“Only one day now,” he added.
“We’re so close to an answer, perhaps if we had another hour or two?” I asked.
She glanced at the pitch-black windowpanes. Raindrops pattered against them, clinging to the glass. Candlelight caught on the droplets making them shimmer like golden pearls. She flipped open her pocket watch and shook her head. “You’ve been up since dawn, and it is already long past a reasonable hour to retire.”
My attention whipped to her. How did she know I’d risen at dawn? How much of my morning adventures had she observed? If she’d seen me climbing the oak tree with my skirts tucked up above my knees, nothing showed on her face. There was no narrow frown promising punishment, no menacing arched brow, no shame-on-you pursed lips. Nothing. Instead she calmly said, “A rested mind is a fruitful mind.”
“I’ll finish up here,” Sebastian offered. “You’ve had a trying day.”
I imagined him saying, toddle off to bed, little girl, and wanted to throw my notes at him.
He continued stirring. “If this doesn’t work, I’ll add more ammonium.”
“The ratio ought not exceed two parts copperas to one part ammonium,” I warned.
He nodded. “Failing that, we’ll continue the experiment in the morning.”
Outnumbered, I heaved a resentful sigh. “Keep precise notes.”
I slapped the stack of papers on the worktable and Miss Stranje marched me away like a prisoner being hauled off to prison. She led the way through the dark hall holding aloft a single taper in a small brass holder. Wind moaned through the mullioned windows and the walls creaked. A draft swept through the hall and the flame guttered, casting an unsteady orange glow against the dark paneling.
A tidal wave of isolation washed over me. The house, the night, and the storm threatened to swallow me up. I wanted to run back to the laboratory, back to the light, back to Sebastian. Instead, I quickened my steps to keep up with her and remain in the small flickering orb of our lone candle. In the distance, a clock chimed the hour. “If we were in London, I would be allowed to stay out much later than this.” I argued with more than a little irritation in my voice. “I’ve heard some balls are not even over until it’s nearly dawn.”
“We are not in London.”
“All the same, is not this experiment more important than staying up late to dance and flirt at some foolish ball?”
“An interesting argument,” she said impassively. “But if, as you say, staying up excessively late is foolish when practiced in London, it would be no less foolish to do so here.”
I hurried up the stairs behind her. “I thought you wanted me to produce the formula at all costs.”
“Not at the risk of your life. The fumes compromised your health yesterday. Testing your stamina tonight hardly seems a wise course of action.” She clucked her tongue. “The death of a student is always so ticklish to explain to the authorities.”
If she intended to be humorous, she missed the mark. I returned to the issue. “Working late wouldn’t kill me.”
“A mistake in mixing chemicals might.”
“But other lives are at stake here—more important lives than mine.” Sebastian’s for one.
Miss Stranje stopped and held the candle up nearer to my face. She looked quite perturbed about my last argument. “Are you God? Who else is equipped to make such a judgment?” she asked. The candle exaggerated her harsh features. She became almost gargoyle-like frowning at me so intensely. “Listen to me carefully, Georgiana Fitzwilliam. It is impossible to know the importance of one’s life. You have no way of knowing what effect you will have on mankind.”
She lowered the candle and proceeded up the stairs. “Sleep, Miss Fitzwilliam. Sleep is of paramount importance now. Morning will be here soon enough. We are both tired and I have a long journey to Shoreham ahead of me tomorrow.”
She stopped in her tracks and huffed as if she hadn’t intended to say that last bit. I remembered her argument with Captain Grey. Clearly, she wasn’t looking forward to this trip to see her sister. I itched to know more about it, but she straightened her shoulders and returned to her customary businesslike manner.
“You may resume your quest first thing in the morning, after your mind is rested. We simply cannot afford for you to make another potentially fatal error. When you are tired, you are far more likely to rush to a faulty conclusion.”
No one had ever debated so rationally against me before. It was refreshing and annoying at the same time. With a defeated mumble, I asked, “Are you always this sensible?”
“Sensible?” Her candle flickered. For an instant, I thought I saw her smile. “No. Not always. I’m afraid I have been accused of acting rather impulsively at times. Not unlike yourself.”
“Hard to imagine you jumping out of an attic window strapped to a kite.”
“I might surprise you. I understand more than you think. Which brings me to a point of some concern.”
She stopped on the landing and turned, waiting for me, lowering the candle so that I could see my way up the stairs. I froze, startled. The candle illuminated a roaring lion’s head carved on the balustrade. The beast seemed to burst out of the dark, his mouth open, teeth bared, and his thick tongue protruding. She walked on leaving me in the dark with the lion. I hurried to catch up. “A point of concern about what?”
“I must ask you to proceed cautiously in your dealings with Lord Wyatt.”
I raised my hand in a pledge. “I promise not to asphyxiate him ever again.”
“How very good of you,” she said in a dry humorless tone. “But you know perfectly well that isn’t what I mean.”
My stomach somersaulted. Had she guessed the way I felt about him? How much had she observed that morning? She couldn’t possibly know that I’d wanted to kiss him. She waited for my response, saying nothing to alleviate my frantic unasked questions.
“Cautious how?” I blurted.
We reached the dormitory floor and she slowed her steps. “Lord Wyatt is a young man of intellect and action. A soldier. A strategist. For these reasons, he studiously avoids matters of the heart. He does not bestow his affections easily. You must not wound him. He has experienced enough hurt for several lifetimes.”
“Me?” Wound him? Could she not see how utterly impossible that was? The hour was late, but not so late that she should suddenly begin talking utter nonsense. “It is unlikely that I should ever hurt anyone in that regard.”
“You think not?”
“I’m certain of it. I harbor no false hopes in that direction. Indeed, contrary to what my mother may be plotting or planning, I shall never marry.”
Her shoulders sagged and the candle guttered for a moment before she steadied it. “Not an easy resolution to keep.” She spoke as if from experience. I wondered if a similar resolution was the obstacle between her and Captain Grey. “It is understandable if you believe you need to remain unmarried so you can pursue a higher calling, but you are young yet. It would be best not to decide such a weighty matter at your age.”
“It isn’t a higher calling. I’m simply facing facts. I’m practical, if nothing else. All things considered, given my peculiar interests, and…” I gave her a cavalier shrug, and tugged on one of my wild curls. It flashed like fire in the candlelight. “It is highly unlikely that anyone would ever fall in love with me.”
As we approached the dormitorium, I stopped, knowing that by this time the other girls would have slipped out of their beds and gone upstairs to the attic. I didn’t want their secret discovered because of me. I lunged for the knob and wedged myself between her and the door. “I’ll go in alone. I can see well enough in the dark. I wouldn’t want the candle to awaken the others.”
Her lips pursed and one eyebrow tilted up. Fortunately, she stepped back. “As you wish. But you are mistaken.”
“Mistaken? How?” Did she know the girls weren’t in their beds?
Wind howled through the landing window, and her candle flickered almost out. I
only caught a glimpse of her worried expression. “You underestimate your appeal, Georgiana. It would be easy for someone to fall in love with you. Especially someone who uses his head for something other than holding up his hat. I ask only that you do your best to avoid engaging Lord Wyatt’s affections.” She turned, as if that put an end to the matter.
“Wait. Why?”
She paused and bowed her head. Her back still toward me. “For both your sakes. His line of work is not conducive to relationships.” She glanced back at me, pain etched across her features. “He’s a young man, Georgiana, far more likely to make dangerous mistakes if his heart is foolishly tangled up elsewhere.”
As she walked brusquely away, she said over her shoulder, “As it is, I’m afraid he’s already halfway in love with you.”
I tightened my grip on the doorknob, and despite the cold draft, sweat made my palm stick against the brass.
Miss Stranje strode away, leaving me enveloped in darkness. Yet my thoughts blazed as bright as a stable fire, leaping wildly and licking at my consciousness with hot orange tongues. Was she right? Could it be true? A hundred counterarguments raged through my mind, and yet one question rose above them all, one outrageous demand that could not be silenced.
Only halfway?
Fifteen
KISS FAREWELL
“Only halfway.” I sighed into the darkness.
In answer, a deafening crack of thunder shook the walls of Stranje House. I dashed into the room and discovered I’d been mistaken about more than just Sebastian’s feelings toward me. The girls were already in bed, asleep. As I undressed, I heard Sera breathing evenly. Despite the storm battering the windows, she didn’t even stir. None of them did. Lightning shot blasts of white through slits in the curtains. One of the flashes illuminated Punch’s albino fur as he cowered atop the blankets, next to Sera. When I pulled back the covers and slid into bed, he crept hesitantly up beside me. His silly whiskers tickled my shoulder as he risked coming closer.
“You’re frightened, aren’t you?” I whispered, feeling sorry for the poor quivering mite. I had no idea how Sera and the others could sleep through the storm rattling the whole house. He nosed up to my cheek and gave me a grateful lick. I tentatively petted the rat’s back. It wasn’t as unpleasant as I’d expected. His short hair and plump tummy reminded me of my father’s foxhound puppies.
He stopped quaking and curled up on my chest, calming down as I stroked his back. “Miss Stranje says Sebastian is halfway in love with me,” I confided, and experienced a rush of jubilation, followed by stomach-grinding despair. I sighed. “How does one go from halfway to whole in only one day?”
Despite Miss Stranje’s warning not to wound Sebastian, I was as much at risk of getting hurt as he was. More. And to what end? After tomorrow I would never see him again. Falling in love was pointless self-torture. “I refuse to waste another thought on him. Ever.”
Punch responded with a rat-size kiss on my chin. Probably the only kiss I would ever have. I closed my eyes and tried to blot out the image of Sebastian’s dark hair, his cobalt-blue eyes, and the intriguing beard shadow on his jaw.
Thunder blasted right above our roof and startled Punch. Sera moaned and tucked deeper into the covers. Between the bone-shaking noise of the storm, a rat quivering on my shoulder, and my own restless thoughts, sleep eluded me. I stubbornly forced myself to stop thinking about silly things, like the curve of a certain person’s earlobes.
Instead, I concentrated on invisible ink, calculating ratios in my head and toying with other ways to achieve a clear iron salt base.
Three things happened at the exact same time:
The clock chimed three.
Lightning flashed outside our window.
Inspiration struck with as much force as the thunder that followed.
I scooted Punch into the hollow of Sera’s back and whisked out of bed. I had to get back to my laboratory. I didn’t worry about changing out of my nightgown. Sebastian would be long gone by now. I draped a shawl around my shoulders, put on my shoes, and tiptoed out of the room. A crash of thunder had me dashing down the hall. I whipped around the corner, nearly slid into that awful lion’s head at the top of the railing, and scurried down the stairs. I didn’t stop running until I entered the long dark hall. Bursts of lightning sent wafts of ghostly gray down the corridor, illuminating Miss Stranje’s ancestors’ faces. As I hurriedly walked past them, they all seemed to peer down at me with her same hawk-like intensity, frowning, questioning, evaluating. I wished they would all sit back in their frames and leave me alone. I could almost hear their feathery voices calling my name. “Georgiana.”
Something moved in the darkness.
I heard my name again, only louder this time. “Georgiana?” The ghostly voice came from the shadows in the hallway.
With all the grace of a startled rabbit, I squeaked and nearly jumped out of my skin. Before I knew it, he had hold of my shoulders. “Sebastian,” I said, sighing with relief and clapping a hand over my heart.
“Who did you think it was? And what in heaven’s name are you doing up?”
“I couldn’t sleep. An idea came to me.” Flustered, I rattled on like a crazy woman. “I thought for certain you’d be gone. Gone from the laboratory, I mean. I need to try one thing. I have a theory that might solve the problem.” I stopped for a breath. “The ammonium didn’t work, did it?”
Lightning flashed, and I saw him staring at me as if I’d gone raving mad. “No.”
I pulled out of his grasp and opened the door to the stillroom. He followed me in. “Surely you don’t intend to work at this hour?”
I nodded. “Yes. Just one quick test, to see if my new theory works. I won’t be able to sleep unless I try it. One more experiment and then, I promise, I’ll go back to bed.”
The windows allowed the glory of the storm to radiate into the room. More glorious than a fireworks display over the Thames. For just a second it captivated our attention.
He muttered, “I shouldn’t allow this.”
“You don’t have a choice. If you make me leave, I’ll only pretend to go, wait until you’ve gone, and sneak back in.”
“Obstinate child.”
“I told you before, I’m not a child.” I struck a match and lit the candelabra.
“I can see that.” He tilted his head and peered at my nightgown as if he could see through it in the candlelight.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I daresay this night rail covers far more of my person than any of those ball gowns you keep talking about.” Nevertheless, I pulled the shawl around me protectively.
He stopped openly studying me and sighed. “A pity. I suppose the memory of your lovely legs dangling from an oak branch will have to suffice.”
His words startled me. Lovely? Was I? The wicked curve of his lips made me feel unaccountably weak. I found it difficult to take a breath. That feeling returned, that unbearable yearning, and the fluttery sensation in my belly. I wanted him to kiss me more than I’d ever wanted anything.
Ever.
So much so, the very idea seemed to make my lips swell for want of his.
“Georgie,” he warned, and backed away. “I’m not made of stone. This is a highly improper situation, and if you continue to look at me that way, I can’t…” He shook his head slightly, and stood back as if I were a leper.
Heat rushed into my cheeks and shame blazed through me. I fumbled with the measuring spoons. “I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about.”
He folded his arms across his chest, stern as a Methodist preacher, and I was afraid he planned to deliver a sermon on my wanton behavior. Instead, he said, “Tell me about this idea of yours. How did you know the ammonium didn’t work?”
I measured water into the mixing vessel. “It almost worked though, didn’t it?”
“Yes.” He exhaled gloomily. “It changed to a pale yellow. But no amount of ammonium would make it clear. I tried twice more.” He handed me the packet of iron
salts.
Eager to share my new idea with him I burst out, “Alum.”
“Alum?” he repeated, giving the idea to germinate. “Used in tanning, isn’t it?”
“Precisely. Dyers mix it with iron salts to mordant wool before adding the color.”
“Oh, I see.” He nodded. “Because it renders iron salts colorless in preparation for dyeing.”
I nodded.
A slow smile spread across his face. We grinned at each other like two children on Christmas morning. He struck the flint to light the burner.
A half hour later, as I stirred the liquid over low heat, crystals formed and drifted to the bottom of the pan. He stood next to me leaning over the pot. “It’s working.”
“I think so, I can’t tell in this light.” I took it off the heat and placed it under the candelabra. We stared at it. “It’s clear.” I whispered, worried it would suddenly turn dark.
We watched scarcely breathing.
“It worked,” he murmured, and then practically shouted, “It worked! You’re brilliant.”
“Yes, I know.”
He laughed.
So did I. Unaccustomed to frivolity, I moved on to issuing orders. Exhaustion rendered me incapable of restraining my bossy nature. “Write out three or four test messages while I mix up the gall emulsion.” I pointed at my ink pot. “Then write over the invisible message with India ink so we can see what the gall emulsion does to standard ink. You’ll find clean sheets of foolscap in my folio.”
Apart from a salute, he went straight to work with no further mockery. I smiled to myself. The excitement of our success had caused him to forget about sending me off to bed—a lucky turn of events, because I’d never be able to sleep now. He tore sheets of stationery in half while I dissolved the gall in water.
As he scrawled a test message on one of the papers, glancing sideways at me while writing. His furtive expression made me suspicious of what he might be saying, but he quickly moderated his features and stacked the messages.
“No, no,” I ordered. “Spread them out. They need to dry thoroughly for the test to be accurate.”
A School for Unusual Girls Page 18