Harbor for the Nightingale

by Kathleen Baldwin

  One brow arches, and she looks askance at me. “Oh, he is there, all right. Very much so.”

  “It was always a concern. But what else did you see?”

  “That’s the trouble with dreams. They’re so maddening!” She paces in a tight circle, the same way Miss Stranje’s wolf-dogs do when they are agitated. “If only they were clear—laid out logically. Instead, all I see are flickers, bursts of things happening.” She explodes her fists to illustrate the suddenness of her apparitions. “Smells. Noise. Then, there’s always the blood. And . . . and . . . pain.” Her face twists with unseen agony and the vibrations from her soul tear at my heart.

  I bow my head, afraid to ask my next question, but knowing the only thing that would send her into a panic this intense would be death. “Who died in your dream?” My words come out as a hoarse whisper. I look up and ask more boldly, “Who died?”

  Tess looks away and doesn’t answer. There’s no need.

  It is me.

  She has seen my death.

  Worse, she lived through my death. And then, in cymbal crash of fear, it strikes me matters might be even worse. “Aside from me, did anyone else—?”

  She still cannot meet my gaze.

  “Tess,” I demand, in a stern voice. “Did you see anyone else get killed?”

  She shakes her head. “No, but I woke up right after you . . .”

  Died.

  I breathe out with relief. “It is all right, Tess.” I reach for her hand. “Your vision must have been pointing to what happens after the parley. Ghost will be angry when I do not convince Prince George to submit to Napoleon’s terms.” Bowing my head for a moment to bridle in my own sadness, I add, “I have expected this. It is the path I must walk. The path I have chosen to walk.” I hush the mourning song rising from the deep in my soul.

  In its place, I force hymns of peace and acceptance into my next words. “Tess, listen to me. I am not afraid to die. I leave no regrets behind. None. Except for this one thing; I am sorry you had to experience it.”

  “But that’s why I’m here.” She yanks her hand out of mine, her jaw clenching and unclenching. “Don’t you see? We can stop him—stop Ghost from killing you. We can make something different happen. We’ve done it before. We can change things.”

  Can we?

  You have such an English way of thinking, I say to myself and sadly tuck a few wayward strands of her brown hair behind her ear. I remember Naanii bidding me farewell as we stood on the banks of the Tawi. “Be strong, my child. The river of life takes us where it will, and we must be at peace wherever the current carries us.”

  The river has carried me here.

  “I am not so sure.” I shake my head. “I have witnessed the force of Ghost’s anger. Ghost will take his revenge, sooner or later. It is inevitable. I have accepted my fate. At least, we know it does not happen tonight.”

  Her eyes widen as if stunned at my words. “No!” She surges toward me. “You’re wrong. It isn’t after the parley.” She stares at my gown. “In the dream, you’re wearing this!” She grabs a handful of the scarlet cloth. “This! And your hair looked exactly as it does now. It’s tonight! Don’t you see? Napoleon is not on that ship. It is a trap!”

  Before I can answer, a soft knock sounds at my door.

  “Quick. Hide,” I whisper, and dim the oil lamp.

  Silent as a breeze, Tess dashes across the room and presses against the wall behind the door. I turn the knob and crack it open.

  “Lord Kinsworth.” Frightened though I am by Tess’s foreboding, my soul surges with joy at the mere sight of him. A wild wishful hope whistles through my mind. Has he come to discuss my offer to run away?

  He presses gently on the door, attempting to widen the gap, but I only allow it to open an inch or two more. He leans closer. “The Prince sent me for you. We have to leave sooner than expected. You must come with me. They’re waiting for us on the shore.”

  “Now?” My mouth falls open, and I battle for words. “But. . . it is still dark.” Just as was in Tess’s dream. It is happening now.

  Death comes tonight.

  My legs weaken, and I clutch the handle. Glancing sideways, I see Tess’s face contorted in remembered pain.

  “Maya? What is it?” Ben presses against the door again. “Is someone there?”

  “No!” I lie. “No. It is only that this seems so peculiar. Do you not find it odd that we must sneak out in the middle of the night? Why the sudden change?” I wedge out of the opening and pull the door behind me, leaving it only slightly ajar. Standing this close, looking up into his eyes, I smell the fading starch of his cravat, the spicy scent of his skin, and I hear the excited thrumming of his heart. Kinsworth is eager. He has finally found the adventure he craves.

  He speaks in such a rush I can barely follow. “We received another note from Napoleon. Written in his own hand and sealed with the Emperor’s stamp. I saw it myself before Prince George broke the seal. Napoleon Emperor Des Français Roi d’Italie Protecteur de la Confederation du Rhine.” Kinsworth is proud of himself for having memorized Napoleon’s crest.

  “And this note, what did it say?” I cannot keep the skepticism and dread out of my voice. All too well, I remember Lady Daneska is a talented forger and that in the past she had accessed Napoleon’s stationery.

  Kinsworth smooths his hands up and down my arms as if I am the one shivering with excitement rather than him. “Napoleon says he has grown weary of battle. He’s convinced that he and Prince George, alone, as the two heads of Europe, will be able to negotiate an amicable end to this war.” He leans down next to my ear, his voice a breathless whisper. “At this very moment, Bonaparte is anchored off our coast, waiting to meet with Prince George. Think of it, Maya. It’s finally going to happen. After all these years of fighting, the Prince is going to broker a peace treaty. And you and I will be a part of it. This will be something to tell our children and our children’s children.”

  Yours, perhaps. I will not survive this night.

  There will be no children for me.

  He kisses me. It catches me by surprise. How did he find my mouth so suddenly?

  The kiss is urgent, his mouth warm, pulsing with exuberance, and I taste the brandy he must have recently drunk with the Prince. Sinking into his arms, his lips make me forget for a moment that I am about to face death. The longer we kiss, the more I wish this moment did not have to end.

  I lied to Tess. I do have regrets.

  I regret there will be no more of these kisses. No more time with Ben. Or with Sera, or Tess, or Georgie and Jane—my sisters. No chance to win back my father’s affection. I am leaving them all behind, everyone I love. I must. There is no future for any of them if we do not deal with the threat to England.

  But Tess’s warning rings again in my ears. Napoleon is not there. If she is right, if this is a ruse, a trap, our going accomplishes nothing. Worse, it will seal all of our fates. We will have played straight into the Iron Crown’s hand. I pull away from his kiss.

  Before I can speak, he grasps my arm. “Come. We must hurry. I’m to row all of us out to the Emperor’s sloop. The Prince has entrusted me to do this for him. Can you believe it, Maya? Me.”

  “Of course, he trusts you. As do I.” I touch his cheek, smoothing my fingers over his stubbled jaw, memorizing every line. “But how can you be certain Prince George will be safe? What if this is a ploy to capture him?”

  Kinsworth shakes his head. “No, you don’t understand how these things work. Napoleon gave his word. He may be many things, but he is a man of his word. It is the promise of an Emperor to a Prince. Such pledges must be honored. Respected.” He pauses, waiting for me to relent. I cannot hide my doubt, and Ben frowns sternly at me. “I have to do this, Maya. I must—”

  “But—”

  “Stop. I understand you are frightened.” His jaw flexes, and his head tilts in warning. “His Highness knows the risks. My uncle and I warned him of the potential dangers. But Prince George believes
this is the only way to spare England. He intends to go with or without our assistance. He is our Regent, ruler of Britain, and he has asked for my help and yours. You knew this day would come, Maya. It is the reason he invited you here. A royal request. Whether you choose to do your duty or not, I am his trusted servant, and I will do as our sovereign wishes.”

  The door opens, and Tess steps out. “I am coming with you.”

  Death’s Dark Drums

  Footsteps brush against the carpet at the entrance to the hallway, I turn to see Sera hurrying toward us. She takes in our odd congregation, and though still several strides away, she begins questioning. “Tess? What’s wrong? Why are you here?”

  Tess, her mouth fixed in a grim expression, says nothing, which leaves me to explain. “The parley with Napoleon is taking place sooner than we had expected.”

  Sera closes in on our circle and quietly asks, “How much sooner?”

  This time, Tess deigns to answer, her words rumble out as a growl. “He says we have to leave now.”

  “We? I think not.” Lord Kinsworth is still frowning at Tess and her strange garb. “Does everyone know what we’re doing?” He gestures at Sera. “Perhaps we should call a page and have him announce His Highness’s secret meeting to everyone in the ballroom.”

  Tess scoffs. “Daresay, he’d be safer if we did.”

  Sera turns to Lord Kinsworth. “Why must you leave so soon? And that still doesn’t explain why you’re here.” She frowns at Tess. Sera’s inner cadence plinks rapidly, weaving through a complex tune, fitting all the pieces into place until she concludes it must have been a dream that brought Tess to us, a dream with a dire warning. “Oh.” Her face draws up in alarm.

  “Tess is concerned we might be heading into a trap.” I keep my voice low and just cryptic enough to confirm Sera’s suspicions without offending Lord Kinsworth any more than he already is. “She insists on coming with me to the rendezvous.”

  “Good.” Sera takes a deep breath and straightens. “And as I told you earlier, I will accompany you, as well. I will not allow you to do this alone.”

  So that was what she said to me as I was leaving the ballroom.

  “Alone? Miss Barrington is hardly alone. I’m here. And at this rate, I’ll need to hire a barge to transport all of you.” Lord Kinsworth turns his gaze up to the ceiling as if asking heaven to grant him patience. “Be reasonable, ladies. We can’t all go traipsing down to the beach in the middle of the night.”

  “We are being reasonable, Lord Kinsworth.” Sera’s calm manner astonishes me. “A young lady venturing out of the palace at this hour without being properly chaperoned would be most unseemly. I assure you, Prince George will expect a young lady, such as Miss Barrington, to be accompanied by no less than her maid and a suitable companion.”

  Lord Kinsworth opens his mouth to argue, but Sera continues in a most officious tone. “It will only take a moment for me to collect my wrap. The air in the early morn can be quite brisk even this time of year.” She has taken charge exactly as Miss Stranje would have done. “Maya, wouldn’t you prefer to wear something additional, something warmer, perhaps?”

  Sera pushes open the door to our bedroom, and I edge away from Lord Kinsworth. “Wait for us. We will only be a minute or two.” The three of us hurry into the bedroom and open the wardrobe. I am quite certain Sera’s real concern has nothing to do with warmth. It was nearly impossible to hide much in the way of weaponry beneath this ballgown. I do not mean to cast dispersion upon the many alternative uses for a lady’s shawl in prickly situations, but we need to arm ourselves with something slightly more lethal than a silk wrap.

  In the dim light, I glimpse the flash of metal. It is not an additional dagger Sera is holstering under her skirt—it is a small single-shot pistol primed with ball and wad. She glances up at me. “Miss Stranje has been teaching me. It isn’t much. Only one shot, but it may come in handy.”

  Less than three minutes pass before we emerge from the room. Time enough to conceal a small pistol and strap on several extra daggers. “We are ready.” I force a smile as if we are heading out for a merry picnic with friends.

  Lord Kinsworth draws in an exasperated breath. I can tell he is reconsidering the swarm of females he’s bringing to Prince George’s secret rendezvous.

  “Mustn’t keep His Highness waiting,” I say, much cheerier than I feel, and loop my arm through Ben’s, hurrying him down the hall. Sera and Tess fall into step behind us.

  “This is highly irregular,” he grumbles.

  My mouth twists in a wry smile. “By now, I thought you would have realized everything we do is highly irregular. You’ll grow accustomed to it.”

  His inner music, usually so playful and elusive, jangles with an erratic mixture of uncertainty and excitement. I listen without comment until we step out of the palace into the thick darkness. There, in a sudden clatter of doubt, he catches his breath.

  But there can be no going back now. It is too late.

  Whether we attend to Prince George or not, he is out there in the chill of night awaiting his fate. And ours, as well. For England’s fate is now inextricably tied to his.

  “You wanted adventure,” I softly remind Ben.

  “Yes,” he mutters. “So, I did.” Silencing any misgivings he may have had, Ben guides us onward. Fifes and drums march resolutely through his veins, as we exit the palace gardens and enter into the shadows between buildings.

  Soon, we leave the cobblestone streets and descend to the sandy beach. Sand soon gives way to a vast field of smooth egg-sized stones and pebbles lining the shore, which makes for very unsteady walking. Even the sea birds seem to be asleep at this hour. But the ocean-polished rocks teeter, clunk, and scrape with our every step, ruining the intense quiet of that hour. The only thing louder than these wobbly boulders knocking against one another beneath our feet is the washing back and forth of the sea. My foot twists and skates into seawater pooling between stones, soaking my silk slippers. I dearly regret not switching them out for a more practical pair of half-boots. Stumbling along, I cling to Lord Kinsworth’s arm for balance.

  “Over there.” He points to a lantern swinging rhythmically beside what looks to be a small fishing pier. We navigate across the remaining pebbles, and there in the shadows beneath the pier, standing beside a large rowboat, are Lord Harston and our Prince Regent. A wide grin spreads on Prince George’s face, and his arms sweep open. “Welcome!”

  Sera, Tess, and I curtsey in greeting. Lord Kinsworth bows. “My apologies for keeping you waiting, Sir. The young ladies—”

  “No need to say another word, my lad. Ladies will be ladies.”

  Tess snorts at that remark, subtly, but still, she snorted at the ruler of the British Empire.

  Prince George pays her no heed. Instead, he honors me with a slight tilt of his head. “Our little miracle worker. We are forever in your debt, Miss Barrington. And I see you’ve brought along a pair of friends. Splendid.” He claps his palms together and rubs them briskly. “Let us be off then, shall we? Mustn’t keep Bonaparte waiting.”

  Lord Harston steps over the side and helps Prince George into the large rowboat, then takes up his position on the tiller.

  As soon as the Prince is seated, Lord Kinsworth lifts me into the boat. He turns back to assist Sera, and to his obvious exasperation, Tess sloshes out and climbs in on her own. “You could’ve waited,” Ben mutters, shoving the craft out into the water. When the boat floats free of the beach, he deftly swings up over the side, seats himself and takes up the oars.

  A second set of paddles rests on the thwart beside us, and when neither of the other two men takes them up, Tess leans toward him and whispers, “Would you like me to help you row?”

  Lord Kinsworth answers with a stern glare and a distinct grumble. Sera nudges Tess with her elbow. “Behave.”

  “Very well.” Tess sits back, lounging against the gunwale, and flicks her fingers at him as a leisurely princess might do. “Onward. And be quick
about it.”

  Even over the waves of high tide crashing and our oars sloshing, I can hear Kinsworth’s inner music scraping with annoyance. I chuckle. Something about Tess’s predictable orneriness and Lord Kinsworth’s boyish fuming floods me with a sense of happiness again. But chasing right on its heels comes regret. Regret that we are paddling toward death.

  If only I could live a few more days, long enough to see Tess tease my big strong Kinsworth again. Long enough to treasure up a few more memories to take with me to the afterlife.

  I turn to Sera and reach for her hand. I cannot bear the thought of her seeing me die. Or worse, if she should get hurt herself. Her white hair is blowing like silver gossamer in the wind. I whisper into her ear. “You should not have come. It is far too dangerous.”

  “How could I not?” Sera, who in this dim moonlight looks as fragile as a small child, tilts her head at me in wonder. “You would not leave me to face death alone, would you?”

  Never.

  In that moment, my heart breaks altogether.

  I cannot stop the tears that leak out. Bravery escapes me. Am I the lioness? I do not feel her courage. Am I the nightingale? Trapped and dying. I do not know. Perhaps I am only a small insignificant marigold, a clawless lion flower, about to be plucked and thrown into the fire.

  Panic rises in my chest—a wild fitful drumming.

  Every thought turns toward leaping out of this wretched boat and trying to swim through the thrashing waves to freedom. I start to rise. I learned to swim at Stranje House, but I am not skilled at it. And given our distance from shore, the certainty of drowning causes me to hesitate. Either way, my fate is death. I sink back onto the thwart.

  Tess wraps her arm around my shoulder, quieting the wild drumming. “We can change things,” she whispers in my ear.

  Can we? Or will the river carry us where it chooses? I do not know.