didn’t regain my senses until morning when the sun stabbed through my stupor. Light made the throbbing worse—pain at the back of my skull so intense it felt as though someone was beating me rhythmically with a big stick. I kept my eyelids closed tight until something scratchy and moist slid across my cheek. I squinted and peeked out of one eye.

  Two yellow eyes stared back.

  Dark fur. Teeth.

  Wolf.

  I gasped for air. But my lungs froze.

  I meant to scream. Tried to scream. Nothing came out. Oh, God, let me drown and be eaten by fishes, please. Not torn apart by wolves. I closed my eyes tight, wishing to return to that comfortable oblivion that had consumed me during the night.

  The wolf yipped softly and nudged my chest with its nose.

  I shook. No, I trembled. Every part of me quaked, even my innermost parts—heart, stomach, everything. I shook with such taut rapid vibrations that nothing outwardly moved.

  Something warm shifted against my back, snuffled, and pressed a wet nose into my neck. There were two of them. Two gigantic wolves very, very close. So close, I could smell their meaty breath and the musky scent of grass and dead leaves rising from their fur. So close, drool dripped onto my cheek as the one standing sniffed me. The wolf lying behind me licked my shoulder.

  Hot pain pulsed at the back of my skull. Yet the rest of me felt intensely cold. I began to shiver more violently. The wolf standing over me stopped sniffing. With a low growl, he laid down and curved his enormous body into mine, pressin
g up against my belly. The other beast responded with a short low yip.

  Were they warming up breakfast? Or preserving my soggy carcass for dinner? Their behavior made no sense and yet their heat had a calming effect on my quavering insides. Moments later the wolf in front of me lifted his head, his ears peaked. He startled me with a sharp bark and jumped to his feet. His mate did the same.

  Their ruckus nearly deafened me. Finally they stopped. But my head pounded louder than ever. Despite the throbbing I heard boots running on the beach. “What is it, Phobos?” A man greeted my wolf. “Down, boy! Down.” The animal behind me growled. “Easy there, Trobos. What have you found?”

  I groaned. It would be him.

  “Good Lord!” Sebastian knelt beside me. “Back, Trobos, stand back. There’s a good girl.”

  I kept my eyes closed as he pressed two fingers against the artery in my neck.

  “Miss Fitzwilliam?” He gently shook my shoulder. “Miss Fitzwilliam, can you hear me?”

  I made no sound.

  Lord Wyatt whipped off his coat and laid it over me. “Captain!” he shouted, making my head hammer ferociously. “Captain! Over here. Forget the boat. It’s the girl. She’s hurt.”

  Captain Grey ran up breathing hard. “Is she…?”

  “Alive. But, judging by the blood, she’s injured her head.” He gently lifted my shoulder. “See? Do you think it’s safe to move her?”

  “We’ve no choice. In this cold, it’s a wonder she survived the night.”

  Sebastian scooped me up. “I expect Phobos and Trobos had something to do with it.”

  So, these wolves had names, Latin for fear and trembling. It suited them.

  Captain Grey shed his coat, too, wrapping it about my legs. “There now. Steady on, Miss Fitzwilliam. We’ll get you back to the house.” He tucked the coats around me, speaking as one does to an injured animal, soothing it, but not expecting an answer. “Take her straight to Emma,” he directed Sebastian. “She’ll know what to do. I’ll ride for a doctor. We need this girl alive.”