Exile for Dreamers

by Kathleen Baldwin

  She needled as much as Mr. Chadwick, except now that I thought of it, she was right. I had noticed something. “The one with the injured leg had a thick French accent. But the other one, the man who came at me, the one…” The one I killed. I bit my lip before continuing. “His vowels were mixed up. It sounded as if he might’ve been from East Sussex.”

  Then I remembered the worst of it. “He said she’d given him their orders when she arrived in England.”

  “Ohhh.” Georgie blew air through her lips. Her brow pinched up and her freckles paled. “That means she’s here. Lady Daneska is back in England.”

  Jane and Maya both stopped cold. We all did. Jane turned around, her lips pressed tight. “Then we must assume they traveled here from somewhere along our coast. Close by.”

  “I could be wrong. Perhaps the blow to my head has muddled things,” I said, hoping to ease their minds, except I could still hear those blackguards talking in my head.

  Georgie rubbed her ear as if that might change the facts she’d heard. “This is not good. Not good at all.”

  “Come on, let’s get you into the house.” Jane put her arm around my waist and urged me forward.

  Georgie stomped along behind us, grumbling about Daneska’s brazenness at returning to England. “Doesn’t she know she could go to the gallows for her treachery?”

  Maya answered with a quiet but troubling truth. “I believe Lady Daneska fears very little.”

  “She’s an irrational creature.” Georgie’s hands balled into fists. “No better than a common viper.”

  A common viper?

  No, there was nothing common about Daneska. Oh, Dani was poisonous, all right, but she was more like an exotic cobra. Beautiful. Mesmerizing. Deadly.

  And twice as crafty.

  After all, she’d fooled me from the very beginning. The two of us had lost our mothers, so I’d mistakenly thought our grief bonded us.

  When I first arrived at Stranje House there had been two older girls at the school, but soon after they both made advantageous marriages, marriages that strategically placed them in key foreign courts. That left me a lone student at Stranje House until Lady Daneska appeared at our door. After her mother died, Daneska’s father, one of Napoleon’s newly minted dukes, sent her to live out of harm’s way with her maternal aunt, Lady Pinswary, one of Miss Stranje’s neighbors. Lady Daneska had complained that her aunt and cousin nearly suffocated her with boredom and that rumors about the school sparked her curiosity. But after all that’s happened, I wonder if getting into Stranje House had been her objective all along.

  She told me she’d badgered her aunt into sending her to Stranje House and even offered to pay the tuition herself. Lady Pinswary finally relented, but only after issuing numerous warnings about Stranje House’s notorious discipline chamber and the reputed cruelty of our headmistress.

  I admit I’d been exceedingly glad of Daneska’s company. In no time we were thick as thieves, competing against each other in defensive arts, playing tricks on Madame Cho and Miss Stranje. I’m still not certain why she befriended me. When Lady Jane, an earl’s daughter, came to the school five months later I would’ve thought her a much more suitable connection. But Daneska had no interest in Lady Jane, nor in Seraphina, who joined our ranks a few weeks later. From the start Daneska had been intrigued by my dreams, and I’d thought she understood me as no one else had ever done. When in truth, the traitor had merely been learning how to best take advantage of my friendship.

  I realized later, she had never felt the loss of her mother as I did. Her grief had been a pretense, a cobra’s mesmerizing dance.

  The only loss Daneska mourned was being a countess in her father’s court.

  Georgie slapped a twig out of her way. “If Lady Daneska had a lick of sense she would be afraid, because if I ever get my hands on her scrawny neck there’ll be no need for a hangman. She must be made to answer for what she did to Sebastian.”

  “And for her betrayal,” added Jane.

  As we climbed the back steps, the garden door flew open and Madame Cho rushed out. Clearly, she’d been watching from the window. She nudged Jane and Maya out of the way and marched me into the house. The minute we were inside, she began sizing up the lump on my head. I winced as she inspected it, while evaluating me with her coal-black eyes.

  “Come.” She tugged me down the hall to the small sitting room where we usually studied geography and language. “Sit.” She wrapped an afghan around me, washed the blood from my hands and face with a ewer and cloth. By the time she finished, the water in the basin had turned a sickening red. She peered closely into each of my eyes, first one and then the other. Madame Cho clicked her tongue, rattled off something in irritated Chinese, and then told me what I already knew. “You have a bad bump. Very bad.”

  “I’ll mend. I just need to rest.” I leaned back against the sofa and closed my eyes.

  Madame Cho yanked on the bellpull, and Alice, our parlor maid, hurried in. “Bring tea.”

  Alice had no sooner left than Greaves, our butler, appeared in the doorway and cleared his throat. “Pardon me, ladies, but we have a visitor.”

  Madame Cho looked up, suddenly wary. I think it was because of the way Greaves said the word “visitor,” as if it wasn’t simply Lady Somebody-or-Other from the village.

  “We’ve no time for visitors today.” Jane took charge, as she is inclined to do. Not that Jane is domineering. It’s simply that she excels at managing. “You may tell whoever it is that we are not at home today.”

  “Begging your pardon, miss, but this one claims he carries a message.”

  When Jane makes up her mind, she won’t budge for anything less than an artillery shell. “Tell him to leave his message and go.”

  “But—”

  Georgie exhaled loudly. “Don’t you see, Tess is injured. We’ve bodies in the field, a nosy magistrate’s son, and Lady Da—” She stopped short and caught herself before sputtering all of her worries out on poor Greaves. “Not today. We simply can’t allow vis—”

  Greaves never interrupts, but he did that day. “A message from Lord Wyatt.”

  Georgie paled and stood, staring at Greaves. Her frustration drained entirely away. Quiet as a breath, Lord Wyatt’s given name escaped her lips. “Sebastian.”

  “Yes, miss.” Despite the hump on his back, Greaves stood as rigid as the king’s guard and solemn as an undertaker.

  “I’ll go with you.” Jane took Georgie’s arm. “Greaves, you may show the messenger to the upstairs parlor. Thank you.”

  “Wait!” I leaned forward to stand up. “I’m going with you, too. I’ll not have any more secrets.”

  “No. You will not.” Madame Cho clamped an iron hand on my shoulder and pressed me back down. “You must stay still. No stairs. Not yet.”

  “Very well, if you’re that worried about it, we’ll all stay together.” Jane acted as if, in Miss Stranje’s absence, she were the matriarch of Stranje House even though she was younger than me, and Madame Cho really ought to be giving the orders. But she has that air of command about her, and everyone just seems to fall in line. She guided Georgie back to the divan and issued more instructions. “You may show this messenger in here, Greaves.”

  “Here?” Georgie looked about the room strewn with books and maps.

  Madame Cho grumbled about it not being proper. She probably would have objected further except Alice hurried into the room with a teapot and tea tray.

  Greaves hoisted his nose higher in the air, obviously disapproving of the decision. Before he could leave the room, Philip burst in, hunched over and panting as if he’d run all the way from Ravencross Manor.

  Greaves raised one gloved hand and delivered a disciplinary smack to the center of his footman’s back. “I will not have you bolting into a room huffing and puffing as if you have just finished a race. Not in front of the ladies.”

  “No, sir.” Philip stiffened to soldierlike attention. “Begging your pardon, ladies. I was g
iven orders to run straight here with a message from Miss Stranje, in particular for you, Miss Aubreyson. I’m to tell you to stop fretting. The doctor has arrived, Lord Ravencross is being well cared for, and it looks as if he is going to live. She also said for Madame Cho to make certain you rest, so that you may do the same.” He gathered in another breath. “Live, that is.”

  “Hmph.” Greaves clamped Philips by the shoulder, turned on his heel, and guided his first footman out of the room.

  For the first time all morning I took a deep breath of relief. Then I got to thinking. His message had been worded so carefully. “She said to ‘tell me,’ but does that mean it’s really true?” I looked to Jane or Maya for confirmation or denial. Jane glanced down at the worn Turkish carpet and chewed her lip. She didn’t answer, none of them did, because we all knew our headmistress was prone to setting down the truth in ways that most benefited her purposes.

  Maya broke the silence. “The doctor is tending to him. Of that much we can be certain.” It wasn’t much comfort.

  Georgie’s hands were clasped tight and her attention fixed on the doorway, awaiting the good news or bad that would arrive at any minute.

  Madame Cho handed me a cup and saucer. “Drink your tea.”

  I’d barely taken a second sip when Greaves returned and ushered in our guest. I looked up expecting to see someone who would ordinarily carry a message for King and country, someone like Mr. Digby, or one of the other soldier-like men we had met while working with Captain Grey in Calais. My expectations were as wide off the mark as snow in July.

  When the visitor stepped into our workroom, I nearly dropped my teacup.

  Five

  MESSENGER

  “Mr. Alexander Sinclair.” Greaves enunciated our guest’s name oddly, straining to pronounce each syllable carefully. “From the Colonies,” he added, in a tone that indicated our guest’s origins caused our aged butler a bellyache.

  “United States,” the visitor corrected and bowed stiffly from the waist. Clearly, he wasn’t accustomed to bowing.

  We all stared at the young man whose golden curls were tousled and looked as if they hadn’t seen the useful side of a comb in several days. His ill-fitting tailcoat was dusty and hung open, revealing a waistcoat of blue and purple stripes that did not mix well with the brown of his trousers. Not only that, but it appeared to be buttoned incorrectly. He must have borrowed the trousers, or else he’d grown since purchasing them, because they were embarrassingly short. His buckle shoes were so scuffed and worn they looked as if they hailed from a previous decade. One of his stockings had slithered down from its moorings and collected around his ankle.

  Madame Cho took in his appearance and sucked disapproving air through her teeth. Jane uttered an audible gasp. Georgie took a deep, steadying breath. On the other hand, I found his disastrous appearance both amusing and interesting. For a moment I forgot about my pounding headache.

  Who had we allowed into our midst?

  “Welcome, Mr. Sinclair.” Georgie extended her hand to him. “We were told you carry a message for us.”

  He took her hand and, rather than bowing elegantly over it, he gave it a firm shake. More and more intriguing, this unruly pup from the Americas. “Yes, miss. I’ve a letter from Lord Wyatt to be delivered to Miss Fitzwilliam. From his description, I take it you are she?”

  Her hand flew out of his and up to her distinctive red hair and self-consciously to her cheek covered with equally distinctive freckles. Then she took a deep breath and regained her confidence. “Yes, I am she.”

  Mr. Sinclair reached into his coat and produced a sealed letter. “Lord Wyatt said you’d know what to do with it.”

  Georgie’s hands shook as she took it and broke the seal. “You must excuse me for a moment. Would you care to be seated, Mr. Sinclair?”

  “Thank you kindly, but no. Feels as though I’ve been sitting for a fortnight. A man needs to stretch his legs now and again or the muscles freeze up like a waterwheel in January.” He demonstrated his need to loosen his muscles by shaking out first one long leg and then the other rather vigorously.

  Madame Cho hissed again.

  I will admit we stared openly at our peculiar guest. It was rude, but none of us looked away. Me, fascinated. Jane appalled that he would mention legs and muscles, and then proceed to shake said legs as if he had fleas. It’s a lucky thing for Mr. Sinclair that Madame Cho didn’t have her bamboo cane in hand, because her natural inclination would’ve been to wallop him for his appalling manners.

  Undaunted, Mr. Sinclair continued to regale us with the intimate details of his arduous journey from Paris to England. Much of his tale is not fit to recite in polite company. Although, given his American dialect, I may not have comprehended all of it. It was a bit difficult to decipher his odd accent and phraseology, made all the more challenging because his overly vivid descriptions were frequently interrupted by Jane gasping and Madame Cho hissing like a Madagascar cockroach.

  Georgie had excused herself from the room, no doubt so she could apply a developing solution to the invisible ink on Lord Wyatt’s letter. She returned to us, studying the contents of the letter. At last, she handed it over to me, Maya, and Jane. We abandoned our study of the peculiar Mr. Sinclair to read it silently:

  May 9, 1814

  Dear Miss Fitzwilliam,

  I am sending you a gift by way of this gentleman. You will need to apply some effort in order to open it properly.

  Meanwhile, I am desirous of knowing how you fare. Are you in good health? How fares our Miss Stranje? Is she as determined as ever to transform you into a proper young lady? Please extend to her my sincerest best wishes in the endeavor. Captain Grey also sends his warmest regards and asks if she would please look in at his cottage now and again, to make sure the servants are diligently tending to their tasks. Our business on the continent has met with a few setbacks as you might imagine with Napoleon sitting on the throne of France.

  Yr humble servant,

  Lord Wyatt

  The real letter, the letter that had been written in invisible ink, now lay exposed between those innocuous lines.

  My dearest Georgiana,

  This fellow, Mr. Alexander Sinclair, like yourself is something of an inventor and engineer. I discovered he was being held prisoner by the Iron Crown in a house outside of Paris. We took the liberty of slipping him out from under their care and are sending him to you for safekeeping.

  He is the nephew of a remarkable engineer and artist, Mr. Robert Fulton, of the Colonies. He assisted Fulton in France on the construction of an extraordinary underwater ship. The French were disappointed, but if the flaws were corrected, we might use an underwater vessel to great advantage against our enemy. Not only that, but Sinclair has ideas to improve upon Fulton’s design of an underwater bomb called a torpedo. Sinclair also carries by memory the plans for Fulton’s warship powered by steam. You will immediately grasp the value of such a ship. I trust you will aid him in his work as he will need to build a prototype. I’m certain that between you and Lady Jane you can harness his faculties and put them to good use.

  Although our government originally rejected plans for the warship, with Napoleon back on the throne of France, Lord Castlereagh feels certain there may be a change of mind on the matter. He is desirous of having drawings and a small working model of the warship to present to the council at Whitehall as soon as it can be arranged.

  Georgie, my dearest, a word or two of caution: there must be no late-night collaborations. Remember my previous warning about not tempting gentlemen beyond their ability to resist. If poor, unsuspecting Mr. Sinclair should behave toward you in an overly friendly manner, I would have to call him out and beat him senseless. Thus, the world would be robbed of his brilliant mind. Apart from that, I ask that you listen to him with respect and that you and Lady Jane assist him in his work.

  Beseech our beloved Miss Stranje to house and keep him from danger. We must not let him fall into our enemies’ hands. I rest
easy knowing that at least he is at Stranje House and away from the reach of the Iron Crown, for now.

  Yours with deepest affection,

  Sebastian

  Mr. Sinclair shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Madame Cho folded her arms and narrowed her dark eyes at him, so that I’m sure the poor fellow felt as if he were under guard.

  Georgie leaned over our shoulders while Jane, Maya, and I read the letter. When we finished, she frantically whispered, “For now? What do you think he meant by that? Something is wrong. I know it. And Mr. Sinclair isn’t safe here. Not with Daneska back in England.”

  Before I could respond to Georgie’s question, Jane sprang up to confront our guest.

  “This is impossible.” She waved the letter at him, shaking it as if she could not believe the contents. “What kind of game are you playing at, Mr. Sinclair? You cannot possibly be an engineer. You? Robert Fulton’s assistant?” She looked him up and down, bristling more by the minute. “Impossible. Robert Fulton is one of the finest minds of our”—Jane almost stuttered—“and you … you’re … you’re an American.” She drew out “American” as if it meant he’d been born on the wrong side of the blanket rather than the other side of the ocean.

  “Yes, miss. Born in Lancaster, Pennsylvania.” Mr. Sinclair doffed an imaginary hat. “As was my uncle.”

  Jane gathered her wits and proceeded more calmly. “That’s not what I meant. I meant to say that I am familiar with Mr. Fulton’s work. I studied the locks he made for the Duke of Bridgewater’s canals. I’ve read all about the steamship he is building in New York. But this underwater vessel … there you have gone too far. You would’ve been a mere child when Mr. Fulton constructed the Nautilus for Napoleon.”

  “Yes, miss.” He answered her warily. “I was a lad of twelve when I served my uncle in France.”

  “I am not a miss.” Jane corrected him with a surprisingly indignant tone. Although, to be fair, it was the second time he’d addressed her as a commoner. “I am Lady Jane Moore.” She pursed her lips and skimmed the letter again.