Either way, there are unavoidable complications. “What makes you think you can trust me?”
“Because, ma chérie, you want to go home more than anything in the world. Isn’t that so?”
I bow my head, hating that she is able to hold me hostage with my own desires. My inner turmoil is chattering so loud in my head that I fail to hear Sera approaching.
“Maya? Is that you?” The fear in her voice is not lost on Daneska. Sera’s candle is a hesitant yellow orb lighting the hallway outside the bedroom.
I start to call out a warning, but Daneska clamps her hand over my mouth and holds the point of her knife to my heart. As soon as Sera turns into the room, Daneska lets go of me and springs at Sera snaring her into a hold with the dagger gleaming across her throat.
Startled, Sera yelps and drops the candle onto the Turkish carpet. Daneska slaps her hand over Sera’s mouth, muffling the scream.
“Fire,” I shout, even though I am stamping out the small spark that had ignited. “Fire!” Surely, a cry of fire will rouse the others from their beds.
“Hush!” Daneska glares at me. “Quiet! Or I slice the mouse open!” She grips Sera so tight they are both trembling— Sera with fear and Daneska with fury. “Say you’ll do it.”
It’s not my silence she is demanding. She wants to know if I will betray England.
“Agree!” She snarls at me and the blade in her hand quivers.
I nod, agreeing to her scheme. “You needn’t hurt her. I will do as you ask.”
“If you cross me, I swear I will come back and kill her first. I will, you know. I will kill you, too, but first I’ll cut her open and make you watch her blood drain out. I’ll start with her because you like her best. Jane will be next.” She lowers the knife an inch. Enough that Sera takes a gasping breath. “You shouldn’t play favorites, Maya, little Princess.”
She calls me Princess to mock me, but also to remind me of who I am—who I was—who I could be again if I help Napoleon succeed.
There’s a clatter on the stairs. Someone heard my cry of fire. Daneska shoves Sera hard, toppling both of us. She rushes to the window, whips aside the curtains, and climbs out on a length of cording she must’ve tied in place earlier.
“You’re bleeding.” Sera’s palms come away from the wound in my arm covered in thick red ooze.
“Go after her!” I try to shake off the queasiness overwhelming me.
Sera ignores me and reaches for the oil lamp so she can inspect my injury. “Pointless to chase her. Daneska will have planned her escape too carefully.”
She’s right. I sag against the wall, and Sera peels back the drenched fabric of my sleeve. “We’ll need to bind this up quickly. You’re losing too much blood.”
The pain and turmoil from the past twelve hours pour over me like a mountain of sand. “I’m tired,” I say, letting my head loll back against the carpet. “I will rest here on the floor for tonight.”
“Maya!” Sera pats my cheek. “Maya.”
Vaguely, through what feels like a dense fog, I glimpse Jane kneeling down beside Sera, and I think I hear Miss Stranje rushing into the room, and Tess and Georgie. Surrounded. I am surrounded. For some reason, that gives me the peace I’ve been hungering for all night. I surrender to a deep sleep.
* * *
I awaken the next morning in our bedroom, and there is a poultice tied around my arm. Six anxious faces are standing around my bed, and a very grumpy Doctor Meredith turns me on my side. He presses a long horn-shaped cone against my back and leans down to listen.
A moment or two later, he sets the cone aside. “Miss Stranje, I’ve no idea how your young ladies incur such ghastly cuts. I might expect this sort of knife wound on a dockworker or a soldier. But I’ve never seen the like on a young lady before.” Then he frowns deeper. “Except for the gash on your Lady Jane, over there.”
The doctor narrows a stern glare at our headmistress, but she is not one to be cowed.
“I ask myself that very same question.” Miss Stranje holds her head erect, and her lofty tone indicates she will not tolerate any scolding from him. “It seems high-spirited young ladies, such as the girls in my school, are always finding themselves in one scrape or another. If it weren’t so, they wouldn’t be in my care, now would they?”
Fortunately, this doctor doesn’t know about the cut on Madame Cho’s throat, and never will. Madame Cho has taken to wearing high collars on her Chinese dresses to cover the scar Daneska left on her neck. “High spirits. Yes, well, I suppose that might explain it,” he says, but his brow remains fixed in a disapproving frown as if he suspects her of mistreating us. No doubt, he has heard the rumors about the harsh methods she uses to reform those of us in her school for unusual girls.
With a sigh, he puts away his suspicions, along with his medical implements, and closes his leather carrying case. He will probably confide his misgivings to his wife or some other confidant, thereby perpetuating the myth that surrounds Miss Stranje’s school. She encourages such rumors because they provide useful camouflage for her school’s real purpose.
The doctor heads for the door. “Whatever the case, you managed the wound satisfactorily. Miss Barrington will bear a scar, but her overall health appears to be sound. She’ll need rest, and some milk soup with meat and greens in it, to build up her blood.” He continues giving instructions as he walks out, adding that we are to send word to him if my wound should fester.
Miss Stranje shows him out, and the others close in around me. “What happened?” Tess demands. “What did she want?”
Lady Jane reaches for my hand. “I’m so sorry I didn’t listen to you. I should’ve believed you—”
“What did she want?” Tess looks furious. Her heart is drumming wildly. She’s not angry with me. It’s Lady Daneska who has upset her. These encounters are particularly difficult for Tess, especially after Daneska betrayed and nearly shot her. It is even more distressing because Lady Daneska was once Tess’s closest friend.
“My help.” My throat is dry and scratchy. The words inch out like a hoarse whisper.
“Here. Drink this.” Sera places a cup of tea in my hands.
“She came to you for help?” Tess crosses her arms. “That doesn’t sound like Dani. What sort of help?”
Sera sits on the bed beside me. “What did you to agree to do?” She remembers everything, Sera does. She’s reciting Daneska’s exact words. Which means I have no choice, but to tell them the truth.
I swallow some tea, and it soothes my throat. “It was more of a trade than an agreement.” I sip the tea again, uncertain how much to tell them.
Sing Me a Song of Duplicity, Sing Me a Song of Deceit
“Tell us everything.” Lady Jane’s brow furrows as if she hears a troublesome rat skittering across our bedroom floor. “Every detail. Start to finish.”
Georgie glances toward the door. “Perhaps we should wait till Miss Stranje returns. I’m sure she will want—”
“No!” Tess is still brooding. “Tell us now.”
With an air of authority, Madame Cho says, “We wait.” None of us dares question her. I am relieved. I dread having to explain that Daneska asked me to betray them and that, because it meant I might be able to return to India and see my grandmother again, I was tempted.
“Wait for what?” Miss Stranje strides through the doorway and her students jump aside, allowing her to approach my bedside.
Tess grumbles, “Daneska asked Maya for help.”
“And they made an agreement of some sort.” Georgie climbs onto the far side of the bed like a child eager to hear a bedtime story. “I can’t imagine what she wanted from Maya.”
“Hmm.” Miss Stranje raises one eyebrow a little too high and turns to study me with too many questions written across her birdlike features.
Sera traces her forefinger over the patterns on our quilt, a distraction as she tries not to guess at what Daneska might have offered me. Lady Jane catches her bottom lip. I know she must be number
ing the possibilities, drawing conclusions. I can no longer bear to look at any of them.
My hand shakes as I set the teacup on the nightstand rattling it against the saucer. “She asked me to sway Prince George to do what Napoleon wants.”
“Oh, is that all,” Tess scoffs.
“You told her no, didn’t you?” Georgie leans across the bed and props herself up on her elbows.
I lower my head. “I agreed to do as she asked.”
Georgie pounces up. “But you wouldn’t! You can’t. Well, I mean you probably could do it, but—”
Sera smacks her hand against the quilt. “She agreed to do it to save Lady Jane and me. Daneska threatened—”
Miss Stranje holds up one finger, and Sera stops short. Our headmistress asks in a too calm voice, “First, what did Lady Daneska offer you?”
Ah. There it is.
The lethal question.
And when I answer, it will taint me in all of their minds. I would much rather everyone continued to think I only agreed with Daneska to save Lady Jane and Sera. It’s partially true. Except, when they hear what Daneska offered, they will wonder if I can be trusted. Will I betray them? That question will be on all of their minds. I cannot fault them. Truth be told, I wonder if I can resist the temptation. As things stand, I might never see my grandmother again in this life. It will be a miracle if I even hear from her.
I rub my forehead thinking of the hundreds of letters I’ve posted to India.
All of them unanswered.
I doubt they ever reached her. Mail couriers seldom trek to those distant northern villages. If my Naanii has tried to write to me, her letters never arrived here either. We are lost to one another except for the thin ribbon of a song that still stretches between us.
What did Daneska offer me?
Hope.
And now, I must dash it away.
I pick at a nubbin of thread on the quilt. “Lady Daneska offered me passage back to India. She also promises that Napoleon will restore my family to their rightful place as rulers among my people.” I take a breath, there is no need to repeat the part about me becoming a princess again. I don’t care about that anyway. But now I must tell them the truly treacherous part. “In exchange, she wants me to serve as a mediator between Prince George and Napoleon.”
“Mediator? How? Why would he—”
I do not wait for the rest of Georgie’s question. “Lady Daneska is certain she can convince Prince George to ask for my assistance during the negotiations. She will tempt him with the idea that I can use my voice to influence Napoleon on his behalf, when in fact, she expects me to be swaying Prince George to comply with Napoleon’s wishes.”
There.
I said it.
Shame falls over me like a woolen blanket. Suffocating. Except, no! I throw it off—I have no reason to feel this way. I have not betrayed them. Not yet. I raise my chin and study their faces, watching, as they digest the level of enticement I am facing, as they comprehend the betrayal that could be brewing in their midst.
In a few moments, I will have no more friends in England. These few who had nearly become my sisters will never think of me the same. How can they ever again rely on someone who can so easily be tempted by their enemy?
They will always wonder.
Except Sera relaxes and smiles serenely at me, bright with trust.
How can she do that? How can she be so sure of me, when I am not?
Even though I doubt myself, the heaviness on my chest lifts knowing that at least she feels certain of my loyalty. I take a deep breath, and my heart thrums with unexpected joy.
Lady Jane, too, shows no alarm. Instead, her lips curve into one of her knowing grins. “Brilliant,” she mutters and leans in to whisper. “You told her, yes, didn’t you? Say you did. Reluctantly, of course, but you did tell her yes?”
All I can do is stare in wonder at her.
“Of course, she did.” Miss Stranje contemplates me steadily. “Well done. Obviously, you realized that Lady Daneska had unwittingly provided us with the ideal means to influence His Highness’s ill-conceived tête-á-tête. This turn of events is beyond anything the patronesses could’ve hoped for.”
Georgie, too, chimes in. “For once, Daneska is playing into our hand.”
“It took backbone for you to play along with her.” Tess stands back from the others, but her praise is genuine, and in my case, a rare thing.
I am stunned that not one of them worries I will betray Britain instead of Lady Daneska. My mind falls blank, and I am at a loss for words.
Then it occurs to me they must not have fully grasped the consequences of what they expect from me. “You do realize Lady Daneska will kill me when I turn the tables on her.”
“Oh, yes. I’m sure she’ll try, my dear.” Miss Stranje says this with headmistress-like matter-of-factness. “But we shall be fully prepared. We’ll put precautions in place.” She pats my hand as if the threat is a small matter. “Don’t you worry.”
“Humph.” Tess purses her lips. “No one is ever adequately prepared for Daneska. Or Ghost.”
Miss Stranje ignores Tess’s gloomy comment and brushes down her black skirts. “I am sorry, Maya, that you sustained an injury at Lady Daneska’s hands. But it is a scar you can wear proudly. You have brought us remarkably good news, and now I must hurry to inform the patronesses. We’ve much planning to do.”
As soon as Miss Stranje leaves the room, Georgie scoots up and sits right beside me on the bed. “Where was Daneska hiding? How did you know where to find her? Did she say anything else? Mention the Iron Crown? It’s so unlike her to ask for help, especially from you.”
I never know which of Georgie’s questions to answer first, and before I can sort through them, Tess pushes into the tight circle. “Daneska would never ask for help. Never. Not unless—”
She straightens suddenly. “Ghost!” His name shatters over us like a falling icicle. “He threatened her, didn’t he?” Tess’s voice trails off. The sadness in it is unmistakable. It amazes me that even though Daneska has betrayed her and shot at her, Tess still feels compassion for her former friend. “Did he . . .?”
“Hurt her?” I glance away and sigh. “Yes, I believe so. She didn’t tell me how and I shudder to guess. I told her we would help her escape from him, but she laughed at me. She seems to think it is impossible to hide from him, that he would hunt her down and kill her.”
“He would,” Tess says solemnly from where she has retreated in the shadows.
“Very likely.” Lady Jane stands at the foot of the bed. “How very sad for her.”
“Sad, yes.” I try to wet my lips, but my mouth has suddenly gone dry. Ghost will hunt me down one day, too. I hear my grandmother’s voice calming my galloping heart. Face only one problem at a time, little one. So, I take a deep breath. “But I do not think Ghost is the only reason she won’t let us help her. I don’t think Lady Daneska is willing to leave him for another reason. She worships one thing above all else—”
“Power.” Georgie sighs heavily.
“I believe so,” I say quietly. “She is convinced Napoleon will be victorious over England and since Ghost rules the Iron Crown—”
“She’ll stay with him to the end.” Lady Jane flops down on the bed as if Daneska’s choices are too much to bear.
“To the death,” Sera adds mournfully and leans her forehead against the bedpost.
“Not necessarily,” Georgie says, almost to herself.
Jane sits up and stares at her quizzically.
“We mustn’t forget the possibility that Napoleon might win.” Georgie looks around at our astonishment. “No, don’t look at me as if I’ve spit out a goat. You know it’s true. We may not want to think about it, but it could happen. I’m a scientist, and in science, we learn to consider all possibilities.”
Tess huffs loudly. “We don’t need science to figure out that if Napoleon wins, we’ll all be dead.”
* * *
Two hours later,
following one poultice change, a bowl of milk and bone broth soup, and an interminable half-hour of Georgie and Jane fussing with my hair until I wanted to scream, they help me into a suitable day gown, and we descend the stairs to await an audience with three of the Patronesses.
They arrive not five minutes after we take our places in the drawing-room. Lady Jersey sweeps in on a cloud of perfume and swishing silks, trailing a high collared cape despite the summer heat. “We came as soon as we got your note, Emma, dear.” She leans in to kiss both of Miss Stranje’s cheeks as is the European custom, unlatches the frog of her cape and lets it flutter into the arms of the footman trailing behind them.
Lady De Lieven and Lady Castlereagh glide in serenely behind her. Lady De Lieven is my favorite of the patronesses. Her inner music fascinates me—she vibrates with the closed-door hum of secrets, yet she always seems on the verge of laughter. It is as if she finds our twisted messy world rather humorous. I wish I were more like her. Georgie and Lady Jane admire the entertaining Lady Jersey with her flamboyant way of speaking. Sera and Tess prefer Lady Castlereagh’s company. Although, she is stern and a stickler for the rules, they trust her direct manner and lack of artifice.
Miss Stranje greets them all with sisterly warmth, and as soon as the servants depart, she closes the parlor doors, and they all turn to me.
“She wounded you. You poor dear.” Lady Castlereagh smooths her gloved hand over my bandaged arm as if her touch might heal.
“Tell us everything,” Lady Jersey demands exactly as Tess had earlier, having no time for wounds or sympathy. Her country is in jeopardy, and she intends to get down to business. “How does that irritating little vixen think she can convince our dear Prince to allow you in on his peace negotiations with Napoleon?”
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