Refuge for Masterminds

by Kathleen Baldwin

  Tess shifts from one foot to the other during this brief lecture, edging closer to Miss Stranje, leaning to peek at the letter. Curiosity and concern are gnawing at me, too. “Are you going to tell us what Lady Pinswary’s letter says? Clearly, it is troubling news.”

  Miss Stranje nods. We gather closer, like children awaiting a tale of ghosts and goblins. She frowns at Lady Pinswary’s scrawl as if she is having difficulty reading it. I know it is a ploy to buy time so that she can find the right way to tell us the bad news written on that piece of foolscap. “Lady Pinswary boasts about her niece’s connections to Prince George.”

  Upsetting, of course, but there must be something else troubling our headmistress. Sera draws the same conclusion. “We knew Lady Daneska was well connected. Why is Lady Pinswary bragging about that?”

  “Oh, she has a very good reason.” Miss Stranje gazes steadily at us. “She tells me Lady Daneska plans to arrive in London within the week.”

  “London?” Georgie gasps. “Daneska wouldn’t dare show her face there.”

  Sera comes and stands next to me. “She would if she’s up to something.”

  “She’s always up to something,” I say. “The question is what?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Georgie bounces up and down on her toes excitedly. “Lord Wyatt and Captain Grey will be there soon. They can have her arrested for being a traitor. Then Lord Castlereagh will order her to be locked away in the Tower of London, and we need never see her again. Ever.”

  Maya rests her hand on Georgie’s arm. “Lady Daneska is not a gentle dove to be easily caught and locked in a cage. She is more like a daring tiger strolling into a village. Hunting. She is in London to do the catching, not to be caught. She will have contrived a way to stay safe.”

  “Exactly right.” Miss Stranje inclines her head approvingly at Maya. “She has done so in spades. Lady Daneska received an invitation to Carlton House. She is to be an honored guest of the Prince Regent himself.”

  “What?” Tess growls. “How did she manage that?”

  With a deep sigh, I explain the sad truth. “We know her for the murderous traitor she is, but we cannot forget Lady Daneska was the daughter of a duke. Her standing in European courts is of the highest order. She is young, exotic, and beautiful.” Tess grumbles at my words, and Georgie bites her bottom lip, but I press on. “We all know Prince George likes to surround himself with the crème de la crème of the beau monde, the beautiful people in high society. Daneska is exactly the sort of ornament he likes to have decorating his court.”

  “Just so.” Miss Stranje holds up the letter. “So, you see the problem.”

  “Of course.” I sigh. “Lord Wyatt and Captain Grey can’t very well march into Prince George’s palace and charge Lady Daneska, the renowned Countess Valdikauf, with criminal acts against the crown, acts that for all public purposes have never even occurred. It was one thing when we held her in custody here at Stranje House and threatened to turn her in. We would’ve done so quietly through private diplomatic channels. One simply cannot drag a foreign dignitary, a guest of Prince George, out of Carlton House and accuse her of treason.”

  “Precisely.” Miss Stranje acknowledges my analysis, but the situation is too grave to warrant a smile. “Too much of our work is done in the shadows behind the curtain.”

  “Still, it begs the question. What is she doing in London?” Sera rubs at her chin mulling over possibilities.

  Georgie is always quick to leap to a conclusion. “I should think it’s fairly obvious. She plans to scuttle Mr. Sinclair’s ship or steal it from him. Or worse yet, she’ll take it from him and murder poor Mr. Sinclair to keep England from being able to build one.”

  Sera shakes her head. “Maybe, but I’m not certain that’s all of it. She could be up to something even worse. At the Prince Regent’s palace she’ll be in the company of key members of Parliament and the House of Lords. There’s bound to be foreign heads of state, and even Lord Castlereagh—”

  “You’re right.” Tess heaves a sigh. “This is Daneska we’re talking about.”

  “And Ghost,” I say with a sinking feeling in my stomach. “Not to mention the Iron Crown.”

  Tess waits for our speculations to cease before naming the thing which we dared not speak. “She might try to assassinate the Prince Regent.”

  We all stare at Tess. Her words hover over us like a spike-winged gargoyle with terrifyingly sharp teeth.

  Maya, whose voice normally bathes us with joy, tiptoes in solemn tones of mourning. “That would not bode well for England.”

  Miss Stranje smooths the corner of the letter, waiting for us to tumble to all the same conclusions she did, and now I understand why she paled.

  I plunk down in the nearest chair. “Assassinating the Prince is a brilliant strategy. The ensuing chaos would provide the perfect distraction to cover Napoleon’s attack on Britain.”

  “Good heavens! She can’t do that. Not the Prince Regent.” Georgie shoves back a handful of her coppery curls. “For all intents and purposes he is the king. She wouldn’t dare.”

  “Wouldn’t she?” Tess scoffs. “Have you forgotten? The Iron Crown didn’t shy away from assassinating Louis the XVIII, and he was about to be crowned king of France.”

  “There you have it.” Miss Stranje tucks the letter back into her pocket.

  I sit drooping under the weight of these speculations, but she stands without even the tiniest sag in her shoulders, and addresses us squarely as if she is about to send us into battle. “Ladies, the moment is upon us. I believe it is time for us to take an excursion to London.”

  London. If I wasn’t white before, I’m certain all color has now completely drained from my face. “London?” It comes out as an inaudible squeak. The few bites of scone I’d taken earlier tumble like jagged stones in my stomach, and my palms turn to sweat.

  I cannot go to London.

  I force a brave smile, because that is what is expected of me. I must be Lady Jane, the girl they have come to rely on. I must not be afraid. Above all, I must not show the concerns warring inside me.

  Two main thoughts clash with one another. In London, there is a strong chance I will have the opportunity to see Mr. Sinclair again.

  Elation.

  On the other hand, if I go to London, and we move in the circles Miss Stranje proposes, it will be impossible to keep my secret. My foolish infatuation with Mr. Sinclair will explode into nothingness. My life here at Stranje House will end—my future will be plucked from my grasp and tossed on the fire like a summer flower.

  Devastation.

  Eight

  LONDON CONUNDRUM

  “Do you mean all of us will go to London?” Maya stands very straight with her hands clasped behind her back. If she weren’t so delicate, her stance might be almost soldierly. The reason she asks this question saddens me. She’s worried that because of the color of her skin Miss Stranje might not be comfortable presenting her in high society. Maya’s English stepmother hid her away as if the girl’s Indian heritage was an embarrassment. It’s one reason she’s here with us, rather than in her father’s house.

  Miss Stranje responds as if it is an outlandish question. “Why yes, my dear, of course all of us will go. And you will all attend various balls and social functions.”

  “Are you sure that is wise?” Maya bravely asks, willing to accept the humiliation of being left behind rather than cause Miss Stranje discomfort.

  “Wise?” Miss Stranje appears to ponder her question for a moment. “Yes, it is the essence of wisdom, Miss Barrington. Over the years I have discovered wisdom is seldom found on the easy path. All of us are going, and that is my final word on the matter.”

  All of us? Impossible.

  Not I. I cannot risk certain people in London seeing me. I sit in the armchair, silently ramming my thoughts against a hundred-foot brick wall, while the others bombard Miss Stranje with questions.

  Tess snags my attention with a particularly key questi
on for our headmistress. “How do you expect us to keep the Prince Regent safe from Daneska, given the fact that we move in far less exalted social circles than either of them?”

  Miss Stranje’s left eyebrow rises just enough to make it appear as if she finds Tess’s question amusing. “Are you quite certain you know the circles I run in?”

  Tess opens her mouth to ask something else, but before she can Sera poses a different question. “What pretense shall we use to explain our being in London?”

  “We don’t need a pretense.” Miss Stranje strides purposefully across the room to our worktable. “I intend to hold a coming-out ball to present you young ladies to society.”

  Sera blanches so intensely her skin turns almost as white as her hair. “You needn’t do that. Not for me. My mother would never approve, surely, and I don’t really want one anyway.”

  “Nonsense. Most girls your age beg for a proper debut. Your mother and father gave me carte blanche to do as I please, and it pleases me to hold a coming-out for all of you.”

  Sera spirals into a panic. “But it’s May. The London Season is nearly over.”

  Miss Stranje does not give her any quarter. “With all the trouble mounting in Europe, Parliament has a great many things yet to settle. The Season is bound to last until the end of July, or longer.” Miss Stranje sits down, squares up a sheet of paper, and begins a list. “Now let’s see, we will need the appropriate gowns, slippers, fans, and fripperies we can buy in town, and…”

  Poor Sera. She sits down beside Miss Stranje with her head in her hands and even from here, I can see she’s shaking.

  “I can’t go,” I say flatly, having decided I can’t risk being seen in London. They all stare at me with mouths agape.

  “Why not?” Georgie marches toward me. “It will be marvelous. We can visit London Tower and Vauxhall Gardens. You have to come with us. We need you. Who will order us about and make certain we are doing our part?”

  I don’t answer. They’ll have Miss Stranje for that. I pretend to inspect my fingernails. Tess crosses her arms, leans against the wall, and frowns. “What if we need a lock picked?”

  She has a point. Lock picking is something I do exceptionally well, but it is not a good enough reason for me to jeopardize my entire future. “You’ll be attending balls, not sneaking into the Iron Crown’s fortress. There won’t be any locks to pick.”

  Tess is not appeased. “If anyone is to stay behind, it ought to be me. I need to look after Lord Ravencross.”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake.” Miss Stranje plunks down her pen. “Yes, there’s a fine idea. Why didn’t I think of that? I ought to leave you here, Tess, unchaperoned, with a gentleman who only two days ago I caught you kissing.”

  We smother grins at this, even me. It is impossible not to. The word kissing sounds so peculiar on Miss Stranje’s lips, as if it is an objectionable activity. Amusing, considering I’m quite certain she kisses Captain Grey on occasion.

  “You’ll come to London with us—both of you.” Miss Stranje waves her hand at Tess. “Oh, do sit down, and stop glowering before you give yourself frown lines. If I know Lord Ravencross, he’ll pack up and follow you to London. I daresay, the man would chase after you even if he had to travel to Hades and back.”

  Tess doesn’t sit, she paces. “I don’t see how I can leave Phobos and Tromos, not when any day now Tromos is about to have her pups.”

  “We’ll bring them with us.” Miss Stranje dismisses Tess’s argument with a flip of her hand.

  “Wolves don’t belong in the city. Neither do I,” Tess mumbles, but Miss Stranje merely shakes her head.

  “Whether Tess goes or stays, I must remain here.” I say this quietly, not in an argumentative way, in a sad I-wish-I-could-go-but-I-can’t way.

  Sera turns in her chair. “How will I bear being around all those high-society people without you?”

  I shrug. “I’m sorry. I truly am.” More than she could ever know, I want to be there for her, and I would dearly love to see Alexander one last time.

  Georgie turns cross. She never gets cross. “Whyever not?”

  “I can’t tell you. Trust me, though, I have very good reasons.”

  “If you want us to trust you, you must trust us enough to tell us your reasons why.” Sera stands, and I’m afraid she will come closer and read too many clues in my face.

  “Very well, if you must know. I have hundreds of reasons.” I spray excuses at them. “Someone must stay and attend to matters here. There is the rest of the sheepshearing to oversee. I’ve planned a new breeding program to increase our wool yield. This is the only time of year those experiments can be carried out. If I leave, it would be the same as taking money from Captain Grey’s pocket. I have to make certain the fields are furrowed using the new methods to facilitate drainage. Spring is our busiest time.” I grab a quick breath. “I simply cannot go.”

  Miss Stranje pierces me with one of her I-know-you’re-not-telling-me-the-truth looks. “My dear Lady Jane, I appreciate you lending your expertise to Captain Grey’s steward. However, it is Mr. Turner’s duty to manage the estate. That’s why we pay him. More importantly, I am not training you to be a steward.”

  I fling my hands open. “I’ll be of no use to you in London. I can’t possibly stop an assassin. I’m only middling good at close range with a dagger. You have Tess for things like that and now Georgie, too. I can better serve you here.” I pull in my wildly gesticulating hands and cross my arms, tucking them tight around me. “Besides, someone must stay and keep an eye on Alice.”

  “You are coming with us, Lady Jane.” Miss Stranje turns back to writing her list. “And so is Alice.”

  “Alice!?” Georgie practically chokes.

  “Of course.” Miss Stranje dips her quill and begins writing again. “She’s a perfectly adequate housemaid and someone has to carry our misinformation to Lady Daneska. Who better to do it than her own spy?”

  There’s a scratch at the door. Miss Stranje glances up from writing her list. “Enter.”

  Greaves carries in his silver tray and on it rests a small calling card. “The younger Mr. Chadwick is in the foyer, miss. He specifically requested the company of Miss Wyndham.”

  Sera, who is already flustered beyond her ability to cope, groans. “What can he want?”

  “I’ve no idea, miss, beyond the fact that the young man carries a bouquet and would not allow me to relieve him of it.” Greaves turns back to our headmistress. “He also asked me to mention he has information which may be of concern to you, Miss Stranje.”

  “Thank you, Greaves.” Miss Stranje takes the card without reading it and flips it end over end, as she thinks. “Show Mr. Chadwick to the blue drawing room.”

  “Shouldn’t we tell him we are not at home?” Sera pleads.

  “No, Miss Wyndham. It’s best we listen to what the magistrate’s son has to say. I suggest you take the back stairs and make yourself ready for our guest.”

  Eager to escape the room, I offer to accompany Sera.

  “Lady Jane!” Miss Stranje arrests me at the door. “You and I will discuss the trip to London later.”

  My stomach clenches, she’ll want answers, answers that must stay hidden. Sera and I hasten upstairs to the dormitorium. She fusses with her stockings. “Why must Mr. Chadwick pay a visit today of all days?”

  I laugh. “Men are rarely convenient. I suspect they pride themselves on being inconvenient.” I smile to myself, thinking of how Mr. Sinclair always seemed to do so. With a wistful sigh, I add, “But they can also be rather wonderful in their own way. I thought you liked Mr. Chadwick. Why does it fluster you so much that he should call on you?”

  “I have no idea.” Sera rifles through her wardrobe. “Oh, for pity’s sake, what shall I wear? There’s nothing here.”

  “Piffle. You have several very pretty gowns. You’ll look lovely in any one of them.” Sera has never understood how beautiful she is.

  She pulls out a yellow morning gown, and promp
tly thrusts it back into the closet. “Why is it you never fret about what you will wear?”

  “Why should I?” I shrug. “I am simply me, plain brown-wren Lady Jane. I strive to look clean and presentable. If I achieve that much, I’m quite pleased.”

  “How can you think such a thing, Jane? You’re anything but ordinary or plain.” She frowns at me before turning back to her wardrobe. “By society’s standards you are a classic beauty, extremely pretty.”

  “Only to you, my dear friend, and that’s because your vision is colored by affection.” I put my arm around her shoulders because she is so kindhearted. “What about this dress, it’s one of my favorites.” I pull out a dainty aqua-blue morning gown. “The color highlights your porcelain complexion.”

  While she changes, I go to the window and aim the spyglass across the park at Ravencross Manor. To see all the way to the barns, I must open the window and lean out. I adjust the glass and spot several men working. From here, they look like small figurines moving in a shadow box.

  Sera hurries to the window beside me. “Are they loading the prototype yet?”

  “Yes. I expect they’ll be leaving for London soon, but I don’t see Mr. Sinclair. I doubt they would chance having him there.” I know this, and yet I lean further out and refocus the telescope in the faint hope of catching a glimpse of him.

  Sera adjusts her collar and tucks in a lace fichu. “I’m sure they’ll keep him hidden until the wagons reach the road.”

  She’s right, of course, and I’m behaving like a silly besotted schoolgirl. I pull back inside the window and collapse the spyglass. I help tie the ribbons on her back. “You look beautiful, like a fairy-tale princess.”

  “Now whose vision is colored by affection? I look like a frightened mouse. Mr. Chadwick makes me so very nervous.”

  “Why? He’s your friend, Sera. A young man who genuinely appreciates your extraordinary mind. He understands you.”

  “He can’t. How can he understand?” She shakes her head. “Mr. Chadwick’s family has always approved of him. They even hired tutors for him. He’s had every advantage. I’m quite certain Mr. Chadwick’s family never locked him in the attic for drawing a portrait of his dead grandfather. I doubt they accused him of being possessed. Do you think anyone slapped him for noticing details he ought not? Or for asking questions about things he should not have seen?”