by Laura Beers
“A deserter?” Marie asked, turning her gaze towards him. “That was rather risky, no?”
“It was, but I was tired of fighting wars for a tyrant of a king who cares nothing for me,” Baldwin spat out.
Marie took a step closer to him, her eyes sparking with distrust. “Have you ever driven a wagon with a bomb strapped to the back of it before?”
“I can’t say that I have,” Baldwin admitted honestly.
“If you make one wrong move, then you will be blown up,” Marie warned, snapping her fingers. “Are you prepared to die for the cause, Baldwin?”
“I am.”
Marie nodded approvingly. “I am pleased to hear that, because this mission could very well be your last.”
Baldwin straightened himself up to his full height and declared, “I am prepared to do whatever I need to for the revolution to begin.”
“That is good,” Marie replied.
Morton walked over and pulled out a chair from one of the tables. “Take a seat, Baldwin,” he said. “We have much to discuss.”
As soon as Baldwin was situated, Morton stepped back into the center of the room and declared, “It was announced that Lord Desmond is going to have a rally to support his bill tomorrow.” He started pacing. “This will be our first target.”
Marie gestured towards him and revealed, “Baldwin will drive the team as close as he can to the stage. When the wagon is situated, he will light the fuse and run to safety.”
“How long is the fuse?” Baldwin asked.
“It is a slow match, so you shouldn’t need to fear unless you are dawdling.”
Frowning, Baldwin said, “The rally will be packed. Won’t we have mass casualties with the bomb?”
Marie looked at him like he was a simpleton. “That is the point.”
“I thought it was to assassinate Lord Desmond, not kill innocent people,” Baldwin declared, his eyes darting towards the other conspirators.
“These people are not innocent,” Morton interjected. “They are feeding into Lord Desmond’s lies.”
“But to kill them?” Baldwin questioned.
Marie shrugged, unconcerned. “It will be a quick death for most of them,” she shared. “I have spent the last few years perfecting my father’s machine infernale.”
Tom spoke up. “What exactly is a machine infernale?”
“It is an explosive device in a barrel bound with iron hoops and filled with gunpowder, flammable materials, metal shards, and bullets,” Marie replied. “Basically, it is a bomb of epic proportions.”
Morton turned towards Marie and suggested, “Perhaps you should tell them about your father so they can understand your passion for this mission.”
Marie tipped her head and obliged. “My father, François-Joseph Carbon, was a royalist who fought to restore the French monarchy. He hated Napoleon and vowed to see him dead. He almost succeeded with the machine infernale. It was planted along the route that Napoleon intended to take on his way to the opera, but it was detonated too late and too far away from Napoleon’s carriage.”
Baldwin glanced at Morton before saying, “Your father was a royalist. Aren’t you in favor of the British monarchy?”
“I am in favor of the French monarchy. I have no loyalty towards the British Crown,” Marie replied.
“Napoleon is exiled, and the French monarchy has been restored,” Baldwin pointed out. “Why do you hold such animosity for the British?”
Marie’s eyes grew hard. “After the failed assassination attempt, my father planned to flee Paris, and he turned for help from the British agents who had helped him devise the plan against Napoleon. But they had abandoned him, and he was captured. They left him to die.”
Walking closer to him, Marie cocked her head and asked, “Do you know what it is like to be betrayed, Baldwin?”
“I do not,” he replied.
“These British agents promised him their protection, but they turned on him,” Marie said, stopping in front of him. “Instead, my father was savagely executed in front of Napoleon, the man he hated the most.” She ran a finger down his cheek. “Was that fair of them?”
Keeping his face expressionless, Baldwin replied, “No, it was not.”
Marie’s eyes narrowed. “If my father had been successful, then the English would have branded him a hero. Instead, they abandoned him when he failed,” she growled. “My father’s death will not be in vain. The British will pay for what they did.”
Morton spoke up from behind Marie. “After Lord Desmond is killed, we will move forward with our plans and assassinate Lord Liverpool and Lord Sidmouth,” he declared. “The people will start to rally after Lord Desmond’s death, and the revolution will begin.”
“If everything goes according to our plan, we will continue assassinating one government leader each week until we are free of their oppressive rule,” Morton explained.
Marie remained rooted in place as her eyes searched Baldwin’s face. “I am not entirely sure about this one,” she said. “He doesn’t seem like he shares our same passion.”
Morton came to stand next to her. “I can vouch for Baldwin.”
“I should hope so,” Marie said, turning away from him. “We both know what is at stake.”
Baldwin shifted in his seat. “How will we get a cart with an explosive close enough to Liverpool and Sidmouth?” he asked.
“We aren’t going to kill them that way,” Marie replied, a wry smile on her lips. “Oh, no. We intend to blow up their carriages with bombs on their undercarriage.”
“That is clever,” Tom declared.
Marie walked back towards the center of the room. “Besides, I only have enough gunpowder to make one machine infernale,” she shared. “I have made the smaller bombs for the carriages.”
Morton bobbed his head in approval. “We will all need to reconvene here tomorrow.” He turned his attention towards Baldwin. “You will need to be cautious as you lead the team towards Lord Desmond’s rally. Avoid any dips in the roads. We would hate for the bomb to go off unintentionally.”
Baldwin scoffed. “Taking me with it.”
“Exactly,” Morton replied.
“The bomb will be inside of a big wine cask, and I will fill it full of gunpowder before the rally,” Marie informed them. “Any questions?”
Baldwin rose from his chair and said, “It would appear that I am the only one that could be arrested in this scenario.”
“Not if you stick to the plan,” Morton asserted. “You light the slow match and get out of there. Once the explosion happens, no one will be paying you any real heed.”
“What if I can’t get the wagon close enough to the stage?” Baldwin asked.
Marie shrugged. “Get as close as you can. The bomb will do the rest.”
“Can’t we just leave the wagon next to the stage overnight?” Tom asked.
Morton shook his head. “No, the constables would find it when they do a sweep of the square,” he replied. “They also check under the stage for any explosives.”
Baldwin lifted his brow. “If the intent is just to kill Lord Desmond, why don’t I sneak into his townhouse and stab him through the heart?”
“No, that wouldn’t work,” Morton said. “We are trying to start a revolution, and we need something to ignite a flame under the people.”
Marie clapped her hands together. “Are there any other questions?”
“Where are the powder kegs being stored?” Baldwin asked. “I don’t want to risk the gunpowder being bad and delaying the ignition.”
“I can assure you that it is being stored in a safe, dry place,” Marie replied.
“That is good,” Baldwin said.
Marie tipped her head. “Then let’s adjourn, and we will meet tomorrow.” She put her clenched fist up in the air. “To the revolution!”
“To the revolution!” everyone else said in unison.
Chapter Sixteen
“Are you positive you would like to do this now?” Mrs. Foster
asked, glancing over at her in concern.
Madalene remained rooted in her spot as she stared up at the orphanage. “Edith did not kill herself, and I need to prove it.”
“How do you intend to do that?”
“I don’t rightly know, but I presume we should start at the last place where she was seen alive,” Madalene replied.
“I still contend this is a bad idea,” Mrs. Foster said as she placed a hand on her sleeve. “Why don’t we return to your townhouse, and I will pour you a nice cup of tea?”
“No, I can’t just sit by and do nothing while Edith is buried in such a disgraceful manner.”
Mrs. Foster dropped her hand and remarked, “I find that commendable, but it is much too soon. You haven’t even had time to start grieving yet.”
“I will.”
“Why does it matter so much to you how Edith is buried?” Mrs. Foster asked curiously.
Madalene pressed her lips together. “It just does,” she replied. “It matters greatly to me.”
Mrs. Foster sighed. “Then it matters greatly to me, as well.”
“Thank you,” Madalene said as she approached the door to the orphanage and knocked.
It was a long moment before the door was opened, and Mrs. Kipper’s eyes grew wide at the sight of them.
“Good heavens,” Mrs. Kipper declared, opening the door wide. “I apologize for taking so long to answer the door, but I hadn’t realized you would be visiting us today.”
“No harm done,” Madalene remarked as she stepped into the entry hall. “How are you faring?”
“Not well,” Mrs. Kipper admitted.
Madalene gave her a sad smile. “I assumed as much,” she replied. “How are the girls handling the news about Edith?”
Tears came to Mrs. Kipper’s eyes as she admitted, “There have been many tears since we heard the news this morning from Mr. Walker.”
“I can only imagine,” Madalene said.
“But Miss Gaillard has been wonderful with the girls,” Mrs. Kipper shared. “She truly has been a godsend during these terrible times.”
“I am happy to hear that.”
Mrs. Kipper stepped closer and lowered her voice. “We informed the girls that Miss Hardy had drowned, because we didn’t want to tell the girls what truly happened.”
Madalene nodded approvingly. “I think that is wise.”
Swiping at the tears in her eyes, Mrs. Kipper said, “I had no idea that Miss Hardy had the capacity to hurt herself. It is such a vulgar thing to do to oneself.”
“I am of the mindset that she didn’t kill herself,” Madalene expressed.
“But the coroner said—”
Madalene spoke over her. “The coroner could be wrong, especially since the constable originally reported her as being abducted.”
Mrs. Kipper gave her a look filled with pity. “I see,” she murmured. “Well, I certainly hope that you are right about that.”
“We were hoping to take a look in her room and see if we can find anything that might help us prove what happened to her,” Madalene shared.
Mrs. Kipper tipped her head. “Of course,” she replied. “If you will follow me, Miss Hardy’s room was on the second level.”
They followed the housekeeper up the stairs as Mrs. Foster asked, “Has Miss Hardy’s room been touched since the constable was here?”
“It has not,” Mrs. Kipper replied.
“That is good,” Mrs. Foster acknowledged.
Speaking over her shoulder, Mrs. Kipper said, “I’m not sure what you will find considering the constable already did a thorough search of her room, but I wish you luck.”
As they came to a stop in front of a door, Mrs. Kipper pulled a key out from the pocket of her apron and unlocked it. She pushed the door open and stood to the side to grant them entry.
“Look at this mess!” Mrs. Foster exclaimed as they stepped into Edith’s room.
Madalene’s eyes scanned the room. Clothes had been thrown haphazardly on the floor, the dressing table chair was tipped onto its side, and the drawers on the wardrobe were left open.
“I still contend that something terrible happened here,” Madalene murmured as she started picking up the gowns and draping them over her arm.
“How do you know that Miss Hardy did not live this way?” Mrs. Foster asked.
Madalene placed the gowns on the bed and said, “I lived with her at boarding school, and her area was always neat and orderly.”
“People change,” Mrs. Foster contended.
“Not that much.”
Mrs. Kipper spoke up from the doorway. “I must agree with Miss Dowding. Miss Hardy’s room was always tidy.”
Walking over to the chair, Madalene picked it up and placed it next to the dressing table. Then, she placed her reticule on the table. “I just refuse to believe that Edith left here of her own accord. It is just ludicrous to think that she purposefully left her room in such shambles.”
While Mrs. Foster and Mrs. Kipper cleaned up Edith’s room, Madalene searched the dressing table, looking for anything out of the ordinary. But she found nothing.
Her eyes scanned the room, hoping she could find a place that Edith may have been hiding something. But, again, she couldn’t find anything.
What about under the mattress, she thought. That would be a perfect place to hide something that you wouldn’t want anyone to see.
Walking swiftly, she approached Edith’s bed and lifted up the mattress. Only to find nothing. Madalene let out a sigh as she dropped the mattress back down onto the frame. There was nothing in this room that would vindicate Edith.
Mrs. Foster walked up to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Perhaps I should go down and prepare some tea for us.”
Madalene gave her a weak smile. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I would like that.”
“Then I shall see to it,” Mrs. Foster said before she departed from the room.
Walking over to the window, Madalene looked out onto the courtyard. A small brick outbuilding was along the far wall and a wagon with a covered load was positioned next to it.
“When did the orphanage acquire a wagon?” Madalene asked.
Mrs. Kipper came to stand next to her. “It belongs to Miss Gaillard. It arrived the day after Miss Hardy disappeared,” she informed her. “Mr. Walker gave her permission to store the wagon in the courtyard.”
“I see,” Madalene replied. “Do you know what is in the back of the wagon?”
“Furniture and whatnot,” Mrs. Kipper replied. “Her cousin passed away recently, and she inherited some pieces.”
“Miss Gaillard hadn’t mentioned that to me.”
“I am sure it just slipped her mind.”
As the housekeeper was speaking, Miss Gaillard stepped out from the outbuilding and closed the door behind her.
“Why was Miss Gaillard in the outbuilding?” Madalene asked as she watched the French teacher walk across the courtyard.
“Miss Gaillard expressed an interest in transforming the outbuilding into a living space for herself, and Mr. Walker granted her permission,” Mrs. Kipper explained. “Poor Miss Gaillard spends hours nearly every day in that outbuilding. I have even seen her working in there at night.”
“Is the outbuilding habitable?”
Mrs. Kipper looked at her with a curious expression. “Mr. Walker toured it with Miss Gaillard and deemed that it was. Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” Madalene replied. “I’m afraid I haven’t given the outbuilding much thought.”
“Neither have I, but I think it is admirable what Miss Gaillard is attempting to do.”
“I would agree.”
Mrs. Kipper took a step back. “Now, if you will excuse me,” she said, “I need to see to the girls before they resume their lessons.”
“Of course,” Madalene replied, her eyes remaining on the outbuilding and wagon.
Something didn’t feel right about Miss Gaillard using the outbuilding and storing a wagon in the courtyar
d. After all, she had no doubt that Edith would never have granted her permission to do either, especially since the courtyard was the only place the girls could safely play outside.
She needed to see what Miss Gaillard was up to.
With her decision made, Madalene hurried out of Edith’s room and down the stairs. She didn’t slow down until she exited the rear door and started crossing the courtyard. She approached the wagon, which was covered with a thick sheet securely tied down over the load. There was no way to peek under the sheet without loosening the rope.
Drat.
Turning her attention towards the outbuilding, she approached the door. She didn’t even hesitate as she opened it and stepped inside. It was a one room structure with a table in the middle. Crates lined the walls, making it nearly impossible to walk around the table.
On the ground in front of the table were four barrels that were secured by rope. She stepped closer to the table and saw piles of bullets, metal shards and a white substance that appeared to be flour.
The door opened, and Miss Gaillard stepped into the building. She closed the door, a sneer on her thin lips.
“I see you found what I have been working on for the past few days,” Miss Gaillard said in a tone that was anything but pleasant.
Madalene met her gaze. “What exactly are you working on?”
“You are clever, girl,” Miss Gaillard said. “What do you think I am doing?”
Madalene’s eyes scanned the barrels as she replied, “These barrels must have gunpowder in them, since they are tied by rope and not metal in order to avoid sparks.”
“That would be correct.”
“And the bullets and metal shards lead me to believe you are building a bomb,” Madalene rationalized.
“But not the flour?” Miss Gaillard asked.
Madalene gave her a baffled look. “I am not entirely sure what the flour is for.”
“Flour is extremely flammable, given the right circumstances,” Miss Gaillard explained. “Also, orange peels are flammable, as well. But it is rather difficult to acquire enough oranges right now to do the job justice.”
“I had not realized.”
“I am not surprised, but my father knew,” Miss Gaillard said. “He always knew exactly what was needed to make the perfect bomb.”
