“I am never ready for days like this.”
“Did you dream anything new?”
“No.” She tosses scraps to Phobos and scratches him behind the ears.”
“They found the bomb, you know.”
“Georgie told me.” Tess kneels beside Tromos handing her strips of ham and mutton.
“It’s because of you and your dream. You saved all those people.”
“Let us hope so.”
* * *
We arrange for an early breakfast, even so it is a two-and-a-half-hour carriage ride to Woolwich Naval Yards. We spend another twenty minutes passing through the gates. It is well after one o’clock when we arrive at the unveiling.
Tess, Sera, and I quietly stroll about the viewing area looking for anything suspicious. A raised platform has been specially set up on the pier for the Admiralty and other royal guests. The remainder of the spectators will be seated in chairs, which sailors are arranging for us atop the long stone tiers overlooking the inlet. The gates are open and river water is flooding the docking bay in preparation for the launch.
By two o’clock, the Admiralty begins arriving. Lieutenant Baker acknowledges me with a sociable nod as he tromps down the massive stone abutments behind Admiral Gambier. Georgie waits down near the Mary Isabella with Lord Wyatt, who plans to help Mr. Sinclair with the demonstration.
Two-thirty, and most of the government officials have arrived. Lord and Lady Castlereagh make their way down the stone risers, greeting other dignitaries. Sera leans over to me and whispers, “Did you notice the bulge in the lady’s reticule? It must be the pistol we saw the day your brothers barged in.”
I watch with admiration as Lady Castlereagh strides down the steep steps close beside her husband. She wears a fierce protective expression on her normally jovial face. No soldier could guard the Foreign Secretary more zealously.
So many lives hang in the balance today. The perverse sun continues to shine, not a drop of rain, not even a cloud in the sky. It’s England, for pity’s sake. There is always rain, or at least a drizzle. I’d hoped for rain. Just in case.
Rain would extinguish a fire.
If there is a fire.
If.
I mustn’t think that way. There’s to be no hedging my bets, not today. Not when all these lives are at stake. We simply will not allow an explosion. That’s all there is to it.
The momentous occasion was supposed to start some time ago. We must wait, of course, for the Prince Regent and his guests to arrive. The seats on the platform are nearly full, four admirals, two captains, including the famed Captain Maitland, and three lieutenants, including Lieutenant Baker.
A trumpet blasts from the guard of the gate, announcing the Prince Regent has finally arrived. Three-fifteen. He is only three quarters of an hour behind schedule. This is better than expected.
I mark his labored progress from his carriage. He is a large man. The heat must surely be playing havoc with his gout, but this is the sort of occasion he loves. A military excursion. He is decked out in full military regalia including sash and cape. If he were not so rotund, he would be quite a heroic figure. Lord Harston walks beside him, along with the Prince’s entourage of foreign dignitaries, including Lady Daneska.
She draws the Prince’s attention. “It is so very warm today. Wouldn’t your majesty be more comfortable here in the shade?” Lady Daneska fans herself. Anyone would think the poor girl is positively baking. I know better. She runs as cool as one of Mr. Gunter’s ices. She points to the overhang casting a shadow over the top of the seating area. “The view from up here is quite splendid. I’m certain Mr. Sinclair would be honored to give you a ride aboard his marvelous little craft after the demonstration.”
Prince George looks from the coveted shade to the glory of sitting on the platform with the admirals. “Stay here, my lady. Be comfortable.” He waves his bejeweled fingers in the air, pointing over his shoulder at the shade, and takes a labored breath. “We,” he says, referring to himself in the royal plural. “Came all this way across town. We will jolly well sit with our admirals down below.”
The gentlemen in the audience all bow down as the Prince passes and we ladies drop into low curtsies. This makes it particularly challenging for the footmen, who are striving to place small wooden boxes under the Prince’s feet to help him descend the enormous stone steps. He generously waves his hand. “Up, up,” he commands to those bowing. “We are all friends here.”
He is in good humor, especially considering how early in the day it is for him. Lord Harston keeps him from tumbling several times before our Regent stops to greet Lord and Lady Castlereagh. He accepts the hands of Admiral Elphinstone and Admiral Gambier and takes his seat.
“Now then.” He claps his palms together. “Let us see this marvel our young American has created for us.”
Captain Grey bows, and indicates everyone should be seated. I cannot sit. I couldn’t bear to sit. My nerves couldn’t take it. Questions keep whirling through my head.
What if I was wrong?
What if they’ve hidden another bomb somewhere else?
Sera, Tess, and I stand off to one side watching for any false movement. Miss Stranje, Maya, and Georgie are on the other side. I note Lord Harston sitting directly behind the Prince. Lady Daneska remains seated at the top of the risers in the shade. “Of course she sits there,” Tess growls. “She knows she’ll be clear of the blast.”
Lady Daneska is looking around too expectantly, and that makes me nervous.
Sera turns and whispers to me. “Do you see how she sits? So impatient. She’s eager to witness the bloodbath she’s planned.”
I’m not certain that’s the only reason, but Captain Grey is beginning the unveiling.
“Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present the Mary Isabella.” Captain Grey and Lord Wyatt whisk the sailcloth off, revealing the little steamship.
There are no oohs or aahs. The audience applauds politely. They’ve all seen more impressive ships, spectacular schooners with tall dramatic sails. I’m sure they are wondering why we’re making such a fuss over this small sail-less contraption. Captain Grey continues by introducing my beloved engineer. “Mr. Alexander Sinclair.”
Mr. Sinclair doffs his hat with a jaunty grin, bows with a flourish, and jumps aboard the Mary Isabella, where he waves from the wheel of the ship. Lord Wyatt follows him aboard and shows everyone how easy it is to throw a shovel full of coal into the already fired up boiler.
“I can’t watch.” Tess turns and leans into my shoulder. “This is exactly what I saw in the dream.”
I note the smug leer on Lady Daneska’s face. Captain Grey points out the various pieces of equipment, and touches on how the ship operates. “Put it in gear, Mr. Sinclair.”
With a clank, Alexander engages the wheel and the first paddle slaps the water. “Oooh!” Murmurs hum through the onlookers as the ship begins to move. A puff of smoke bursts from the copper smokestack.
Lady Daneska sits up straighter in her seat. She leans forward and frowns.
Another puff of smoke escapes the stack
I watch her face, reading it as Lord Harston taught me. It should’ve blown up by now, she’s thinking. Her fist presses against the crest of the chair in front of her. Her jaw clenches. Any minute she expects it to blow up. Now. Now. Now.
She stares forward with poker-hot intensity and I see the exact moment when she realizes we have escaped her snare. Her head whips around. Not to us, as I’d expected her to do, to mete out her fury at having been beaten, to spit angry bile at me or Tess. Instead, she scans the guard wall of Woolwich yard.
A sick feeling rushes into my stomach. I follow her gaze. We both see it at the same instant, a glint of sunlight on a musket barrel.
Ghost.
Or it may only be the sentry on the wall. Except it isn’t. Both sentries are exactly where they are supposed to be. One stands atop the armory watching the demonstration and the other is making his rounds on the clock tow
er.
The Mary Isabella moves out from the dry dock, making an impressive sharp turn. From there, it paddles straight toward the Admiralty’s stand.
Sera grabs my arm. “That lieutenant—something isn’t right.” She points to Lieutenant Baker. He casts a worried glance over his shoulder in my direction.
Why, I wonder. He turns full around in his chair and now he’s looking, not at me, but directly at Lady Daneska. She gives him a nod. In a lung-crushing instant, I comprehend. I’ve made a horrible mistake. My hands turn to fists. There’s a secondary play. Ghost always has a backup plan. And an escape strategy. Always.
“Tess!” I shout. “There’s a man with a gun.” I point to the far wall.
“Ghost,” she curses and starts running, but Ghost, or whoever it is, is a furlong away. Near enough for a musket shot, too far for her to stop him in time.
Lieutenant Baker reaches into his satchel. I can guess what comes next. “Bomb!” I scream, and point at him.
It has to be Baker.
Only I didn’t think my counterplay through. No finesse. Instead of running for cover, the admirals, every last one of them, turn in their seats to see what crazed lunatic female is screaming about a bomb.
Baker stands. It’s in his hand—a thick iron canister. But everyone is looking at me. Everyone except Lord Harston. He is dragging His Majesty backward in a most undignified way.
“There!” I scream. Sera and I are both pointing.
Too late. Baker strikes the fuse, raises it in a split second toast to Lady Daneska, and tosses it onto the Mary Isabella, which is paddling right beside the Admiralty stand. The bomb rolls onto the deck next to Alexander.
“Alex!” I take a running leap down those monstrous big stone blocks. “Jump!” I scream at him. “Dive!” I command.
He doesn’t jump. I do, though. I run, and jump. Flinging myself down those stone steps, ignoring stabs of pain shooting up my leg. I leap past Lord Harston who has pushed the Prince down and covered him with his own body. Lady Castlereagh and Miss Stranje have similarly buried Lord Castlereagh.
Lieutenant Baker shouts, “Viva La—”
A gunshot cuts short his victory cry. One sharp clap. Lieutenant Baker’s chest splatters apart with bright red blood. Ghost just killed the one man who could confess Daneska’s involvement. That gunshot sends them all to the deck.
“Bomb!” I scream at Alexander.
He sees it.
“Dive!” I shout. “Jump in the water.”
Does he do that? No!
Lord Wyatt has the good sense to leap off the ship onto the platform. He dashes up the steps toward Georgie. I know what Alexander is thinking. He’s not about to abandon his beloved Mary Isabella.
What does he do? He kicks the ruddy bomb. It launches skyward—spins and arcs up into the air. At that exact moment, I take a running leap from the bottom stone step and launch myself at Alexander. I smash into him, sending both of us tumbling into the water.
The bomb blast shakes the earth. Everything quakes. Even in the river, the vibrations ripple through my bones. Tess was right. It’s as if the sky split in two. The canister exploded in the air over the bow and blooms like a fiery orange chrysanthemum above the Thames. Shards of fire and metal flecks whistle and spiral toward the onlookers.
My ears ringing, I bob up and down, in the current, splashing, gulping for air. “Alexander!”
He bursts up through the surface beside me, sputtering, and grabs hold of my collar. “I take it you don’t swim.”
“Course not.” I spit out the putrid river water. “Ladies don’t—” he lets me bob under for a second, “—swim.”
“That’s for ruining a perfectly good suit of clothes.” He shoves me up onto the deck of the Mary Isabella, and pulls himself up onto the deck beside me.
“Had to do it.” I wipe debris off my face. “You could’ve been killed.”
He brushes a long strand of river moss out of my hair. “When are you going to figure out I can take care of myself?”
“Probably never.” I flick some indescribable piece of garbage back into the smelly river.
He dumps water out of the pocket of his ruined new coat. “I expect that’s true enough.”
“Anyway, I don’t see that it matters.” I wring muddy water out of the bottom of my skirts, and use them to swat out a burning cinder scorching the deck next to us. “The Admiralty is impressed with your prototype. At least, I think they are. Hard to tell since most of them are hiding right now.” I glance over. Some are still ducking behind their chairs. Others are nursing wounds and beating out fires that have started on their clothing, chairs, and decking. The canopy over the ceremonial platform is in flames. “Considering you saved their lives when you kicked that bomb into the air, I imagine they’ll be more than happy to send your uncle Robert payment to use his patent and grant you safe passage home.” I pull a half-dead dragonfly out of my hair and set it on the deck to dry out. The poor thing flops from side to side, its sodden wings making frail attempts to fly. Fragile things, dragonflies.
And humans.
In the distance, I see Tess coming back empty-handed. Drat! “Ghost got away.”
“In all this chaos—of course, he did.” Alexander points to the drooping bandage on my leg that is now brown with slimy river water. “That’s going to get infected.”
I flop my wet skirts over the ugly stitches, and give him a trollopy tavern girl smile, the kind he once said he preferred. “Perhaps you ought to stay in England and nurse me back to health.”
“Hmm.” He frowns as he pulls me to my feet. “Speaking of nursemaids. Isn’t that your fiancé over there, brushing off His Royal Highness? I think it would be a grand idea for him to have a whiff of his future wife now, while you’re in your finest hour.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? For your information, Mr. Sinclair, I’m not the only one who smells like a sewer rat.”
He climbs to his feet and takes a step toward the wheel, but falters. “Blast!”
“What is it?” I rush to support him around the middle.
“Unless I miss my guess—” He grimaces and limps again. “I broke a toe or two kicking that bomb. What do you say, Princess, help me over to the wheel, and I’ll see about sailing this rig back to the dock.”
As he leans on me, I smile. “See. You do need me after all.”
Twenty-nine
FAREWELL
Several days later Mr. Sinclair does, indeed, receive a reward for saving the Admiralty. Not only are they are grateful he saved their lives, Admiral Elphinstone and Captain Maitland assure him the navy intends to build several full-size steamships for use against a Napoleonic invasion force.
Lucky for Mr. Sinclair, peace talks are stirring between Britain and the United States. Admiral Gambier secures a berth for him on a ship set to sail for the United States in five days.
Five measly days.
Three of which, I must spend stuck in bed, unable to see him, because my leg is infected. Miss Stranje summons Doctor Meredith who puts leeches on the wound.
I hate leeches.
They are slimy, despicable creatures and they make me feel weaker than watered-down soup. By the third day, I hurl one of the vicious little bloodsuckers at Dr. Meredith, and he refuses to ever come back and attend me. According to him, I am obstinate and uncooperative.
“If you die, Lady Jane, it will be your own fault.” Miss Stranje huffs at me and jerks my pillow out, fluffs it up, and stuffs it back under my head.
“I won’t die.” I’m determined to see Alexander again before he leaves. “I’ll be perfectly fine if you will put one of those plasters on it, the kind you and Maya are so fond of concocting. I’d rather smell like garlic stew than allow those vile creatures to suck the life out of me.”
She and Maya apply several plasters, each more pungent than the last. My leg improves rapidly. By the fourth day I am up and walking, as if Ghost had never carved me up. Perfectly able to receive visitors,
especially one visitor in particular.
See, I was right.
About the plasters.
Not so much about a slew of other things.
Mr. Sinclair comes to visit this evening so I might show him the wolf puppies. Moonlight knows my scent now. I show Alexander how she wriggles toward my hand. “Isn’t she the most beautiful thing you have ever seen?” I ask, cuddling the puppy.
“Without a doubt.” He smiles at me and strokes Moonlight’s fur, which now pokes out all over like a frightened cat.
“What is it you want, Lady Jane?” he murmurs.
I want to kiss you. But I mustn’t say that.
“I want a great many things. None of them have any bearing on what’s going on in the world.” I purse my lips for a moment. “I don’t know how I should answer your question.”
“No, I don’t suppose you do.” His lips press together and he looks away for a minute. When he turns back, I’m surprised at what I see. It isn’t like him to look so downcast.
“Aren’t you happy to be going home?” I ask. “Surely you must miss your family.”
“I do.” He smooths a finger over the cub’s soft fur.
She wriggles up against my neck as if she is hunting for a place to suckle. I laugh softly, but something about her tiny kisses hurts my heart. Or maybe it is Mr. Sinclair looking so melancholy and asking me uncomfortable questions about what I want. All I know is I don’t want either of us to be sad. “It’s the same as with a wolf cub. Moonlight belongs with her pack. You belong with yours. You’ll be safe at home in Pennsylvania. Happy. Away from all this business with Napoleon.”
He stands nearer and I think maybe he will kiss me after all. Except he doesn’t. He asks me another unnerving question, and he does it in a voice so low and tender it nearly makes me crumble. “What about you? Will you be happy?”
I shrug, gathering my strength. I must remain strong. I hide from him, rubbing my cheek against Moonlight’s fur. If he looks too deep, he’ll know the truth. “I have work to do. After the explosion, Lady Daneska and Ghost disappeared.” I talk faster. “No one knows where. And Lady Jersey came by yesterday. She says, even though the bomb could’ve killed him, Prince George is still considering Napoleon’s offer of peace.”
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