Twenty-five
SAYING GOOD-BYE TO THE DEVIL
The next afternoon Captain Grey and Mr. Digby returned to the inn. Both of them looked haggard and nearly off their feet as they joined us in the parlor. Captain Grey removed his hat and made a grim announcement. “The Lord Mayor has called off the search for the assassin. He’s having trouble with dissenters, so he recalled his soldiers to patrol the city.”
“There’s more.” He sat down at the table. “Lady Daneska and a gentleman fitting the Ghost’s description left by coach last night. According to the report Ghost appeared to be wearing a bandage on his right leg.” The captain looked at me as if I might shed some light on this last comment.
“In a coach?” Miss Stranje took the seat beside him. “Then they weren’t going to the harbor? They’re not headed to England.”
He shook his head. “Inland.”
Thoughts of the Ghost made me turn to Tess. She didn’t know who he was yet. Neither did the present Lord Ravencross. It didn’t seem right. Jane gazed in the same direction, probably wondering the same thing.
Later, Jane and I found a moment alone in the hall with Miss Stranje to ask why our Lord Ravencross had not been told that his older brother was alive.
“Consider Gabriel in this matter,” she instructed. “He has been a loyal friend to us. A faithful officer in his Majesty’s service. He nearly died trying to persuade his brother to change his course. When Lord Wyatt and the captain carried Gabriel out of that farmhouse where he and his brother dueled, they were convinced Lord Ravencross was dead. He lay mortally wounded in a pool of blood so large, that by all accounts, he must surely have died. Would you resurrect him? To what purpose? Treason is a shameful burden for a family to bear. The name Ravencross would fall into ruin. Their properties returned to the king. Their title stripped. Would you have a loyal man disgraced, his reputation soiled forever because of the treachery of his brother?”
“No,” Lady Jane answered for the two of us. “Of course not.”
“Then I trust you will both keep silent on the matter.”
“What of Tess?” I asked. “Shouldn’t she know?”
“Would you burden her with this secret?” Miss Stranje snapped. “That seems uncommonly cruel, especially caring for young Ravencross as she does. After Tess, who else will you need to tell? There is never an end to such things.” She bristled, feathers out, all eagle-faced at me again. “Mind your tongues, and don’t lay the weight of such a secret on anyone else.”
I clamped my mouth shut to keep from arguing. It seemed impossible to me that Ghost’s identity would remain a secret much longer. Surely someone would recognize him and spread the tale. On the other hand, perhaps he valued his anonymity enough to protect it even more than we did.
Having properly scolded us, Miss Stranje marched upstairs to attend to Sebastian, who had become the most unruly, pig-headed patient in history. His swelling reduced considerably, but in some respects, it looked worse. He now had great purple bruises covering both eyes. At least now we could see his eyes. The more he improved, the more obstinate he became. Refusing to drink any more of her herbal concoctions or sleeping potions. Demanding to be let out of bed. Shouting for his clothes. Cajoling anyone who visited into bringing him something to eat.
“I’m heartily sick of broth and porridge.”
“But Miss Stranje said—”
“I am not an infant, Georgie.”
“I can see that.” His bedclothes left little to the imagination.
“A man cannot survive on mush.” He smacked the bedding. His bruised and red scarred shoulder muscles rippled under that thin nightshirt. “Georgie! You’re not listening. I need something to eat. A leg of mutton or—”
Miss Stranje stomped into the room. “Out,” she said to me, and pointed at the door. By that evening, she threw up her hands and allowed him to come downstairs and dine with us in the parlor.
We were all supping when a messenger arrived from Paris. I was able to observe my ink at work as Captain Grey scooted back the dishes and laid the letter on the table. He daubed developer over the page of writing. A hidden message emerged between the lines. It was gratifying to witness the ink at work, but disheartening to read.
It turns out secrets are often unpleasant things.
It is with deepest regret that I inform you; King Louis the XVIII’s brother, Count of Artois, acting Regent of France, has abandoned the throne. He fears for his life. We were able to remove Artois and his family out of the palace through an underground passage. He is in disguise and fleeing Paris this very night.
Count of Artois made the decision to leave the palace after receiving an urgent missive from his son, Charles Ferdinand, the Duke of Berry. I gather from those closest to Artois, his son was unable to maintain the loyalty of his troops. He barely escaped with his life and is believed to be on his way to Ghent.
Mobs have surrounded the palace, demanding Napoleon’s return to Paris, hurling stones, and shouting for what’s left of the Bourbon family to be put to death. Palace guards only halfheartedly hold the mob at bay. I sincerely doubt they will hold the palace for much longer.
By the time you receive this, Paris will have fallen.
Paris fallen.
We stood in stunned silence. I reread the letter a second time. Captain Grey’s men came and went from the parlor throughout the evening, bearing reports of mob activity on the streets of Calais. Dissenters gathered in pockets around the city and were becoming increasingly difficult to disperse.
All of Calais was restless that night. The public house across the street stayed loud long into the early hours of the morning, with rowdy laughter, military songs, shouting, and brawls. From our bedroom window Jane and I stood and looked out over the city. We saw bands of men carrying torches in the streets. Followed by the unsettling sound of troops called out by trumpet.
Jane reached for my hand. “God save us all when Napoleon learns of this.”
…
Sleep came in fits and starts. In the morning Tess woke up sweating and screaming. I rushed to her side. She was trembling. “What is it? What did you dream?” I feared the answer. What if I had made another terrible mistake?
Still breathing in stops and starts, she leaned her forehead against my shoulder. “No. It’s not that. Ever since we rescued Sebastian, it’s as if the future is shifting and changing. Like dark shapes moving in a snowstorm. Only glimpses. Napoleon on a throne. Ships. Horsemen.” She shivered and buried her face deeper in my shoulder as if she could hide. “This was something else. Someone else. I dreamed about Lord Ravencross. Except, it was … Impossible. It couldn’t possibly be true.”
Jane and I exchanged anxious glances, both of us silently fearing her dreams might reveal what we had sworn to keep secret.
She pulled away. “I’m worried about him—that’s all.” The confusion troubling her features nearly broke me.
I nodded. Unable to speak without telling her the truth.
A maid scratched at our door bearing a message from Captain Grey summoning us to the private parlor. We dressed and hurried downstairs. Although the sun shone, that morning felt sullen and gray to me. A gloom hung in the air as we entered the room.
“We’ve no other choice,” Sebastian was saying. He and the captain stood side by side staring out the window. At our approach, they turned. The captain looked grave, distant, arms at his side.
Miss Stranje drew in a quick breath and stiffened.
He bowed. “Miss Stranje, young ladies.” The captain cleared his throat, and greeted us as if he was addressing us from the quarterdeck of a brig. “We cannot express the depth of our gratitude for what you have done for us.”
Mr. Digby applauded. “Hear, hear.”
Captain Grey took a deep breath and continued, “However, the city is no longer safe. It will not be long before the Lord Mayor will not be able to contain the riots. British citizens will be at risk. It is time for you to return to England, to Stranje Ho
use.”
Through this soul-sinking speech, Sebastian watched me intently. I started to protest, that we couldn’t leave them yet. “But—”
It was small, the shake of his head. Perhaps no more than a warning tilt, or a lifted eyebrow. Whatever the case, it was enough to stop me.
Captain Grey finished dismissing us by saying, “Lord Wyatt and I must take our leave of Calais as well. A courier brought news early this morning that Napoleon has escaped Elba. He is marching to Paris.”
We gasped at that. Tess most of all.
“We will accompany you to your ship, and set sail ourselves as soon as we see you safely away.”
Where are you going? I wordlessly begged Sebastian for answers.
Are you well enough to undertake another dangerous mission?
How long will you be away?
Will you ever come back?
He bowed his head. Closing off my silent pleas.
Miss Stranje glanced at me. Pity in her eyes. Understanding. These were the bitter pointless questions we must swallow back and choke down. She gave my hand a quick squeeze. “Thank you, Captain. We will be ready within the hour.”
Breakfast was a silent solemn affair. Over in mere minutes. Valises were stuffed and packed into the waiting carriage, and before my heart had even stopped tumbling downhill, we arrived at the dock.
Too soon.
The harbor was busier than an ant hive that morning, scarcely leaving room for our carriage in the throng. We disembarked and made our way down to the pier. Sera, Maya, and Jane boarded the ship straightway. Tess paused beside me and grasped my arm for a moment before going aboard. “You got him out, Georgie. It’s time to go home.”
Home.
I sighed. What home?
Not my parents’ house. They wanted nothing more to do with me, and even if they did, I didn’t belong there anymore. Isn’t home the place where you are understood and wanted? Miss Stranje stood off to the side, speaking earnestly with Captain Grey. Just then, her sharp gaze darted to me. Attentive. Concerned. That’s when I realized I knew exactly where home was. I belonged at Stranje House with the other unusual girls.
I belonged.
I don’t know why that thought made tears gather in my eyes. Sebastian came to me with a hard-set expression that I knew meant bad news.
“You’re going to be gone a long time, aren’t you?”
He didn’t answer right away, toyed with his cuff before saying, “That’s just it. We have no way of knowing.”
“Are you certain you’re well enough?” I couldn’t keep the worry and sadness from my voice.
He nodded solemnly.
“Safe journey.” I caught my lip to keep it from trembling. I didn’t want his last remembrance of me to be of my face crumpled and weepy.
“None of that rubbish Daneska said was true. You know how I feel about you, don’t you?”
I did know. I couldn’t help but see the truth. It was there in his blue eyes, true as God’s hand in the sky. “Yes.”
There were so many things I wanted to say to Sebastian, but Miss Stranje had already gone aboard, and Captain Grey stood patiently on the dock. Any minute they would leave. He would leave. “My lord, I—”
“Don’t say it.” He guided me to the gangway. When he let go of my arm, I almost reached up to smooth back those dear strands of black hair that had fallen across his brow. His nose, which had always been so straight and perfect, now bore a bruised lump in the middle. I wanted to run my fingers over it and coax it back to its normal beautiful arrogant ridge. Except I couldn’t. That would have been far too intimate.
He stared down at me, the corner of his mouth quirked up wickedly. “Memorizing my features, Georgie?”
Embarrassment warmed my cheeks. “You flatter yourself, my lord.”
He smirked.
Why must he vex me at a time like this? I might not see him for … too long. Even if it was only a few weeks, it would be too long.
There could be no good-bye kiss here, not with Miss Stranje and the girls standing at the gunwales waiting for me, watching. Sebastian wanted to kiss me. I could see it in his speculative glance at my lips. He reached for my hand. I thought he meant to hold it, to press it affectionately, the way lovers did in books.
He didn’t.
He opened my hand, placed a small round object into my palm, and closed my fingers around it. “This was my father’s,” he said. “Take care of it for me.”
I stared at the pocket watch in my hand. When I looked up, he was tipping his hat and backing away from me. “Keep it safe until my return.”
I didn’t know how those few words could be filled with so much promise. But they were. He would come back to me. It meant more than a kiss. More than a furtive lovers’ farewell. He trusted me with his most valuable possession, his father’s timepiece. It may as well have been his heart.
Miss Stranje called, “Come, Georgiana. It’s time to go home.”
Still, I couldn’t tear my gaze away from Sebastian. He was right. I was memorizing his features, the line of his broad shoulders, the way his dark hair curled over his collar, his sure easy stride. I treasured up each and every detail, determined to hold on to them as tightly as I held his father’s watch in my fist.
“You’ll see him again,” Tess whispered in my ear as we stood at the railing, waving farewell. “You changed things at least that much, Georgie.”
As he and Captain Grey walked away to the carriage, the devil glanced back and winked.
Afterword
Dear Reader,
Although there were attempts on King Louis the XVIII’s life, ivn reality he was not assassinated. He returned to France via Calais on April 24th 1814 to reclaim his throne. As in the book, the Lord Mayor did commission a brass casting made of the king’s first footstep on French soil and erected a column to memorialize his return. But Louis the XVIII’s triumphal return was short-lived. Napoleon escaped Elba and King Louis had to flee France once again. Napoleonic sympathizers destroyed the monuments in Calais, but they have since been replaced.
The Stranje House series explores possibilities. What would the world be like if King Louis had been assassinated and Napoleon had regained power? Throughout history, we run across pivotal moments like these. Moments where everything hinged upon a single act or a lone decision.
For instance, there was a button salesman peddling his wares to camp followers at Waterloo. Without that button seller, valuable information would not have reached Wellington and the battle would have shifted in Napoleon’s favor. What if the button salesman had decided to sell his buttons elsewhere that day?
What if the French hadn’t given George Washington enough money to keep the colonists fighting Britain? France’s finances would not have been severely depleted and the French Revolution probably would not have taken place. The colonies would have gone the way of Canada. Slavery would’ve been abolished just as it was in Britain. The Northern states wouldn’t have imposed export taxes on the South, thus preventing a brutal civil war.
Domino effect.
History is rife with singular events that changed everything. What-ifs. The historical background in the Stranje House series is partially true and partially an alternate history—a what-if. What if the decisions of one young woman altered the course of history?
What about you?
Have you ever experienced the ripple effect of one small decision in your life? Will your next decision inadvertently change the world?
Kathleen Baldwin enjoys hearing from her readers. You can contact her through her website, and also find other goodies there; Book club guides, a Regency glossary, excerpts, and more extras.
KathleenBaldwin.com
Acknowledgments
I must shamelessly steal a cliché: it takes a village to make a good book.
This series would not exist without the perseverance of my extraordinary agent, Laura Langlie. Her devotion to Stranje House is nothing short of legendary. Laura, you persiste
d, you never stopped believing, and you found the exact right publisher and the perfect editor for our baby. Thank You. If Miss Stranje ran a school today, she would recruit you.
Susan Chang, my fearless editor—I am in awe. Thank you for having a bigger dream for this story than I did. I didn’t think that was possible. Thank you for pushing me further than I ever thought I could go. You are the perfect editor for me, which makes me the luckiest writer in the world.
My amazing friends, sisters of my heart, thank you for riding the roller coaster with me and working so diligently to polish Stranje House. You are exceptional people and I love you all. Patience Griffin, oh ye of the starred PW review, thank you for providing morale booster shots and indulging me when I needed cheesecake. Special thanks to Carole Fowkes, for getting out your dark crayons and shading my story world. Rae-Dawn Brightman, I’m always grateful for your amazing gift of clarity and your gentle way of questioning. Commander Wayne Hill, thanks for wading through all the historical girly stuff in between tours of duty—salute! Bill Payne, we miss you, and thank you for showing us the way of the purple pen.
Elizabeth Fairchild, brilliant historian and outstanding Regency author, thank you for reading and providing historical tweaks. Nina Romberg and Sylvia McDaniel, dear friends, fabulous authors, and a super support system, thank you for discussing the writing life over guacamole and chips.
Credit and appreciation go to Jim Griffin for researching the Order of the Iron Crown, and to James Griffin for beta reading and falling in love with Lady Daneska.
Lastly, but not least, words cannot express the gratitude I feel for my family and the support they give me. I’m extremely fortunate to have a technophile genius for a brother. Thank you, Gordon, for computers, amazing software, and topflight security. Thank you to my sons and daughter … you vacuumed and cooked while I was too busy writing, you spent hours and hours developing my various websites, and yet you still found the time to inspire, encourage, and cheer me on. You all amaze me. I am the luckiest mother ever.
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