Refuge for Masterminds

by Kathleen Baldwin

  “I suppose not,” I grumble.

  “I have a beau. I understand how difficult falling in love can be. You can talk to me.”

  “It is nothing like that. Mr. Sinclair is not my beau, and I’m certainly not falling in love with him or anyone else.”

  She laughs.

  “I’m quite serious.”

  “Of course you are.” Georgie ignores me and prattles on, spouting romantic nonsense.

  There will never be beaus, or sweethearts, or falling in love for me. I can’t tell her why, not without revealing my secret. This night is nearly gone and I’m so tired that if Georgie wheedles hard enough, I might accidently confide in her. So I clamp my mouth shut and nod attentively as she advises me on the nature of men, and how to cope with their peculiar behaviors.

  While she proses on about love and other equally unhelpful subjects, I think of other things. Of Alexander’s feather soft kiss. Of the last vexing grin he saluted me with. Of strong cheekbones that belong on a Greek god. And the laughable sound of his cocksure American twang. These are dangerous musings, when what I ought to be doing is forgetting about him.

  Soon, I promise myself, I will forget. But for now, all the way to the house and tiptoeing up the stairs to the dormitorium, I allow thoughts of Alexander Sinclair to haunt me. As I lay my head on the pillow and close my eyes, the last thing I see are his lips right before they brushed against mine. I fall asleep to the sound of him daring fate.

  We shall see.

  * * *

  I awaken and sit up in a panic.

  Good heavens! It is no longer morning. The curtains are open. The dormitorium is empty. I hear the clock chime twelve times. I’ve slept all the way through breakfast. The day is half gone, and we still have a critical step in the plan to perform. Tess and Miss Stranje agreed we should carry out this next bit of theatrics at breakfast, but it is too late. Breakfast is over. They’ll be wondering what is keeping me.

  I rush through my morning ablutions, fling on a workaday dress, and patter down the stairs. Dashing through the entry, I turn into the hallway, nearly colliding with Greaves. The elderly butler winces as if I have actually knocked into him. “Begging your pardon, m’lady,” he says, in a nasal tone, obviously annoyed at me for rushing about like a hoyden.

  “Terribly sorry, Greaves. I’m running late, you see. Would you be so good as to ask Alice to bring some tea to the workroom for me? Perhaps a morsel or two from breakfast if there is anything left.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather I sent the footman? That is the proper thing, and Phillip is far less likely to spill—”

  “Nothing formal. A simple tray.” A simple tray and Alice. It has to be Alice. “Alice will do. I’m sure Lord Ravencross is keeping Phillip busy fetching and carrying for him.”

  With a disapproving sniff, he inclines his head. “As you wish, m’lady.”

  “Thank you, Greaves. And do, please, ask her to hurry. I’m famished.”

  I continue to the workroom at a much more sedate pace. The door is shut and I lean against it for a few moments, preparing myself and giving Alice time to ready a teapot and tray. Their voices are subdued and I cannot make out what they are discussing. Time for my performance, I turn the knob and open the door wide, leaving it ajar as I glide into the room.

  Miss Stranje glances up. “Good afternoon, Lady Jane. How very gracious of you to join us.” A mild scold, from a headmistress who normally demands promptness.

  I bob a curtsy. No one bothers to inquire after my health. They are all studiously engaged in a code-breaking assignment.

  “I am well, thank you.” I answer the unasked question, which is rather cheeky of me. Miss Stranje lets it pass with nothing more than a narrowing of her expression, not that one such glare from her isn’t enough to make a grown man quake in his boots.

  When I lower my proud chin to a respectful level, she relents and gives me a subtle nod indicating we should proceed.

  “You look the very devil,” Tess carps. “You’ve gray smudges under your eyes.”

  The others look up from their work, and a twinge of remorse pinches at me. I wish we had been able to tell all of them about this part of the plan.

  “Fine words coming from you.” I say, accusation dripping from every syllable. “Seeing as it is your fault.”

  “Tess’s fault?” Sera sets down her quill.

  “You heard me.”

  “Yesterday was trying. We shall all sleep much more soundly tonight.” Maya tries to make peace even though I have only begun to declare war.

  I mimic our headmistress’s most imperious glare and level it straight at Tess. “I doubt I shall sleep soundly. I doubt any of us will. Not if she is still in the house.”

  Tess glances up from deciphering one of Miss Stranje’s code-breaking tests. “What are you going on about? Have I done something to offend you?”

  “Oh don’t come all mewling and innocent with me.” I cross my arms. “You know exactly what you’ve done.”

  “No, I don’t.” Tess shoves back her chair and rises to her feet. “And for your information, I have never mewled in my life.” The fearsome way her shoulders square and her fists double makes my knees quaver. But there’s no backing down now, the play is under way.

  Miss Stranje stands. “Ladies, in my house you will address each other with civility.”

  “Civil? You expect me to remain civil when we have a criminal in our midst?” I point at Tess. “It’s her fault Mr. Sinclair had to flee in the middle of the night.”

  “What are you talking about?” Georgie rises to Tess’s rescue. “You know perfectly well Tess had nothing to do with it. How can you say such things? I would trust Tess with my very life—”

  “Trust her? I’d sooner trust a stewed prune.” I ball up my own fists and press them against the table, leaning forward with as much venom as I can muster to make this performance convincing. “She’s the traitor.”

  Georgie is beside herself. “But that can’t be. Last night you said—”

  “I was wrong. Blinded, because I couldn’t see past the person I thought was our friend.” I jab my finger through the air again accusing Tess. “She isn’t the first person to betray us.”

  Sera glances from me, her best friend, and back to Tess, whom she adores as an older sister. The stricken look on her face slays me. Then she squints at me studiously, a split second passes, her face brightens, and I know she has figured it out.

  I take a deep breath. “No one but Tess could’ve run as fast as the traitor did last night. Not only that, but—”

  “Lady Jane! That is enough.” Miss Stranje puffs up like a cobra about to strike.

  “No.” I stand my ground. “I don’t care if you lock me in the discipline chamber and throw away the key. I’ll say my piece. Mark my words, Tess is the traitor.”

  I notice Alice hesitating in the doorway. She carries in the tea tray sheepishly, obviously she’s been standing out in the hallway eavesdropping before deciding to enter the room.

  “You’ve gone mad.” Tess stands back brooding.

  I huff up and clench my fists until I must surely be red in the face. “Don’t bother to deny it. I know it was you.”

  “No, Jane, think what you’re saying. You know better.” Georgie pleads with me and I feel genuinely sorry for what I am about to say next.

  “I have proof. I saw her put Phobos and Tromos in the pens before she went to meet the spy. That’s how I know she’s the one who is betraying us.” I talk so fast, even Georgie can’t interrupt. “She’s the reason Mr. Sinclair ran away. She forced his hand. He had to save his ship somehow. Now he’s gone, and who knows what will happen with him trying to sail the prototype to London by himself.”

  Georgie tilts her head blinking. I know what she’s doing. She’s trying to add up what I’m saying and no matter how she tries to calculate it she keeps coming up with a different sum.

  “Lady Jane! Sit down this instant.” Miss Stranje lifts her chin in Alice’s dir
ection, giving us the stern warning frown, the one that means we ought to mind our tongues when the servants are around. It is a brilliant touch and I admire her more than I ever have. But now, I must defy her.

  “It has to be Tess.” I open my hands pleading with them. “Listen to me. You know no one else can handle the wolf-dogs like she does.”

  “That is not enough proof to make an accusation.” Sera comes to stand next to me, and I’m impressed she would risk it. “I have taken them to their pens. So have you. So have we all. Think this through, it could be anyone.”

  “Yes, any of us.” Georgie agrees too quickly. My heart lurches, uncertain whether she has figured it out, or not. If she hasn’t, I worry she might say too much in an attempt to protect Tess. She presses her argument. “You’ve no proof! None. It might’ve been me. Or Sera.” She pauses for a heartbeat. “Or even Alice.”

  We all turn to the maid. Alice flushes and her hands shake as she sets the tea tray on the side table.

  “Don’t make me laugh,” I say. “Alice could no more have run through those woods in the dead of night than a rooster could lay an egg. Could you, Alice?”

  “What?” Our normally loquacious maid stands tongue-tied for a full second before she lands upon a suitable reply. “I don’t know what you mean, m’lady.” She bobs a curtsy to me and turns to Miss Stranje. “Will that be all, miss?”

  “Yes, thank you. You may go, Alice.”

  I’ve one more nail to pound into this coffin. The minute the real traitor is barely out of the room, I roar at Tess. “I may not have proof. Not yet. But I will get it. And when I do, I’ll see you hang for betraying us like this!”

  “How dare you! You…” Tess rushes around the table as if she is about to strangle me. “You poisonous bunch-back’d toad!”

  Bunch-back’d toad? I hope Alice hasn’t read Shakespeare because Tess is cursing me with lines straight out of Richard the Third.

  Miss Stranje rushes to the door, flings it open, and startles Alice. “We need help.” She orders the wide-eyed maid to fetch the footman and Mr. Greaves straightaway. “Hurry!” Miss Stranje adds, with a feigned desperation that deserves applause.

  She wheels back to us, and shouts. “Jane! Tess! Stop, before you kill one another. For pity’s sake, don’t just stand there, Georgiana, give me a hand. You too, Sera.”

  We hear Alice’s heavy shoes clattering down the hall as she runs to summon help.

  Tess’s hands are wrapped around my throat, but she’s not applying any pressure. I smirk. “Really Tess, Richard the Third?”

  She lets go and shrugs. “I couldn’t think of anything else.”

  “You were so late coming down, Lady Jane, we’d nearly given up on you.” Miss Stranje starts in on me, her hands on her hips. “At least, you came through in the end. Admirable work, both of you. A little overdramatic for my taste, but it will do.”

  Georgie gapes at Miss Stranje. “You knew all along?”

  “Naturally.”

  Sera chuckles softly, because she’d figured it out from the start.

  Georgie shakes her head. “I didn’t realize what you were doing, until you mentioned Mr. Sinclair sailing the prototype.” She turns to Maya. “And you, did you guess, too?”

  “I was not certain.” Maya shrugs. “As far as I’m concerned, you English all run mad from time to time. Only look at your poor King George.”

  “I’m sorry for the deception.” I put my arm around Georgie’s shoulder. “We had to do it this way. None of us are practiced thespians. We were afraid if we told you, your reactions would not be as genuine. You did splendidly, Georgie. I was quite moved by how nobly you defended Tess.”

  Tess mumbles her thanks and bestows one of her rare smiles on Georgie.

  I plop on the couch. “But, I must say, you scared me senseless when you pointed out Alice—”

  “Hush. They’re coming,” Miss Stranje warns.

  Tess and I take our places in chairs across from each other, as if we’ve been forcibly separated. Tess crosses her arms and broods. I put my chin in the air and glare at the faded wallpaper in the corner near the ceiling.

  Phillip gallops into the room, breathing hard, staring at the scene before him like a man who’d expected to find murder and mayhem strewn across the Turkish carpet. When he sees there is no blood on the floor he straightens. “You called for me, miss.”

  Alice and Greaves arrive hard on his heels and out of breath.

  “I do apologize for having troubled you.” Miss Stranje hurries forward in an effort to hide her warring students from the servants’ view. Her bombazine skirts rustle like autumn leaves and even though she is a slender woman, the black silk seems to widen with every step, the way a raven might puff out its wings. “We had a small mishap earlier, but I am happy to say, it is under control now. Thank you for coming to our aid so quickly, but you may go.”

  The disbelieving servants stare at her, mouths agape, and peek around her edges at Tess and me.

  “All is well now.” She claps her hands together as if that marks the end of the matter. “Please don’t let us keep you from your work.” She shows them to the door.

  Phillip departs in a daze, shaking his head. Alice walks out behind him but keeps glancing back over her shoulder as if she expects flames to erupt in the workroom. Greaves is the last to leave. The poor beleaguered butler pinches up his wrinkled brow and glares at us as if five of Satan’s spawn have infested his beloved Stranje House.

  Seven

  BIG FAT FLY IN THE OINTMENT

  “Your pardon, miss. I nearly forgot.” Greaves turns back before leaving the workroom and pulls a formal-looking letter out of his coat pocket. “This arrived for you right before the, uh, incident.” Disapproval oozes out of his every pore. “In my hurry because of the, er, mishap, I neglected to bring a tray on which to present it.” He holds the letter on his gloved hand and extends it out to her as if it sits on an invisible silver salver.

  Miss Stranje stares at the address and eyes the letter as if it is a serpent about to bite her. After an uncharacteristic hesitation, she takes it from him, turns it over, examines the wax seal, and grimly deposits it in her pocket. “Thank you, Greaves. That will be all.”

  He leaves, closing the door behind him. Our headmistress consults her timepiece and taps it. “The clock is ticking, ladies. I suggest you return to your deciphering work. In the real world, the swiftness with which you are able to decode a message may be a matter of life or death.”

  “Surely, you intend to subtract twenty minutes to account for the time when Jane interrupted us?” Georgie tries to bargain, even though I peek over her shoulder and see she is nearly finished puzzling out her code.

  “It was only seventeen minutes, Miss Fitzwilliam, and, no, I will not deduct the time. Interruptions are part of life. They are bound to occur, especially when you are in the midst of an actual situation, are they not?” Miss Stranje turns to me and gestures to the tray of food Alice left for us. “Lady Jane, you may be excused from this exercise. I expect you require some nourishment.”

  My stomach rumbles eagerly at the invitation and I rise to peruse the tray. Our headmistress withdraws to a wingback chair across the room. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch her take out the letter and turn it over and over before breaking the seal.

  Admittedly, I am curious, but I’m also ravenous. Cook sent up a generous plate of scones accompanied by a bowl of fresh strawberry jam, another filled with clotted cream, and a steaming pot of tea. It briefly crosses my mind Alice might’ve poisoned it, although I doubt she’s that daring. I inhale the fragrances emanating from the tray, searching for a scent out of place and find nothing but deliciousness. One whiff of the clotted cream and I’m whisked straight back to the warmth of Alexander’s coat and those last treasured moments with him.

  I break open a scone and spread it with a handsome amount of jam and a dollop of cream. With the first bite, I close my eyes and the aromas bring his face back into bitterswe
et focus.

  When I open my eyes, I notice Miss Stranje sitting rather limply in the chair, the letter clutched in her fist, and her complexion abnormally pale.

  Something is wrong. Very wrong.

  I drop the scone on a plate, blot my mouth, and rush to stoop beside her chair. “What is it?”

  Instead of answering, she presses her lips tight. She corrects her posture and composes herself. “I’ve had a letter from Lady Pinswary.”

  Georgie groans and lifts her head up from solving her code. “Not Lady Daneska’s irksome aunt?”

  “The very same.”

  Tess comes out of her chair as if she’s been jabbed with a pin. “What does it say?”

  Sera scoots back from her work and stares in our direction. Maya calmly keeps writing, and says, “It will not be cause for rejoicing, I can promise you that much. Lady Pinswary is not inclined toward the happiness of others, and certainly not ours.” She sets down her pen. “There. I have finished.” She proudly holds up her deciphered code. Maya often surprises me. In this case, I had fully expected Sera or Georgie to finish first.

  “Well done, Miss Barrington.” Miss Stranje grants her a strained smile.

  Georgie looks from her paper to Maya’s. “How did you finish so quickly?”

  Maya shrugs, not being the boastful sort. “I had a minor advantage, that is all.”

  “What advantage?” Sera takes the paper from Maya and examines her work.

  Maya waits until Sera stops studying their assignment and gives her full attention. “When Jane came in and accused Tess of betraying us, I found myself growing tense, and more and more agitated, and confused. Angry, even. I did not want to give in to these distressing feelings. Nor did I want them to muddle my thinking, so I chose to concentrate on breaking the code.”

  “Well done.” Miss Stranje stands and her color returns to normal. “I would like all of you to take a lesson from Miss Barrington’s calming technique today. In the middle of an emotional crisis, you might try focusing on a demanding task to aid you in organizing your thoughts.”