Exile for Dreamers

by Kathleen Baldwin

  Jane gasped. “They would be slaughtered.” Mr. Sinclair cast an anxious look in her direction. I tried to swallow my trepidation, but it left a dry lump in my throat.

  “And then what?” Sera is normally kindness itself. But today, even though she spoke gently, her matter-of-fact tone chilled the air. “Would they send the Yeomen to the coast and leave the monarchy defenseless? No, they might try to raise the Fencibles again, and call out the volunteer militia. Perhaps Wales and Ireland might send troops. But all these measures would take time. I have it on good authority that Whitehall is trying to transport our troops home for this very reason.” She caught herself, recalling how we’d searched Miss Stranje’s papers to glean this authoritative tidbit, and turned a guilty sheep face to Miss Stranje.

  I waved away her concern. “She already knows.”

  “Go on,” Miss Stranje urged.

  Sera’s alarm faded and she continued. “At best it would take several weeks, more than likely a month or more, to transport enough of our troops from Hanover, especially given the fact that most of our ships are engaged in the conflict across the Atlantic, four or five weeks away.” She glanced apologetically at Mr. Sinclair, who merely nodded his understanding that she meant the war the Americans had brought against us in 1812.

  She picked up several of the small buttons that we normally used to symbolize ships. “We must face facts. Napoleon is no fool. At this very moment England sits at her most vulnerable. Helpless.” She placed the ships in the channel between Britain and France. “I believe the Iron Crown may be paving the way for an invasion of England. With that in mind, yes, Georgie’s ink would be a prize worth taking. But assuming he told us the truth at breakfast and that he has not already given them plans for his uncle’s warship, I believe they will be hunting most ardently for Mr. Sinclair.”

  We turned as one to our American guest. It was the first time I’d seen Mr. Sinclair without even a trace of humor on his sunny features. His lips blanched and formed a round, soundless whistle. He jammed his fingers into his mess of golden curls. “Looks as if I’m in a bit of a pickle.”

  None of us argued the point. Jane looked particularly pensive.

  “Yes sir-ee.” He thrust both hands into his coat pockets. “If I were a betting man, I’d say I’m done for.”

  Miss Stranje straightened and tried to reassure him. “Nothing of the kind, Mr. Sinclair. We’ve been in far worse fixes than this.”

  “You may have been in tighter squeezes, Miss Stranje, but not I. I’m a tinkerer, pure and simple.” He turned to Jane. “And regardless of what you may think of me, my lady, I’m a darned fine engineer.” He edged back from the table. Apparently the map he’d been so eager to look at no longer held any appeal. “What I’m not, is a soldier. Oh, I know which end of a gun to hold when it comes down to it, but I’m not the killing and fighting sort.”

  No, he was an otter. Playful and smart.

  “Do you want to make a run for it, then?” Georgie tilted her head, taking his measure. “You could make your way to a port town. I’m sure if you’re willing to work for your passage…”

  “The thought did occur to me,” he admitted.

  “Run if you like.” Jane sniffed. “Of course, with impressments being as rampant as they are, it is more than likely you’d be put in service, and then it would be a handful of years before you’d make it back to your home in the Colonies.”

  “United States,” he corrected reflexively.

  “She’s right, you know.” This came from Lord Ravencross. “I’ll take you to a port myself, if you wish. But chances are, you will get thrown straightway into a crew. Then, whether you like it or not, you’ll find yourself in the middle of a battle at sea.”

  “Aye, I’d figured as much.” Sinclair scuffed at the Turkish carpet with the toe of one of his borrowed shoes. “A piece of bad luck, this. I’m caught between a grizzly bear and a rattlesnake.”

  “Take heart, Mr. Sinclair,” Georgie chirped, just as if her life weren’t in as much danger as his. “There’s an alternative. In Lord Wyatt’s letter, he explained that our foreign Secretary, Lord Castlereagh, believes he can get approval for funding for your uncle’s steam-powered warship if you will but create a drawing and working model. We could help you in this endeavor. If we move with all haste, you and your plans will be safe with Whitehall, and if you succeed, you will be doing both your uncle and us a great service.”

  Miss Stranje faced him squarely, without any discernible emotion. “It is, of course, your decision, Mr. Sinclair. But should you chose to stay with us, I assure you, we will protect you with our very lives until such time as we can guarantee your safe passage home. That is no small promise.”

  “Indeed. You should see her with a pistol.” Georgie nodded vigorously. “And if your warship or one of your other inventions proves useful, I’m sure the government will conduct you safely to your home. The war between our countries can’t last much longer.”

  “Then I suppose we’d best get to it.” Mr. Sinclair sat at the table, picked up a pencil and Georgie’s protractor, and began sketching a diagram of a steam-powered warship. Georgie leaned over the table, watching with interest. Jane stood between them, arms crossed, watching him draw.

  I envied this boldfaced American. It was quite possible the Iron Crown would capture him when they attacked and torture his uncle’s secrets out of him, but unlike me, at least he would be staying here with the people who mattered most to me in all the world.

  Some things were worth the risk.

  Fourteen

  INQUISITION

  While Jane, Georgie, and Mr. Sinclair worked on his warship plans, the rest of us tackled the problem of how to fortify Stranje House against intruders. Mr. Sinclair’s suggestion to seal up the sneaky entrances met with mixed opinions.

  Miss Stranje wasn’t fond of the idea. “We can’t seal the underground door. If Captain Grey and Lord Wyatt return by way of the sea cave and find their normal passage into the house blocked, they’ll be forced to use the path up the cliffs to gain entrance. At night it is too hazardous a climb.”

  I’d been up and down those cliffs a number of times and not by the narrow path that wound up the side. “They’re more than up to that task,” I tried to reassure her.

  She remained unconvinced. “Not if one of them is injured. I don’t like it.”

  I didn’t either, but for other reasons. It made me furious to think of my fortress being invaded by Daneska and her murderous thugs. But the thought of our escape hatches being boarded up made my palms sweat. When I remembered the fact that I would not be here, I’d probably be halfway to Wales when they tried to sneak in, I panicked even worse. “God forbid, if Lady Daneska and her men are successful getting into the house, how will you flee if all your secret escape routes are blocked off?”

  Lord Ravencross suggested we might secure the secret doors by using barricades that could easily be removed from the inside. His idea set us to working on a list of what must be done to fortify Stranje House. We worked for more than an hour.

  Miss Stranje stood and perused the progress Jane, Georgie, and Mr. Sinclair were making on his warship plans. “I’ll send Philip to town first thing to purchase the supplies you will need,” she said, studying the diagrams. “Although some of these items you might find in my storeroom. There is copper piping in Miss Fitzwilliam’s laboratory that might work.” She tapped his drawing, thinking, and turned to Jane. “Don’t we have an extra copper tub stored in the garret? I’m certain I’ve seen one. I’ll check.”

  The garret Miss Stranje referred to was the long, narrow storage attic above our dormitorium, where the five of us often liked to gather at night long after we were supposed to be sleeping. It was our secret meeting place. It has lovely windows that extend out over the roof. Our spyglass comes in very handy in the garret. That’s where, through our spyglass, we’d caught our first glimpses of Lord Ravencross after he’d come home wounded from the wars.

  “Yes
, I believe I saw just such a tub last time I went up to retrieve something out of my trunk.” Jane jumped up. “You needn’t trouble yourself. Georgie and I will fetch it for you.” Jane knew exactly where that copper bath was. We all did, because we’d flipped it over to use as a table in our secret room. Our makeshift lantern sat atop it.

  “Thank you,” Miss Stranje said, and I thought she hid a smirk. “I must attend to other matters now, but later today we will consider what other safety measures must be taken.” Miss Stranje tapped me on the shoulder. “A word with you, Tess, in my office.”

  I nodded silently, unable to answer because my throat felt as if someone was squeezing it shut. This was it. She would arrange my travel, and just like that I would be dismissed and sent out of their lives, back to Tidenham where my aunt would await my death.

  Just when I thought my legs might fail, Greaves entered the workroom.

  “Your pardon, miss. But you’ve several more visitors.” He cast a disparaging look at the two men in our workroom as he addressed Miss Stranje. “Mr. Chadwick senior and junior, and a Mr. Griswold, whom I gather is coroner for the crown. They asked specifically if they might speak with Miss Aubreyson. I have situated the gentlemen in the blue parlor.”

  I whirled to Sera. “I thought you told him not to come?”

  She flushed oddly. “I did my best. He is exceedingly difficult to manage.”

  “Sera, I think you ought to accompany us to the drawing room.” Miss Stranje took me by the arm. “It will be all right. Stick with short answers as close to the truth as possible. You might try being a bit shy. That is always excused in young ladies.”

  “I’m coming, too.” Jane hurried to my side. “That Chadwick fellow is too sharp for his own good.”

  “I’ll come with you as well.” Lord Ravencross was deaf to my protestations that he should stay here. “I’m coming. That’s my final word on the matter.”

  Mr. Sinclair blew frustration through his lips. “Then I shall join you as well and see for myself what manner of man this Chadwick is that he would distract you all from so grave a purpose.”

  “No!” Jane and I blurted as one.

  “I see.” Mr. Sinclair adjusted his coat and sleeves. “You think I’m not a fine enough gentleman for such exalted company.”

  “That’s not it at all,” Georgie insisted.

  “Please, try to view it from our position,” Sera gently explained. “We’re concerned that the local justice of the peace and his son might find it a bit odd that a young man is staying as a guest in a school for young ladies. Add to that, the fact that you are an American, and do you not think it might make them even more suspicious?”

  “Put like that, I see where my presence might be a bit sticky to explain.” Sinclair raked a hand over his clean-shaven jaw. “But what is it you think he’ll be suspicious of, exactly?”

  “Nothing in particular,” Jane said brusquely. “But with the attempted kidnapping and all, it will be difficult enough for us to explain what happened yesterday. And Lord Ravencross being here complicates matters. But then, he is a neighbor, and that is a bit more expected. Perhaps it will distract—”

  Lord Ravencross interrupted Jane with an exasperated breath. “We ought to just tell them the truth about the entire matter.”

  “The truth?” Georgie stared at him as if he’d just asked us to paint London Tower pink. “You mean that we suspect the attempt to kidnap me might have something to do with Bonaparte’s secret organization and his plan to attack Britain? That truth?”

  “Yes.” He grimaced and adjusted the bandages on his wounded shoulder.

  Sera didn’t like opposing him. She stared at the floor and said, “Rather a lot for them to take in, wouldn’t you say?”

  Even Maya offered up an opinion. “Do you not think they will question why such things are occurring at a young ladies’ finishing school?”

  Jane crossed her arms. “Yes, and if a handful of young women at a finishing school were the first to bring the Iron Crown to their attention, what conclusions do you suppose they would draw about Miss Stranje’s establishment?”

  “The obvious.” Ravencross glanced at me. “That you are not ordinary young ladies.”

  Mr. Sinclair pounced upon these observations. “You see, that’s the real fly in this particular ointment, isn’t it? You are a rather peculiar lot. Not exactly a typical finishing school, is it?”

  The five of us turned to him in alarm. He couldn’t possibly have deduced the whole truth. Not this quickly.

  “Don’t look so surprised.” He chuckled. “I just witnessed a roomful of girls strategizing about how they might best divert an attack from one of the world’s most sinister organizations. Do you think I’m a complete idiot? Did you really think I wouldn’t notice that you’re studying more than dance steps and embroidery at this school?”

  We all stepped back. I pressed my lips together, waiting for him to reveal exactly what he had guessed.

  “Not only that, but this morning when I was making my way down to the workroom, I happened upon your ballroom. Such rooms are usually the showcase of grand old houses like this. I merely intended to have a gander at the architecture, but…”

  I sucked in my breath and held it, fearing the worst.

  “Not the usual fare for a girls’ school, is it?” He watched our expressions carefully. “Now that I think on it, I doubt you use that mannequin with the roguish mustache for dancing practice, do you? Not with that impressive assortment of cutlery lining the walls, and his stuffing coming loose in key places. And then there’s Lady Jane here…” He winked at Jane as if she was in on the joke. “Only this morning, she threatened to toss me over her shoulder and break my arm in several places. It all begins to add up rather curiously.”

  Jane groaned.

  Georgie cursed under her breath.

  Maya began to hum.

  Sera shot a look of pure desperation at me, turned to the wall, and surreptitiously studied a rather gruesome oil painting of a dead pheasant atop a table beside a bowl of pears and a silver goblet of wine.

  “You practice on a mannequin?” Ravencross stared at me.

  I decided I might have to kill Mr. Sinclair after all. He’d trespassed into my private sanctum. With gritted teeth, I said, “Jane, be so good as to take your meddling American elsewhere while the Chadwicks are here.”

  “He’s not my meddling American—”

  “I don’t care,” I warned. “Take him and go. He must not appear anywhere near the justice of the peace. While you’re at it, explain to our guest that if he ever steps foot in my ballroom again, I will be forced to use some of that cutlery on his throat.”

  He should’ve had the good grace to be frightened, but he wasn’t. He bowed. “Pax, Miss Aubreyson. You needn’t fear. Your secret is safe with me.”

  “I doubt it.”

  Jane scowled at him. “Audacious rogue.”

  “Guilty as charged.” He tried to disarm us with that teasing grin of his.

  I was immune. “That’s the problem, Mr. Sinclair. I am the only person here at Stranje House allowed to be audacious.” I turned to Jane. “Take him for a walk on the grounds, if you must. But for pity’s sake keep him away from any windows that look out from the blue parlor. Maya and Georgie, you’d best go with them and keep our overly inquisitive house guest from getting into any more trouble.” I dismissed the four of them with a flick of my hand.

  “Well done,” Miss Stranje said quietly, and patted my arm. Then she and Sera headed for the blue parlor. Reluctant to face the justice of the peace and his son, I trailed behind with Lord Ravencross. I indicated his wound. “How is it feeling?”

  “Like the very fires of hell are burning in my chest. Thank you for asking.” But still he held out his arm to conduct me down the hall as he would any proper young lady.

  I rested my fingers possessively on his forearm. Bold, I know, but it felt good to touch him, and all too soon I would be leaving him. “I’m concerned a
bout your welfare tonight, my lord—”

  “You need not scale my wall tonight. I have the matter in hand. I’ve sent MacDougal to see if he can hire a man from among my tenants to stand guard in your place.”

  “Oh. Very good.”

  It was good. Wasn’t it? I should feel comforted that he would be safe. Yes. And yet part of me felt robbed of the duty. I would miss it. Miss him. I pulled my hand from his arm, but he covered my fingers with his and moved them to the crook of his arm to continue escorting me. “Shall we go?”

  I stopped and extracted my hand from him. “I wish I didn’t have to.”

  I didn’t want to speak with anyone just then, least of all men who intended to riddle me with questions about yesterday’s carnage. I wanted to stay here with him. Or else dash back to my ballroom and make certain it was untouched, unsullied by outsiders. I needed to punch something, and the mustache dummy would do. Except I couldn’t run off like that, duty tugged at me as if I were a dog on a chain. So I stalked toward the parlor in a mood to bite.

  Ravencross matched me stride for stride. I warned him, “You may accompany me, my lord, if you choose. Although I don’t see why you would want to subject yourself to this inquisition.” There, I’d said it aloud—inquisition.

  “I want to make certain that charming Chadwick rascal keeps his distance.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. He asks too many questions to be charming.”

  He growled. “I am not the ridiculous sort.”

  “You’re not the jealous sort either.”

  He grumbled something unintelligible and then answered crisply, “You could do worse than young Chadwick.”

  “You can’t have it both ways, Gabriel. You can’t play the jealous suitor and then sing his praises. Aside from that, I have no interest in Mr. Chadwick. You’re worth a dozen of him.”

  His posture swelled at that, and I cautioned myself to stop putting his ego to the bloom. It wouldn’t do. So I tried to counteract my hasty words. “That wasn’t meant as a compliment.”

  “It wasn’t taken as one,” he said gruffly. Then, with a sideways smirk, he added, “A dozen, eh? So many. Poor fellow. Mr. Chadwick must hold a painfully low position in your esteem. I’ll wager earthworms have a higher status.”