Miss Stranje smiled broadly. I’d never before seen her adopt so friendly an expression. I confess it frightened me more than her hawk face. “Bonjour, monsieur.” Although I would guess Miss Stranje could speak perfect French if needed, she used stilted syllables to laboriously pronounce, “C’est un bel phare.” What a beautiful lighthouse.
“Ahh,” he said, with an air of superiority. “You are the English, yes?”
“Oui. How clever you are. And what a magnificent tower.”
“Of course.” He glanced over his shoulder at the building as if he’d never before noticed its magnificence. “But you cannot be here, mademoiselle. You must go.”
“Oh, no,” she whined, sounding so mournful I thought she might burst into tears. She ushered us forward. “My girls and I have come so very far in the hope of seeing this marvelous sight. Your fine city must look spectacular from up there.” We all nodded vigorously. She pointed up at the balcony around the lantern.
“Spectaculaire. Yes, of course, but…” While he looked up to where she pointed, she reached in her reticule and pulled out a gleaming silver shilling. His attention snapped to the coin as it caught the light.
“What harm can there be if you let us in?” she purred. “Please. S’il vous plaît, monsieur.”
He stared hungrily at the shilling.
“Is the lightkeeper inside?” she asked.
“Non. No. Not until evening. But the stair, it is very … uh…” He gestured to indicate a severe angle. “How do you say, élevé.”
“Steep.”
“Yes. Steep.” He snatched the coin. “You must be careful.” He opened the door with a key that hung around his neck.
The way was, indeed, steep, eight stories of narrow steps spiraling up to the first observation platform. We decided to forego the even narrower stairs that led to the lamp room itself. The view was incredible, dizzying. Gusts of wind slapped our skirts against our legs and threatened to blow off our bonnets, but we could clearly see the villa from where we stood on the balcony. Miss Stranje made a point of waving to the soldier who was craning his neck to see if we had made it. As soon as he waved back and returned to his post, she pulled out her spyglass and handed it to Sera.
Sera trained it on the stronghold. “Third-story window in the middle. Do you see it? It is the only one with the curtains drawn.” Sera lowered the telescope and pulled a strand of hair out of her eyes. “That must be where they’re keeping him.”
Jane nodded. “Makes sense. There are no dungeons or cellars below ground in this area. The water table is too high.”
Sera continued her analysis of the stronghold. “There doesn’t seem to be a guard stationed inside the courtyard, only the two men positioned outside along the wall on either side of the gate.”
Miss Stranje quizzed her. “When we were observing Maya, you spotted the man watching from the café across the way, didn’t you?”
“Green cap, gray coat, beard.” Sera continued to studying the Order stronghold through the spyglass.
Jane spoke up, “I noticed him, too”
“A second man stood too long outside the watchmaker’s shop across from the north corner of the house. Black felt hat, brown coat with a tear on his right elbow, a knife sheath on his belt. I suspect there may have been a third man, south, nearer to Georgie and Tess. But I couldn’t see from our position.”
Miss Stranje. “Tess?”
“I’m not good at this,” Tess grumbled, and then shrugged. “There might have been two. Was it the fellow preaching against Louis the XVIII? Or the gentleman in the top hat standing off to the side studying the pamphlet far too diligently.”
“Both I expect.” Miss Stranje motioned for the telescope.
Sera handed it to her. “Take a look at the back street. There’s no access to the house but I think it would be our best escape route.”
I stared at the window where Sera said they were holding Sebastian. So close, and yet it was impossible to reach him. I gripped the railing wishing I was squeezing Daneska’s neck. From where we stood, I could see into the courtyard with its idyllic fountain and rustic gardens. It all looked so unbearably tranquil. “If only I had my Da Vinci wings, I could fly into that courtyard at night and—”
“Do you think you would be able to guide those wings of yours any better than you did on your first try?” Miss Stranje sounded deadly serious. I didn’t know whether she was scolding me, or if she actually considered the wings a viable idea.
I took a hard look over the railing, and swallowed even though my mouth had suddenly gone dry. “Yes,” I answered warily. “I think so. With some minor modifications.”
She waited for more explanation.
“The problem was I hadn’t expected the kite to carry me as far as it did. Nor as fast. It flew me into our tree before I could steer out of the way. There’s no obstruction between this tower and the house.”
“But could you steer it well enough to glide directly into the courtyard?”
I swallowed and looked at Sebastian’s window, afraid to even imagine what he must be enduring behind those closed curtains. “Yes,” I said, clenching my teeth.
Tess grabbed my shoulder and turned me toward her. “Will it hold two people? Because you can’t go alone. If there’s a fight, what would you do without me?”
Tess was the tallest of us. It would require more wingspan. I hedged, “It might hold two. Depending upon—”
Miss Stranje stopped me, and gently pulled Tess away. “If it comes down to a fight, the household will be aroused and our battle lost before its begun.” She took the spyglass from Tess and returned it to her reticule. “If this plan is to succeed, we must use stealth and distraction. It is Lady Jane who must accompany our kite flyer. I’m certain there will be several locks to pick.”
Stealth and distraction. Two traits with which I had no experience. “Distraction?”
“Yes. For instance, if I wish to pick your pocket I might hold up a map, like so.” Miss Stranje pretended to raise a map in front of my face and pointed to it. “Thus, I might say, please, miss, can you tell me where the grand watchtower is. I’m so frightfully lost.”
I grasped her concept and nodded.
“And while you are looking here. I will have reached into your reticule or pocket…” She gave me a tap from inside my cloak pocket. Until that moment, I hadn’t felt her hand at all.
“And snatched your timepiece.” I proudly held up her watch, having removed it during the lesson.
Surprise whisked across her features, but quickly vanished behind her hawk mask. “Hmm, I suppose there’s hope for you yet, Miss Fitzwilliam.”
No huzzah. No well done. She snatched her watch from me and said curtly, “What materials will we need to make these wings of yours? And how long will it take to construct them?”
“Tightly woven silk. Something for lightweight crossbeams. Baleen would be ideal.” I paused and estimated the time to sew and put it together. “Even with extra hands to help cut and stitch the silk to the support pieces, several hours.”
“We should have no trouble procuring baleen in a seaport, and—”
“You’re certain this will work?” Jane interrupted our headmistress. She stared over the railing. “There’s no surviving a drop like that.”
Death.
Did I dare risk her life, too? I followed her gaze to the ground so very far beneath us. My throat tightened and I couldn’t answer.
Miss Stranje patted Jane’s hand. “Look up, my dear. Up to the birds soaring through the air. Dwell upon the adventure of it, Lady Jane. Flying. I envy you.” She consulted her timepiece before returning it to her pocket with a securing pat. “But now, we must purchase our supplies and head back to the Blue Lion to report to Captain Grey. And then, I’m afraid, it is time for Georgiana to carry a note to Daneska.”
I took a deep breath. The hardest part of my task would be not borrowing Tess’s knife and trying out my throwing skills when we saw Daneska.
> We climbed down the tower. After a substantial amount of gushing gratitude, frivolous waving, fluttered eyelashes, we curtseyed and bid the guard adieu. With a puffed up chest he resumed his post looking a great deal more officious than he had upon our arrival.
On the walk home Miss Stranje stopped on Rue de Marché and handed Jane several coins, directing the three girls to go and procure several lengthy strips of baleen from the marketplace. The two of us stopped into a silk merchant’s shop. My French was good enough to understand that she had instructed the clerk to bring us light blue silk. Hadn’t she just lectured me on stealth?
“We need black,” I whispered. “It will be night.”
With a brisk wave of her hand, she sent the clerk off for the silk. “If you were Lady Daneska, what time of day would you anticipate”—she glanced about the shop to make certain no one was listening—“visitors?” she said cryptically.
My shoulders drooped, knowing the answer. “Night,” I mumbled.
“Accordingly, they will increase their sentries at that time, will they not?”
“Then when?”
“We have only one window of opportunity.” She pressed her index finger against the counter indicating a flight arcing from the lighthouse to the stronghold. “If they are indeed plotting to … greet the king as we expect they are, the fewest amount of people will be inside the villa during his arrival. Don’t you agree?”
It made sense. “But during the day…” In plain sight. How would we not be seen? Just thinking about it made my empty stomach curl up behind my liver.
As if reading my mind, she said, “You mustn’t worry. No one ever looks up. Aside from that, the distance between the lighthouse and the villa is fairly short. You said yourself your first kite flew much faster than you’d expected.”
The breath I’d been holding escaped in a noisy whoosh. There was no other way. It would have to work.
“I suggest you trust me with the particulars and bend your mind to figuring out how to maneuver this contraption.”
The clerk came back with two bolts of silk. One a lovely light-blue gray, and the other a softer watered blue. Miss Stranje proceeded to bargain with the clerk in impeccable French. They wrangled loudly over price, but in the end he acquiesced and we came away with a bolt of watered silk that nearly matched the sky above.
“Why did you dicker so fiercely over the price?” I asked as we walked back to the inn. “Weren’t you concerned about drawing attention to our purchase?”
“Ah. Yes. That is precisely why I did it. In France, it is the custom to negotiate vigorously. If the clerk made a fool of me, he would be more likely to brag about it and discuss our purchase in the local tavern. Whereas now, his chagrin at having been bested will ensure he keeps his mouth shut.”
At the Blue Lion, Captain Grey told us that King Louis the XVIII was already in Dover. He would set sail and arrive in Calais early in the afternoon tomorrow. For the last six years England had granted asylum and protected the exiled French king. Now, with Napoleon imprisoned on Elba, King Louis the XVIII’s exile was over. He would return to France tomorrow and reclaim his throne.
Captain Grey planned to place what few men he had at strategic positions along the route. Later that day, he and Mr. Digby had an audience with the Lord Mayor. They hoped to convince him to minimize the celebration and place soldiers along the route. Or at least, abandon his plan to memorialize the occasion by having an imprint made of King Louis’s first footsteps back on French soil. It would be impossible to protect the monarch in a setting of that sort, with tiered seating for spectators, with bunting and draperies on the platform obscuring a possible assassin.
“It’s a nightmare. There will be procession through the streets with musicians and fanfare.” Captain Grey’s slung his kit over a chair. “Anything could happen. But I doubt he’ll give it up.”
Over a light meal of soup and bread, we confided our rescue plan. Captain Grey leaned on his elbow and massaged his temple, which I’d come to recognize as a symptom of his distress. “Are you certain these Da Vinci wings will actually carry you?”
“They did in the past.”
“And if you make it inside, how do you plan to get out?”
Miss Stranje answered for me. “Distraction.”
He did not look relieved.
I spooned down some of the broth and tried to sop it with a few bites of bread, but everything turned to prickly stones in my stomach. I gave up and set down my spoon. It was time to face Daneska. We composed a letter and set out for the Iron Crown stronghold.
Captain Grey and Mr. Digby escorted me. We crossed a small bridge over the canal and walked down Rue de Madrid toward the Order’s chateau. So that I would be readily recognized, I wore my hair out waving like a red flag of surrender. I carried a carefully worded note, promising the formula, but demanding that Lady Daneska must first prove to my satisfaction that Sebastian was alive and well.
We approached the gates of the Iron Crown stronghold cautiously. Unlike the soldier manning the lighthouse, these guards took their task seriously. They moved from their positions against the wall and with muskets in hand, they blocked our entry to the gate. They looked straight over my head and addressed the captain, “Que voulez-vous ici? What do you want, monsieur?”
I marched forward and thrust the sealed letter at the one who’d done the talking. “I have an important note for Lady Daneska, la comtesse Valdikauf. Urgent. Comprenez-vous?” My hand shook as I held it out to him.
He snorted, and looked down his nose at me as if I was no more than a street urchin begging for sous, but he finally took it. “Pender du recul. Step back!”
His companion pushed us into the street with his musket. The man with my letter hurried through the gate and locked it.
We stood there peering through the bars. Waiting. At the far end of the courtyard, Maya sat on a bench near a service door, plucking chickens. She was careful not to look directly at us.
Sebastian was only a few meters away. Any minute I might see him. I fought to keep my hands still and at my sides, so they wouldn’t betray my anxiety. When Daneska came out to us, I wanted to appear competent and earnest, not worried and panicked. I glimpsed movement in an upper window overlooking the courtyard. It had to be her. She would be gauging my demeanor, noting who accompanied me, taking her time, making me wait, showing me she had all the control of this situation.
I took a deep breath and stood as tall and confidently as I could. In the end, Daneska did not trouble herself to come out. The guard returned with my note. I did not wait for privacy. I opened it right then and read the words she had scrawled across the bottom. I clenched my teeth and glared at the window where I knew she was watching and chuckling.
BRING YOUR RECIPE AND COME BACK TONIGHT AT SIX.
Six o’clock. With that faint promise, we returned to the inn. I didn’t know how I could bear the hours until we would see him. Every plodding minute stretched forever in front of me. I stared listlessly at the sketch of the new Da Vinci wings. My mind felt like useless sludge.
“Stop dawdling.” Miss Stranje rapped my boggy head with her knuckles. “We can’t begin cutting the silk until you finish the design. Do you intend to let fear and worry drown you? Are you going to leave him there to die?”
“No,” I gasped.
“Then breathe.” She poked me in the back, making me sit up straighter. “And get on with it.”
Vowing to salvage each lost second, I went to work with renewed intensity. Drawing each line with increased hope. Inking away my anxiety with each measurement. As I envisioned how to make the steering mechanism work, my confidence grew. We would get him out.
Jane and I made miniature versions of different wing styles out of parchment and tested them. I’d never before met anyone as good at mathematics as I am. Together we calculated the angle of descent, and designed a simple sling to carry two people instead of one.
We laid out the silk and cut it according to my measuremen
ts. Sera, Jane, and Miss Stranje went to work stitching, while Tess and I measured and cut the baleen. I had just finished marking for another cut when the clock chimed five-thirty.
Captain Grey appeared in the doorway. “Time to go.”
Twenty-three
TROUBLING DISTRACTIONS
The streets were nearly deserted at that hour. Shops had closed. The working poor had already finished their meager meal. The rich were indoors, dressing for evening, while their servants were busy preparing sumptuous dinners to be eaten late. The air smelled of onion soup, potatoes, and roasting meat. Talk drifted from the houses. Laughter rumbled from the taverns. But the three of us walked in worried silence until the white walls of the Iron Crown stronghold loomed before us.
Captain Grey pressed a steadying hand on my shoulder. “Don’t give in too easily. She’ll suspect something if you do.”
I clutched the formula in my pocket. The wrong formula. The one that would develop on its own in twelve hours. It would look right at first, and that might buy us time. The men in the Order of the Iron Crown wanted more from him than this formula, at the very least they would want the names of Sebastian’s men and where they were posted. We reasoned that Daneska and her cohorts would keep him alive long enough to make certain she got an ink from me that worked. Hopefully, we would have him out tomorrow before they discovered that this one didn’t.
The guard, who had been so rude to me earlier that morning, came forward and spoke to us in passable English. “Halt there. Wait.”
“Reculer,” the other man barked at Captain Grey and Mr. Digby. We backed up some but not much. Captain Grey stood directly behind me.
I waited, but my heart thrashed like a hooked fish and threatened to leap into my throat and suffocate me. I saw Maya sitting across the courtyard, shelling peas beside the cook. I wished I could hear her calming voice, but the guard noticed me staring in their direction and shouted for them to go inside. They scurried through the servant’s door, but not before Maya subtly indicated the side of the villa where they were holding Sebastian. She glanced up as if looking at the exact room. Which meant Sera was right; they were holding him on the third floor.
A School for Unusual Girls Page 26
