Refuge for Masterminds

by Kathleen Baldwin

  Sera sinks onto the bed her hands folded meekly in her lap. “I tried so hard to keep out of trouble. I thought if I kept quiet, if I painted or drew pictures to pass the time, no one would get nervous or upset at me, maybe I wouldn’t frighten them so much. I missed my grandfather. He had been fond of me. Granpapa called me his bright little angel. I should’ve hidden the pictures I drew of him. How was I to know it would upset my mother and my aunts—”

  “You have a peculiar family, Sera.” I brush her silky white hair and pin it up in a bun. “They’re foolish and superstitious. You mustn’t judge the rest of the world by them.”

  Her hands ball into fists. “My mother said she wished I hadn’t been born—”

  “She didn’t mean it. If you hadn’t been born, the world would have been robbed of one of the kindest, dearest girls I know.” I finish tying a ribbon in her hair. She is fine and delicate, but her mind rivals that of any man in England. I clasp her shoulders and look at her squarely. “Listen to me, Seraphina Wyndham. As beautiful as you are, your brain is your most impressive feature.”

  She blushes rosy pink, and I feel an overpowering urge to take a horsewhip to the cruel people who made her feel so timid about her intelligence. “Come. We mustn’t keep Mr. Chadwick waiting any longer. Admit it. Aren’t you the tiniest bit curious to find out what he has to say?”

  “No. Well, maybe a little.”

  At Sera’s request, I accompany her and Miss Stranje into the blue drawing room. Tess and Maya are spying on us from behind the Chinese silk painting. We saw them slip into the understairs passage as Sera and I entered.

  Mr. Chadwick springs up from his chair. I have to admit there is something cheering about his broad smile, as if his features were specially created for happiness. He hides a rose-colored flush by bowing rather long to us.

  Finally, he straightens and thrusts a bouquet at Sera. It’s a cheery collection of hyacinths, daffodils, and a few cowslips with charming purple bells. “From my mother’s garden.” He runs a finger around his high collar and cravat in a vain attempt to loosen his neckwear. “I thought, er, you might enjoy … um…”

  “They’re lovely, Mr. Chadwick.” Miss Stranje walks into the room and spares him any more stumbling. “Spring flowers are always so heartening.”

  “Yes. That is to say, I hope Miss Wyndham likes them, too.” He risks a direct glance at Sera. She holds the flowers in her arms as if they are as fragile and dear as a newborn infant. He swallows and turns a brilliant shade of red again.

  Laughter threatens to bubble up in my throat, so I busy myself by going to Sera’s aid. “I’ll have Greaves put them in some water for you, shall I?”

  She nods, even more tongue-tied than he is. I extract the flowers from her, plunk them in a nearby Chinese vase, and hand them over to Greaves. Our butler heads for the door holding the vase of blooms away from his person as if it is something repugnant the dogs tracked in. Before he can escape, Miss Stranje stops him. “Greaves, do send Phillip back with a tea tray, if you would, please.”

  “As you wish, miss.” He shuts the door on his way out.

  Miss Stranje turns to our guest. “How very kind of you to call, Mr. Chadwick. Have a seat, won’t you? Greaves tells me you have information of particular interest to me.”

  “Yes, I do.” Mr. Chadwick waits for Sera to sit, and chooses the chair nearest her.

  “I’m intrigued.” Miss Stranje smooths out her skirts and laces her fingers in her lap. “Pray, do tell us your news.”

  His face loses some of its jubilance and turns serious. “I came here by way of the beach. I confess, I had hoped to have another look at that extraordinary steam vessel you have in your possession. Although, given its small size, I suppose one can’t really call it a steamship, can one? Is it a steam-powered raft?”

  Miss Stranje does not betray even the slightest concern about the direction this conversation is taking. “We call it the Mary Isabella,” she says brightly.

  “Yes, well, I went to have a closer look at the Mary Isabella, and you can imagine my surprise at finding it missing.”

  “Not missing, Mr. Chadwick. The ship is on its way to London.” I say this quite pleased with myself for offering a completely honest response.

  His face twists up as if that is a perplexing piece of news. “Are you quite certain?”

  “Yes, of course, I am.” After all, a few minutes ago I saw them loading up the wagons. Any minute now, they’ll be on the road to London. “In fact, I bid Mr. Sinclair farewell myself.” That sounds a wee bit too personal, so I add, “We all did.”

  Miss Stranje tilts her head, studying the young man. “Why? What is troubling you, Mr. Chadwick?”

  He answers her bluntly, as if he is a student confessing difficulty adding up his sums. “When I entered the cove, I noticed a great many footprints along the shore. Since you were all on the beach bidding him farewell, that explains them. However, I also noted impressions of various pieces of equipment, and long flat prints which could only have been made by planks, almost as if the vessel had been taken apart.” He searches our faces. “Dismantled, and carried ashore.”

  “How very peculiar.” Miss Stranje stands, goes to the door, and opens it to peer out into the foyer. “I wonder where our tea tray is?”

  Miss Stranje isn’t concerned about the tea. She’s worried Alice might be in the hall eavesdropping. Making certain there is no one outside the drawing room, our headmistress wanders to the wall beside the fireplace and leans down to check the grating, a grating that hides another listening hole. “I assure you, Mr. Chadwick, we were all there this morning to see Mr. Sinclair off as he departed.”

  “Yes,” I rush to corroborate her statement. “It was a sad moment. Truly.” I do not have to feign my downcast look.

  He shakes his head. “I felt certain there had to be more to it than that.” I wish we could tell him the truth. A frown on Mr. Chadwick’s countenance looks so terribly out of place. Confusion does not rest easily on his features. He bounces his palm against the arm of his chair as if he can drum answers out of thin air. “You see, not only did I find impressions of gears and machinery in the sand, but I also noticed several men hiding behind the rocks at the top of the bluffs, spying on my movements.”

  At this, Miss Stranje’s attention whips to him. “Men? What sort of men?”

  “I cannot believe they were a good sort. When they saw I’d spotted them, they took off as if they’d been caught in the act of doing something criminal. That’s the very reason I’m doubly concerned about the missing ship.”

  “How many men did you see?” Sera’s shyness vanishes.

  He sits straighter, responding eagerly to her question. “From that distance and angle, at first I only noticed movement. It wasn’t until they stood to run away that I had a better look at them. I gave chase, but by the time I ran up the bluffs, they were gone. Their footprints overlaid one another, so I could only clearly identify three distinctive sets of footprints. Given the quantity of prints, though, I suspect there may have been a fourth man. You understand, grass and foliage make it impossible to be sure.”

  “Of course.” Sera nods. “You would only have a clear print if they stepped in mud or dirt.”

  While they discuss footprints, I worry Daneska’s spies will have seen the wagons on the road and add two and two. “How long ago did you see those men, Mr. Chadwick?”

  He consults his pocket watch. “Nearly an hour. It took me a half hour to hike back to my horse and ride here. Then, er, I waited here for twenty-three minutes.”

  An hour. That means the boat thieves fled from Mr. Chadwick while the wagons were still being loaded. Daneska’s henchmen will have run straight back to report the steamship has already sailed. I exhale with relief. The wagons won’t have been on the road yet.

  “This is most upsetting, Mr. Chadwick.” Miss Stranje doesn’t look very upset. “Thank you for bringing the matter to our attention.”

  Greaves comes quietly throu
gh the door carrying the vase of flowers properly arranged. He places it on the side table so the flowers completely obscure Mr. Chadwick’s view of Sera. Phillip comes in behind the butler carrying a tea tray.

  Miss Stranje indicates Sera should pour for our guest.

  As soon as the servants leave the room, Mr. Chadwick leans forward, warming to his subject. “Given the circumstances, you can understand why I wonder if that unfortunate incident two weeks ago involving Miss Aubreyson and Miss Fitzwilliam might have something to do with the arrival of your American cousin, Mr. Sinclair, and his extraordinary steamship.”

  Sera very nearly spills the tea.

  “My cousin?” Miss Stranje draws his attention away from Sera. “What can his arrival have to do with that horrifying attempt to kidnap one of my students? I thought your father and the coroner settled all that.”

  “Yes, yes, they did. The matter is officially closed. The problem is, I’m not altogether satisfied with their findings. And now, today, after seeing those men sneaking around the bluffs, spying on the cove where you’d stored Mr. Sinclair’s steamship, I have more questions than ever.” He accepts the cup and saucer from Sera, and even though words form on his lips, it isn’t until he clears his throat that he makes them audible. “Don’t you?” He directs this last to Sera.

  She quickly looks away, as if he hadn’t sought her opinion.

  “I’m certain there must be a connection.” He leans his head nearly sloshing his tea in an attempt to observe her response. When that fails, he sinks back in his chair and studies the ripples in his teacup. “Too many missing pieces.”

  Sera takes a bite of dry cookie and stares intently at the Chinese painting, behind which she knows Tess and Maya are watching.

  “You’re an exceptionally clever young man, Mr. Chadwick. I’m sure you will find the answers, if there are any to be found.” Miss Stranje waves her hand, the way a magician misdirects his audience, and draws his attention to the flowers. “How is your mother? I see by these lovely flowers that her garden is as spectacular as ever. It must be magnificent with all the spring blooms.”

  He sets down his cup. “I’m certain she would enjoy showing it to you. You ought to come for a visit. Yes, you should come and bring all the young ladies.” He glances sidelong at Sera.

  Miss Stranje calmly sips her tea. “Thank you. We would like that, except the young ladies and I are leaving for London in the next few days to attend the remainder of the season.”

  “London? For the season, I see.” Mr. Chadwick looks as if she clobbered him with a pike. In one fell swoop, Miss Stranje has robbed him of a most intriguing puzzle and, in all likelihood, the only young lady in the entire universe to whom he is suited. “Must you?” The words come tumbling out and he turns red.

  “Yes.” Miss Stranje nods politely, even though she must realize she has just dashed his hopes to pieces. “I’m pleased to say, Miss Wyndham, along with the other young ladies, are to be presented to society. I’m planning a coming-out ball for them.”

  “A ball. I see.” He tugs at his collar again, this time with more force. Poor fellow, he knows what this means. Sera will be on the marriage mart and he will be out of the running. She is as good as gone.

  He sets down the cup of tea, and silently taps his finger on the arm of the chair. Suddenly, as if finding a solution, he stands. “Pardon my boldness, Miss Stranje, but if I might impose upon your friendship with my mother, I should very much like an invitation to your ball.”

  “You would?” Sera’s lips part in surprise.

  “Yes. Yes, I would. Very much so.” He takes a deep breath and straightens his cuffs. “Now, sadly, our fifteen minutes have flown and I must not overstay my welcome. I bid you adieu and wish you all a safe journey.” He bows to me and Sera and stiffly approaches Miss Stranje. In a quiet voice he adds, “As to the invitation, I’m aware it was presumptuous of me to ask. You must, of course, do as you see fit.”

  “I shall be delighted to send you an invitation, Mr. Chadwick.” Miss Stranje smiles at him warmly. “Thank you for stopping in and alerting us about the intruders on our property.”

  “As to that, I give you my promise, I shall continue to investigate. Perhaps we might discuss this further, when we are all in London.”

  “As you wish,” our headmistress says with sinking enthusiasm, and gives him a farewell curtsy in return for his bow.

  Nine

  PREPARING FOR BATTLE

  The next few days whirl by in a flurry of activity as we prepare for the journey to London. With all the uproar, anyone would think we were preparing for Armageddon. Like all of the servants, Alice is extremely busy. So far, she hasn’t found time to meet with anyone from the Iron Crown. We know, because we’ve been keeping watch on her movements.

  Breakfast is no longer a pleasant conversational hour. It’s a beehive, with servants running to and fro, delivering messages, and gathering instructions from the queen of this swarm, Miss Stranje.

  This morning the queen bee and Madame Cho are arguing. According to Tess, Madame Cho is actually Miss Stranje’s adopted sister, and today they are bickering as if it is true. Madame Cho no longer has a bandage on her head, and she’s adamant about making the trip to London with us. “I will not allow you to face Lady Daneska without me.” She smacks her hand on the table to emphasize her point.

  Personally, I think she wants revenge for the brutal whack on the head Lady Daneska gave her, and the long scar etched on her throat.

  Miss Stranje prunes up. “You nearly died. I don’t want anything to compromise your health. London is noisy and we are perfectly capable of…”

  Greaves holds out his silver tray containing several letters.

  “… dealing with Lady Daneska on our own.” Miss Stranje glances at the top letter and draws a quick breath. “I’m not certain you’re up to the rigors of the journey.”

  “Rigors. Do you think me a cripple?” Madame Cho stands. “Come to the mats today. I will show you rigors. I can best any of these young sprouts.” She sweeps a hand at all of us, and crosses her arms imperiously. “Rigors. Bah! I’m going.”

  It surprises me, when Miss Stranje relents so easily. “Very well, it will be a comfort to have you with us.” Obviously distracted, she picks up the letter and breaks the seal.

  “What is it?” Madame Cho shifts in a flash from annoyance to concern.

  Miss Stranje scans the contents. “It’s from Captain Grey. The wool wagons arrived safely in London.”

  A question pops out of my mouth before I can stop it. “And Mr. Sinclair?”

  She rubs the bridge of her nose for a moment. “Yes. There’s a letter from him enclosed for you, Lady Jane.” She hands the sealed note to me with two fingers, as if Mr. Sinclair painted the parchment with rat poison. “This is highly improper. You must not encourage this sort of thing from a gentleman to whom you are not engaged.”

  She thinks it’s a love letter. Heat blazes into my cheeks. “I didn’t encourage him. Not in the least. I’m sure he merely has a question about his ship’s notes, or some other business matter.”

  She shakes her head at me, as if I’m responsible for Mr. Sinclair’s breach of etiquette, and heaves a sigh. “I suppose one must excuse his manners. Mr. Sinclair is, after all, an American. They can be so very uncivilized.” She sends one last frown in my direction. “And brazen.”

  Miss Stranje never said a word, nothing at all, when Georgie received several notes and letters from Lord Wyatt, and they’re not engaged, either. I hoist my chin in the air and stuff the uncivilized American’s letter into my left pocket, the one that doesn’t have an opening next to my dagger and sheath. It’s difficult pretending the parchment isn’t making my fingers itch to tear it open.

  “Is there any other news?” Sera leans forward, drawing our attention back to Captain Grey’s letter.

  “Lady Daneska has not yet arrived in London. Her ship is expected in port tomorrow.” Miss Stranje’s shoulders stiffen, as if the next
sentence makes her uncomfortable.

  “What?” I demand. “What’s wrong?”

  She pinches her lips together before answering. “Captain Grey has heard rumors that Ghost will arrive incognito on the same ship as Lady Daneska.”

  A monstrous claw reaches up and clutches my stomach. I can hardly breathe as she continues speaking.

  She continues reading. “He also mentions that his men observed several fast-moving sloops armed with guns, anchored in the Thames near Canvey Island.”

  “Pirates.” Georgie nearly knocks over her water glass. “You were right, Jane. The Iron Crown sent them to take the Mary Isabella.”

  Miss Stranje inclines her head in my direction. “Well done, Lady Jane. Your plan kept Mr. Sinclair and his prototype safe thus far.”

  Thus far.

  Small comfort. Ghost is coming.

  Possibilities for disaster gnaw my composure to shreds. I can’t stand the uncertainty a second longer. “Does he say where they’re staying? Are they well hidden? Do they have men standing guard at their quarters?” It is not like me to barrage her with such desperate questions.

  “For now they are safe. That’s all we know.” Miss Stranje folds the letter primly and glances pointedly at me, a silent scold for my outburst. I turn away as she addresses the others. “We will be altering the departure date for our journey. I would like to arrive in London as soon as possible.”

  “How soon?” Maya’s tone is buttery smooth, but I detect a peppery hint of nervousness, highly irregular for her.

  “We shall leave in the morning.” Miss Stranje claps her hands and rises. “Attend to your sewing today, ladies, and pack your things this evening.”

  A collective groan rises among Georgie, Sera, and Maya. Changing the schedule means they have hems to finish, lace to add to collars, sleeves to stitch in place, bonnets to trim, ribbons to match, and slippers to dye. Tess and Madame Cho head to the ballroom for morning practice, but the rest hurry off to the yellow parlor.