A School for Unusual Girls

by Kathleen Baldwin

  She rubbed her forehead, hard, as if that might scrub away the images she saw. “I warned you! Why didn’t you listen? Everything was going so well. The dreams had stopped. If only I’d seen this. If I’d known Sebastian would leave I would’ve tied him down.” She gritted her teeth. “If only he would’ve waited. You would’ve figured it out today. Today.” She slapped her hand against the wooden bench. “That’s how it was supposed to be. It was supposed to be today.”

  “You can’t know that.” Frustrated and angry, I shouted at her. “Formulating a new ink could take months.”

  “You only have today.”

  I clutched Sebastian’s note in my fist, and glanced wildly about the workroom. “Even if I do find a solution today, how would I get it to him?” A few moments ago my course of action had seemed so clear, a simple matter of running him down on the road and warning him that I’d failed, that the ink didn’t work. Now, everything seemed infinitely more difficult.

  Impossible.

  Tess stood and stared down at her feet showing beneath the hem of her night rail. “I only know what happens if you don’t. You have to do it, and then we must take it to him.”

  “How? He’s in London. There’s a ball tonight, with diplomats, dignitaries and…” I shook my head and backed away. “No. It’s impossible. We must get word to Miss Stranje. She’ll know what to do. Madame Cho—”

  “No!” She grabbed my shoulder and wrenched me close. “You can’t. Miss Stranje won’t get back in time, and I’ve seen what happens if Cho sends word to London. It makes things worse. Much worse.”

  She drew me close to her face, so close I smelled her terror. Acidic. Suffocatingly sweet. Almost metallic.

  “If Madame Cho stops him from delivering the ink, Sebastian dies in Vienna.” She stared at me, looked straight through me into another time, a place of horror. Her eyes opened wide. Whites showed all around. “Hundreds slaughtered in a single day.”

  “What? How? Tell me what happens. Maybe we can—”

  “It isn’t like that.” She made a low keening noise. “It comes in snatches. Flies at me like a flock of mad birds, flapping in every direction, beating against my skull. If this happens, then that happens, and this. Never in a neat organized line. It crashes over my head in rolling waves. Bomb bursts of pain. Fragments.”

  Her fingers dug into my shoulders, holding on, as if she might fall. “You don’t understand. I live what happens. A blast shatters Sebastian’s ribs. Rips through his side. I’ve gasped with him as he silently screams for air, holding his bloody entrails in his own hands.” Her voice dropped. She squeezed her eyes shut and lowered her face. “Dying isn’t easy. All those wretched regrets as life oozes away.”

  How did she keep from going mad? I tried to pull out of her grasp.

  She blinked, color washed back into her cheeks, she drew a quick breath and let go. “Not just him, Georgie. Hundreds. The sound of their wailing tears at my soul. How can I make you see? Bloody battles. The destruction. Shall I tell you about the starvation? Orphaned children—”

  My heart rabbited around my chest, thumping, lost. I didn’t know which way to turn. Where to run. “What can I do? How do I stop it?” I pleaded, knowing if I failed again, I would never banish my guilt.

  “Bring him an ink that works. It’s the only path open to us. I’ve seen the others.” She voiced this fragile hope with quiet determination. “We’ll leave as soon as you’re done.”

  “But how—”

  “I’ll get a horse. You”—she pointed at the table—“make the ink.”

  Sera stood quietly inside the doorway, watching us, holding a familiar pair of shoes and my muslin morning dress in her hands. “I brought your clothes.” She held them out to me. When I didn’t take them, she set the pile on the table. “We’ll explain to Madame Cho that you have more experiments to do. Maya and I have knife-throwing lessons this afternoon. We’ll keep her so busy she won’t suspect anything. Jane will bring you something to eat and assist you.”

  Maya followed Sera into the room and the three of them stood around me in a solemn circle, like mourners at a funeral.

  “You all know about the ink?”

  Sera worked the toe of her shoe against the floorboards. “Our training wouldn’t be worth much if we hadn’t figured it out.”

  “You must never breathe a word of it to anyone else,” I warned. “Swear on your lives—not a word.”

  “You have our promise,” Sera said, taking the blood oath for them all. “We’ll help you as much as we can.”

  I glanced at the worktable and ran my fingers through my hair. After a lifetime of failures, of jumping too soon, of foolish blunders, and wrong assumptions, too much depended on me getting it right for once. “What if I fail again?”

  Maya reached for my hand. “You will find the answer, Georgiana.” Her voice vibrated through her fingertips up my arms, and flowed around me like a hypnotic flute, smoothing out my agitation. “You are a woman of much courage. I know this. You will go to London, and you will do what must be done.”

  Sera nodded as if she believed it, too.

  I bowed my head trying to escape Maya’s trance. Could I really formulate an ink that worked in so short a time?

  She kept hold of my hand, gazing steadily into my eyes. “I believe you will do this.” Her words were airy notes of hope that sailed straight into my heart.

  “You will.” Sera stood beside Maya. Her face not as serene as Maya’s. “You must.”

  Tess slipped out of the room. The others followed, leaving me alone in the middle of a desperate nightmare. Yet, there was a chance, a mathematically improbable chance, but a chance nonetheless, that I could set my mistake right.

  I bent over my notes with an urgency and determination I had never felt before. I studied the formula. An hour later, I realized exactly where my error lay. As usual, I’d overcomplicated things. The solution was so simple. Iron was bound to darken when exposed to any number of elements, sunlight. It was uncontrollable. Alum, alone, was the answer. I knew it with as much certainty as I knew I was still standing on the floor in my bare feet.

  How had I missed it last night? I swallowed, remembering exactly why. Sebastian. The ache in my chest expanded. I remembered his arms holding me and his lips covering mine. But Tess had made me see his death, too, and that was unthinkable. I would concentrate as I’d never concentrated before.

  I quickly pulled on my clothes. It only took a couple of hours more to create the new formula. By the time Jane brought food, I’d already mixed and heated a batch of clear soluble alum. “What did you tell Madame Cho?”

  She set down the tray. “I explained that you insisted on working without interruption, and that I would bring you food and provide assistance if you needed it.”

  Ah, yes, the truth can be highly effective. “Did that satisfy her?” I snatched a muffin, took a bite, and tossed it back on the plate. It may as well have been wood shavings. My appetite was gone. I measured gall for the developer solution.

  Jane rubbed her arm absently. “She got that quizzical look on her face. You know, the one that means she didn’t believe me.”

  “It was nothing less than the truth. I certainly don’t want any interruptions and I do need your assistance.”

  “How can I help?”

  I pulled out several sheets of foolscap from my folio, tore them in half, and half again, so that we had a dozen test papers. “Write something on each one using India ink.”

  Jane checked the nib of the pen. “She’s bound to notice when you’re gone this evening.”

  “Not if we’re careful.”

  “We’ll need more than caution on our side. Luck, I’d say. What do you want me to write?”

  “Anything. A quick line or two on each of the papers.”

  She thought for a moment and set to work. By the time she finished, the new invisible ink formula was ready to be tested.

  Jane had jotted several farming instructions on each. “Leave t
he west field fallow. Plant beans in place of wheat in the east field,” and so on. I quickly perused the papers and glanced up. “Are these ways to improve crop yields?”

  She nodded.

  “Brilliant.” I had a new appreciation of our Jane. “We must discuss this when I return from London.” Assuming I did return.

  She smiled. “I thought you might find it interesting.”

  Between the lines of her list, I used the clear alum ink to pen a short invisible apology to Sebastian for putting him in danger. On successive pages, I apologized to the Prince Regent of England for making an error on my previous formula.

  I waved one of the papers bearing my hidden confession over the burner, heating it. I laid another in the sunny window. All afternoon we repeated the process, using different types of paper. I sprinkled water on some notes, dirt on others, spilled wine on them, salt, vinegar, and candle wax. This time, I wasn’t taking any chances. I intended to expose the ink to light, time, heat, and anything else that might cause it to inadvertently develop. With a grimace, Jane reluctantly spit on one of the notes—thus providing me with a saliva test.

  All the while, I kept repeating over and over in my head. Don’t let anyone die because of my mistakes.

  I imagined the diplomats and their families who might suffer because of my failed ink, because I’d jumped to conclusions. Miss Stranje was right. Impulsive. Tess was right. Hasty.

  One face, above all those nameless others, haunted me, one whose features I knew by heart. The thought of Sebastian locked away in a dungeon, or dying in the ghastly way Tess described, set me to pleading even harder for a reprieve. Please, God, if you’re there, spare them.

  “What are you thinking about?” Jane wiped out the pot so I could start a fresh batch of invisible ink.

  “My mistakes.” I stirred the gall emulsion.

  “Don’t you wish there was a way to turn back time? There are so many things I wish I could go back and do differently.”

  “You?” I turned down the heat on the burner. “But you always seem to know the exact right thing to do.”

  She shook her head. “Not always, or I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

  “What could you possibly have ever done wrong?” I poured the solution into a cooling vessel.

  “Everyone makes mistakes,” she said pensively.

  I handed her the spoon. “But if you could go back in time, what would you wish to do differently?”

  She shrugged. “Bragging cost me everything. If I could turn the clocks back, I would keep my successes to myself.”

  I checked on the papers in the windowsill, holding each of the notes up to the light, inspecting them for any telltale signs of the invisible writing. I didn’t understand Jane wanting to hide her successes. It was my failures I desperately wished to escape. “Whyever would you want to hide your accomplishments?”

  She stirred the emulsion, cooling it down. “My parents were killed in a coaching accident,” she explained. “They left us with a nearly worthless estate. My older brothers, gamblers, the pair of them, had no use for our ancestral home apart from the meager allowance it provided. They abandoned me, left me with a handful of servants to get along as best I could.” She shrugged. “So, that’s exactly what I did.”

  Her chin jutted up and excitement elevated her voice. “Thomas Coke’s farm is situated near my family estate. His ideas on animal husbandry were the talk of the neighborhood. I listened closely to what he said, asked questions, and convinced our steward to implement his new methods. It worked. Our farm flourished. By the second year, the estate income doubled.”

  Pieces of the puzzle began to fit. “Is that why you consult with Miss Stranje’s steward? You’re advising him?” I hunted through the cupboards and found a dozen small vials to hold the new ink.

  “He’s Captain Grey’s steward, but, yes. We’ve made significant improvements here in less than a year.”

  Truly amazed, I plunked the bottles on the table. “That’s remarkable. Surely you don’t regret any of that?”

  “What I regret, is having told anyone. You see, I invested the extra capital from the estate and tripled our gain. It turns out I have a passable ability to manage finances.”

  “Tripled it? More than passable, I should think.” I checked the dampened note. It had finally dried and still showed no signs of the invisible writing. Success.

  “If only I’d kept that news to myself, things would have gone along famously.” Jane glanced at the evening sky darkening outside our window. “We have to hurry.” She fanned the developing solution to make it cool faster.

  I thought of my two older brothers. Sadly, they were nothing like Robbie. They cared only for trifling with ballet dancers, parading about town like peacocks, and gambling at White’s. Easy to guess what would happen without my father’s reins on their pocketbooks.

  “You told your brothers?” Poor Jane. I glanced up from preparing the bottles, holding my breath, dreading her answer.

  “Yes. I thrust my success under their noses. Scolded them for their excesses. Tightened the purse strings. I badgered them about wasting their lives and squandering money on cards and light-skirts.” Jane handed me a funnel. “How stupid I was to think they would listen to me, their little sister.” Her lips clamped into a hard-buttoned line.

  “They sent you away, here, so they could plunder the estate, didn’t they?” My hand trembled as I poured invisible ink into the dozen small vials.

  “It’ll be all right, Georgie.” Jane steadied the funnel for me. “I should’ve anticipated it. I knew what they were. If only I’d kept my foolish mouth shut.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “No one could’ve predicted such deceitful and irrational behavior.” I pressed corks into each of the bottles.

  “That’s just it, I could’ve. Pride blinded me. I was so certain they’d be impressed. So certain of their gratitude. So certain they would listen to me.” She smiled mirthlessly. “Undoubtedly, by now my dear brothers have run through their funds and bankrupted the estate. Any day, I expect Miss Stranje to tell me there is no more money arriving to pay for my education.”

  I packed the vials into a small box, and cushioned them with cotton wadding. “At least when that happens, you will get to go home.”

  “That is the last thing I wish to do.” She stepped back and stared at me as if I’d run mad to even suggest such a thing.

  I blinked and clutched the table with both hands, hanging on for balance. With a shock, I understood. I no longer had a desire to return home, either.

  Seventeen

  THE CASSANDRA COMPLEXITY

  “Jane!” Sera burst into the stillroom. “Tess says to run straightway and find a ball gown that’ll fit Georgie.” Pausing to catch her breath, Sera turned to me and thrust a flour sack into my hands. “Here, I wheedled this out of Cook. It’s food for your journey. Cheese, apples, and sliced chicken.”

  “Thank you.” I set the bag on the table. “However did you get anything more than a crumpet out of that terrifying woman?”

  “Cook isn’t so bad.”

  I knew better.

  “Sit.” Sera pointed to a chair. “I’m supposed to fix your hair.”

  “There isn’t time for that nonsense,” I said.

  “It’s a ball. They won’t let you in the door looking like this.”

  She was right. “Very well, but hurry.” I dropped onto the chair.

  Maya scurried in, her arms laden with brushes and combs, ribbons, a mirror, and her miraculous pomade. They set to work, weaving, plastering, and binding my troublesome locks into a splendid Grecian coiffure. They were sticking the final pins into place when Jane returned carrying a satchel.

  “My best gown.” She opened the top so I could see a tuft of green silk embroidered with beautiful white scrollwork.

  I stood up ready to go. Grateful for their help, I spoke without thinking, “Thank you. You’ve made me feel like Cinderella.” Except she hadn’t put thousands of lives in d
anger.

  “This is no fairy tale.” Jane closed the bag and frowned. “It’s more like you’re Cassandra running to warn the Trojans about the big wooden horse full of soldiers who plan to burn the city.” She pressed the bag into my hand. “Let us hope you have better luck than she did.”

  I needed more than luck. I caught the corner of my lip. Too much hung in the balance.

  Sebastian’s life.

  Our homeland.

  Tess’s prophesy led me to suspect Napoleon might yet find a way to proceed with his plans to attack England. Although, banished to Elba, we ought not underestimate the Emperor Napoleon’s reach. As Father put it, the man didn’t know when to give up. I couldn’t help but picture my family estate taking cannon fire, and Stranje House under siege. My knees suddenly felt like boiled leeks.

  “This way.” Sera hastened me out the side door. She pointed to a coach waiting at the far end of the drive. I’d expected a horse. In fact, I’d expected to see Tess astride Zeus. The idea of hanging on behind her while we galloped that huge stallion all the way to London had been daunting.

  I ran down the drive and the coach door swung open. Lord Ravencross, a very angry-looking Lord Ravencross, sat across from Tess inside the coach. Despite his scowl he looked remarkably handsome in his dress uniform. “Get in,” he barked, offering me a hand without lowering the steps.

  I clambered up, attempted to dodge his knees, bumped first the door and then his bad leg, as I lugged in Jane’s satchel, my reticule carrying the ink vials, and the bag of food. Finally, I settled next to Tess. Neither of them greeted me. Tess leaned against the far corner with her face turned away from both of us. Lord Ravencross yanked the door shut and rapped on the roof. The coachman sprang the horses.

  “I thought we were going on horseback?” I asked.

  They said nothing in response. They did, however, exchange venomous glances at each other before turning to stare out of opposite windows like two brooding children.