by Liana Lefey
“At least take some reinforcements,” said Richards, who’d also followed. “I’ll come with you, and I know the others will, too.”
“And if you think you’re going off half-cocked without me, you’re insane,” added Loxdon.
“Thank you, both of you.”
Most of the other staff were gathered in the kitchen managing the bodies of slain assailants. Will assembled them and explained his intent. Though several looked doubtful of the plan’s success, all present agreed to join him. He waited impatiently while weapons were reloaded and everyone prepared for another battle.
His heart wouldn’t find ease until Jacqueline was safe in his arms.
When all was ready, he, Loxdon, Richards, and Peg—the only woman he would allow to accompany them, and only because she threatened to shoot him if he tried to prevent her doing so—clambered aboard a carriage. The other members of the company, among whom were Thomas and Gerald, took to horse.
A few minutes later, they were on their way through London’s dark streets. Lightning flickered, and a low rumble of thunder followed. It looked to rain soon.
Peg crouched at one of the windows, skirts tucked beneath her knees, an array of loaded pistols spread out on the floor around her. “If I need one reloaded, the kit is there on the seat beside you,” she told him, gesturing with the barrel of the gun she was priming.
Will looked askance at her. “I’ll bloody well not have time for that, thanks. I intend to be aiming my own.” He lifted up one of the two he was carrying, himself.
She snorted. “You’re better off letting me do the shooting. You’d fail to hit the king’s broad backside if it were bared in front of you.”
Despite his nervous state, Will laughed. In truth, he wasn’t a bad shot at all, but compared to her…
A strange rasping sound issued from Richards. Looking up, Will saw his shoulders shaking with laughter. Shock nearly made him drop the gun he was holding. It was the first time he’d ever seen levity cross the man’s face.
Richards, who was cleaning his knives, looked up at Loxdon and grimaced—his version of a smile. “You’re thinking, ‘why bother?’—am I right? A clean knife slips through cloth more easily than a dirty one.”
Loxdon grinned at him broadly. “If either of you ever find yourself in need of employment, do look me up, will you? You’d be an excellent addition to my little outfit.”
“Don’t, John,” Will grumbled. “Gonson won’t like it if he hears of you proselytizing among his men. And women,” he amended quickly when Peg shot him a pointed look.
Again, she snorted. “Who decided to call us his ‘Boys,’ I wonder.” She shot another look at Richards, who ignored it. “Damned unfair, if you ask me.”
“Damned smart, if you ask anyone else,” quipped Richards unexpectedly. “The fewer people as knows about you, the better. Gives us the element of surprise, it does. No criminal expects a pretty thing like you to pull out a piece and shoot him.”
Peg’s brow shot up. “Did I just hear you call me ‘pretty?’”
Will scooted a little farther away from Richards and shot Loxdon a warning glance. But Richards didn’t respond to the taunt, and Peg, to his surprise, let the matter drop. Will didn’t have time to wonder, however, because they were nearing Dover Street.
Again, lightning flicked across the sky. He willed the carriage to move faster. Instead, it slowed. Going to the driver’s port, he opened it. “Why are we stopping?”
Gerald’s eye appeared in the opening. “You had better come and have a look—it’s safe, Tom scouted ahead.”
Opening the carriage door, Will leaned out and peered ahead. An orange glow lit the sky.
Fire.
Oh God. “Drive!” he bellowed, ducking back inside and slamming the door behind him. “There’s a fire up ahead, a big one,” he told the others. “I fear it’s the school.” I never should have left them. If anything had happened to Jacqueline and the girls, he’d never forgive himself.
“Now we know why so few attacked you,” said Loxdon. “Boucher’s resources were divided. The Archangel and Trouvère are of equal importance to her, as are any of the girls who can identify her. There are quite a few at the school, from what I understand.”
“It’s bound to be a trap,” said Richards. “Even if she was sure of those she sent to kill you, she’d be prepared in case you escaped. She had to know you’d come here.”
“They’ll be in for a nasty surprise then, won’t they?” Will asked grimly. “The Archangel is not known for working as part of a team. Thus, she cannot have predicted a well-armed force would mount a counterattack.”
The carriage stopped again, and Will leaped to the door.
“This is as far as we can go,” said Gerald, hopping down in front of him. “There’s utter chaos up ahead, and the horses are nervous.”
“On foot, then,” Will choked out as the others came up behind. His eyes remained fixed on the hellish scene. He couldn’t look away. Hungry tongues of flame leaped above the rooftops, sending sparks up into the billowing smoke and lighting it from beneath.
Nothing can survive that.
It seemed as if the whole world would burn to ash, right along with his heart.
Chapter Twenty
Jacqueline took hold of Janet’s hand, and her heart faltered for a moment. The girl’s flesh was cool and clammy, her breathing ragged, and she slept fitfully.
With the exception of Dr. Horton’s other patients, who had the benefit of laudanum to make them oblivious, no one else was asleep. The only sounds in the room were those of soft breathing and the occasional nervous whisper. Tension was thick in the air as everyone listened intently.
Mary had returned in a panic from guarding the carriage house entrance. Someone had indeed tried to pick the lock, but they’d been defeated, just as the locksmith had promised. Failing that, their enemies had tried forcing it open. But that door in particular was built to withstand much abuse—solid English oak, triple barred, and reinforced with iron, like the ones in the Tower.
Nevertheless, Jacqueline had sent two more teachers back with her to help barricade it. After that, there was little benefit in leaving anyone there to guard it, so all of them had returned.
According to Elsie, who had come to give an account on the state of the main entrance, someone had attempted to use a key—to no avail. Mrs. Sloane had shouted through the door that she would shoot anyone who crossed the threshold. No one had attempted to gain entry there since, despite some ongoing commotion she reported hearing on the other side.
Now their main concern was the back gate. Though all had been quiet until now, instinct told her trouble would come from there.
As if the thought had summoned the evil, Dulcie came flying through the kitchen door, her face ashen. “Mr. Young sent Molly back. There are lights and much activity by the gate, and he heard horses.”
Jacqueline took a deep breath. “Tell him to strike the posts beneath the arch. If they have brought horses, there’s no point waiting. They’ll pull the gate down, lock, hinges, and all.” She turned to give orders to the other teachers, but Dulcie stopped her.
“Headmistress, wait. Molly said Mr. Young has an idea to keep them out, at least for a while, but he needs the way open a while longer to make it work. She’s gathering the items he requested now.”
Standing, Jacqueline headed for the kitchen. Molly was indeed dashing about, gathering things. “What are you looking for?”
“Empty wine bottles, cloth, and as much lamp oil as we can get. And Sally’s shuttered lamp—I told him what she’d done,” the girl said, her cheeks reddening.
“We will help.” Together, the three of them gathered the materials. Jacqueline wouldn’t allow anyone else to fetch Sally’s lamp. While retrieving it, she risked a quick look through the girl’s window—or, rather, what was left of it.
Every house on the street was dark. Not a single window shone with light. Cowards. They see we are in trouble, and they do
nothing. She couldn’t blame them for wanting to preserve their own skins, but this was a school—there were children here. Everyone around them knew it. Surely one had slipped away to summon help?
But, in truth, she couldn’t depend on anyone else. Taking the lamp, she retreated downstairs. She set the lamp on the table beside the other items. “Now what do we do?”
“Mr. Young wants us to fill each bottle with oil and insert a twist of cloth down into it. He said to leave a good bit hanging outside. The rest of the oil can be left in its containers.”
When all was ready, Molly lit the lamp and then shuttered it until only the barest gleam of light escaped to illuminate their path.
Following her and Dulcie, Jacqueline carried her basket to the archway, where Mr. Young was waiting. “Mr. Young?” she whispered. “We have the items you requested. Have you learned anything?”
“Only that they’ve brought more horses. I’ve seen a few lamps, but I think they’re trying to keep from drawing too much attention to themselves, which is good for us. The less light, the better.”
“What are you planning?”
“I’m going to set a fire—the hay cart—right by the gate.”
Alarm raced through her. “Fire? Are you mad? It will spread! One spark, and—”
“Not at all, ma’am,” he interrupted calmly. “The walls are solid stone all around.”
“What of the roof?”
“The wind is blowing away from it,” he replied. “I’m going to douse the hay cart with oil and get it as close to the gate as possible without being seen. Then we wait.”
“Are you certain you can move it?” Her driver was a big man, but the cart was an enormous load.
“I’ve done it before. It’s heavy, but the wheels are well greased.”
“How will you light it?” Lightning flickered, and in the brief illumination, she saw him bend.
The sound of a fingernail tapping against glass followed in the darkness. “With these, I won’t have to get close. That’s why I need the lamp—not to light my way, but to light these.” Another flare of lightning showed him holding up a bottle and grinning like a naughty schoolboy.
She waited, her heart in her throat, as Mr. Young made his way stealthily out into the dark carrying two heavy baskets filled with jars separated by bits of cloth to keep them quiet. Every now and again, lightning would flash, and she’d tighten with worry that he’d be seen. But no alarm was raised. Any sound he made moving the cart must have been drowned out by either the growing activity beyond the gate or rolls of thunder, which were growing increasingly frequent.
“If it rains, he’ll have risked himself for naught,” mumbled Molly beside her.
Though her observation echoed precisely what was going through Jacqueline’s own head, she hushed her. She peeked around the corner but could see nothing. The next flicker of lightning showed the cart in place before the gate and Mr. Young heading back toward them.
He slid through the opening. “And now we wait,” he whispered. “You should go back inside.”
She didn’t move. From what she could hear, the activity around the gate had steadily increased. Men were talking, and she heard the clink of chains. Someone shouted what sounded like an alarm. “What is happening?”
“I imagine they’ve just seen the cart,” he answered with a snicker. “They’ve attached chains to the gate. They mean to pull it down.”
“Should we not light the hay, then?”
“Not yet. Give it another moment or two.”
When shouts of “Pull!” began echoing in the outer yard, he bent and opened the lamp’s shutter. “Now we’re ready,” he said grimly as he held the end of one oil-soaked cloth to the lamp’s flame. It caught, and he lit another. One in each hand, he darted into the opening and lobbed first one and then the other into the night.
At least one of the bottles broke upon landing. Shouts rang out, followed by the neighing of horses and the report of gunfire, but it was too late. Mr. Young was already back beside her, reaching for another bottle. In the opening beyond, Jacqueline saw the dancing orange glow of fire.
“Did you hit it?”
“My aim was true,” he replied, again taking a flaming bottle in each hand. He leaned into the opening.
This time, she heard the impact of both bottles against wood, followed by a low, ominous roar. The orange glow grew brighter. She handed him the last bottle. This time, when he stood in the opening, she could see his face lit by the fire without. A wrathful grimace stretched his lips as he hurled the flaming missile with all his might.
“Come and look,” he said a moment later. “It’s quite safe. They cannot see—and I believe them now concerned more for themselves than us.”
The sound of panicked horses neighing mingled with the muffled shouts of men and the hungry crackle of fire. She leaned around the corner. The hay cart was engulfed—as was the roof of the storage hut to the gate’s right. Alarmed, she turned to him. “Why did you light the coal? You risk setting the whole place afire!”
“When the hay cart caught, I spied in its light a man atop the wall above the stores—they must have used a hook and rope. I had to do something. The heat and smoke should keep them off for a bit.”
Her heart all but stopped. “I must warn the others. He may not have been the first.”
“True, but he’ll likely be the last,” he said, chuckling. “And our fire will attract some attention. We’re sure to have help soon.”
“I just pray the fire remains confined,” she said, trying not to sound accusatory. “I would rather we had shot him than risk it spreading.”
“We’re safe unless the wind changes,” he insisted. Lightning flickered, and a low rumble shook the ground. “You may not have to worry over it for very long. I smell rain. Go. I’ll strike the posts here and come in a moment.”
She nodded, glancing up at the top of the wall above them in fear. How many had already climbed up and were on the roof even now looking for a way in? Turning, she ran.
Agnes greeted her at the door with round eyes. “The fire—it’s so big! Are we safe?”
Jacqueline declined to answer for fear of telling a lie. “We spied a man atop the wall. I don’t know how many might have made it up before him, but there should be no more with the fire. Everyone inside needs to be ready. Two of us must fetch Prudence, Henriette, and Elsie from the front and bring them to the dining hall.”
“What of the front door?”
“Pray it holds,” Jacqueline told her. “I won’t leave three women to guard it when we have no idea how many men might be coming.”
“I’ll see to it.” Agnes bustled off faster than Jacqueline had ever seen her move.
Turning, she addressed Molly. “Stay here with Dulcie and wait for Mr. Young. As soon as he’s inside, you are to lock and barricade this door. Then I want you to join us. A storm is coming, but even if it fails to rain, the fire cannot burn indefinitely. We purchased but a brief respite.”
The girl blanched. “I’ll make certain they cannot get in through here.”
As she walked back through the kitchen, Jacqueline dug deep into her store of courage as well as her pocket. The cool grip of her pistol slid against her palm, comforting in its solidity.
Anyone who’d gotten through was in for a nasty surprise. She’d killed a man before. She’d do it again.
…
Rounding the corner, Will slid to a stop and stared in horror. Fire roared behind the school’s gate, sending billows of smoke into the street, where men were shouting and dashing to and fro. A few bore buckets and were trying to put out the flames, but whether they were friend or foe, Will couldn’t tell.
He decided to err on the side of caution. Turning back, he beckoned the others. On reaching the front of the school, his heart sank. He’d known better than to hope she’d be standing there with her girls clustered around, watching the fire from a safe distance. His only comfort lay in that it appeared not to have reached beyond the
rear yard.
Yet. Was the fire an instrument of their enemy? Or had it been set by those within to keep them out?
He spied three men running toward the school, but they went straight around to the back. He had to assume they belonged to Boucher. Anyone else would’ve tried to raise those within. Shrinking into the shadows, he signaled the others to wait.
As soon as the way was clear, he darted to the front door and began to pound on it. On the other side, he heard Mrs. Sloane’s muffled, frantic voice, followed by screams and two gunshots. Adrenaline surged. Again he pounded. “Mrs. Sloane! Let me in!”
There was a heavy rasp—the bar sliding back. Tensing, he prepared to fight. When the door opened, however, it wasn’t the enemy who greeted him, but his own Jacqueline. Crushing her in arms that shook with the strength of his relief, he breathed in her scent. “Thank God you’re safe!”
“What of the fire?” prompted Loxdon. “Ought we not to get everyone to safety?”
“No!” answered Jacqueline before he could speak. “The fire is ours—it guards the gate.” She broke away and beckoned. “Come inside, all of you. Quickly!”
Will captured her hand and held her back. “There is no need. The fire in the rear yard has drawn them all away. We can get the others and escape.”
She shook her head. “There was fighting in the street only—”
“Good!” he cut in, excited. “They came, then. I asked some friends to watch over the school.”
“Then I fear they may have met a bad end,” she replied. “Shots were fired, some of them at the school—the windows were targeted.”
“Was anyone hurt?” He was relieved when she shook her head.
“Your men and my fire may have drawn them off,” she explained, “but it’s only a matter of time before they come back or more are sent in. Boucher won’t give up easily. Doubtless, she has this whole area surrounded.”
“I heard gunfire inside,” he said, looking past her to Mrs. Sloane.
“Before we set the fire, some men climbed the wall by the gate and got onto the roof,” explained Jacqueline. “They came in through one of the windows in the servant quarters and made their way here. There may be more. We have not yet questioned them…”