Exile for Dreamers (27 page)

“No. I spent that day locked in a room in France. But I wouldn't say no to a delayed celebration. My mother usually bakes a spice cake for the occasion. Delicious. A thick layer of sugar icing, like so.” Holding up two fingers, he showed us exactly how thick. His normally lively countenance turned melancholy for a few seconds. “Don't know when, or if, I'll ever taste it again. But no matter.”

Sera looked at him quizzically. “Ordinarily, we don't make that much ado over our natal days.”

“Ah. More of your English stoicism, I suppose.” He studiously mopped up egg yolk with a wedge of toast, as if giving the problem some consideration. “Perhaps this once, if the question arises, you might make an exception.”

Finished with the last of his eggs and sausage, he pushed back his plate. “Although it may not be necessary. You are fairly isolated here. It's quite possible no one will notice our little experiment.”

“No, and why should they?” Jane spooned clotted cream on her raspberry scone and spread an equally ample serving of sarcasm over the top of her comment. “Surely no one will notice bombs bursting along the shoreline.”

“Good heavens.” Georgiana glanced up in alarm. “If Mrs. Pinswary sees flames, you know full well she'll march straight over here and accuse me of trying to set fire to the whole county.”

We all remembered our neighbor's frantic visit shortly after Georgie first arrived at Stranje House. Miss Pinswary had received a tittle-tattle letter warning that Miss Stranje's newest student was a dangerous arsonist. It was true that Georgie had accidently set fire to her father's stables while trying to cook up an invisible ink. But her parents kept mum about the cause of the fire and when they sent her away to Stranje House, people gossiped and came to some rather unsavory conclusions. Miss Pinswary had been told Georgiana was a criminal who would murder us all in our sleep.

“Very well. A birthday celebration it is.” Miss Stranje laid her spoon down carefully. “We shall simply explain to anyone who asks that you are my American cousin and it is your custom to celebrate with fireworks. Advise us when your equipment is ready to test, and we will have Cook bake a cake.”

“Excellent.” He beamed. “Cake and fireworks. I like the sound of that.”

“I'm happy it pleases you. Now, if you would be so good as to excuse us, Mr. Sinclair. The young ladies and I have a few private business matters to discuss.” Miss Stranje inclined her head, indicating the door.

“
I see.
Business matters.” He rubbed his chin. “And you want me to make myself scarce.” The corner of his mouth curled up mischievously. “I reckon this is your equivalent of when the gentlemen excuse themselves so they might enjoy a glass of brandy and discuss horse racing and pugilism, isn't it.”

“Not at all, Mr. Sinclair.” Miss Stranje smiled genially. “I assure you we won't be discussing anything so important as which horse to back at the races. Ours will simply be a dull conversation about embroidery threads, watercolor lessons, and whatnot. You know the sorts of things young ladies like to discuss in private.”

He laughed then, out loud and quite heartily. Rising from his chair, he treated us all to a regal bow. “Then I shall leave you to your discussion of embroidery threads, ladies. My only request is that you do not land us all in a tangle.”

He winked at Jane, who turned quite red, and chuckled to himself all the way out of the breakfast room. At a signal from Miss Stranje, the footmen and Greaves followed him out and closed the doors, giving us our privacy at last.

Miss Stranje did not mince words. “I suppose by now you all know we are holding Lady Daneska prisoner?”

I rushed to ask, “You looked in on her this morning to make sure she hasn't escaped?”

“Yes. You may set your worries aside. She's well secured. Although it troubles me that she appears so contented with her accommodations.”

I frowned at that. “Did you use the irons?”

“Of course.”

“Then she's pretending. Underneath her bravado, Daneska is seething. You have my word on it.” Some devilish part of me felt eager to see her wearing iron cuffs and chains instead of her customary diamonds. But first, I needed to know how best to interrogate the prisoner. “How are we going to get Ghost's whereabouts out of her?”

Sera shook her head. “If you are thinking of torture, it won't work. You know she would simply lie. Not only that, she would do it so effectively that we would be following false trails for months.”

“Yes.” Miss Stranje carefully sliced a strawberry into four sections and cut away the greenery. “Captain Grey and I came to the same conclusion.”

“What, then?” I slammed my hand against the table, rattling the silverware. It startled even me. “Sorry.” I glanced at them apologetically. “We have to find him. Before…”
Before he comes here and destroys his brother's life or murders him.

“We must approach this logically.” Miss Stranje meticulously wiped strawberry juice from her fingers.

I groaned. She was going to use this moment to exercise her role as our teacher. I wanted to scream
Not now,
but I bit my tongue to hold back my impatience.

“We must ask ourselves, what is it we want?”

I kept my voice level and steady, even though I felt like shaking her. “We want to know where Ghost is.”

“True. Finding the leader of the Iron Crown is of vital interest. But at the moment we face a problem of even greater significance.”

I stared at her, not liking the direction she was leading us.

Jane nudged me with her elbow. “Napoleon might invade.”

“I haven't forgotten.” I understood Napoleon's attack took precedence. Except there'd been other matters pressing on my mind. Matters such as protecting Georgie and Lord Ravencross. Except he wasn't Lord Ravencross anymore—
protecting Gabriel.
And there was only one way to do that.

Kill Ghost.

“I think we can all agree that Napoleon's impending attack is our highest priority.” Miss Stranje speared one of the strawberry sections with her fork. “With Lady Daneska as our captive, we have a unique opportunity. If we can convince her to get word to Napoleon, warning him that England is prepared for his invasion and that he would be ill-advised to proceed, there is a strong likelihood he will change plans. At the very least, he might postpone his attack.”

“But we aren't prepared, and Daneska would never do that.” I stared at Miss Stranje, blinking, unable to comprehend her thinking. “Why would she? It's not true. And anyway, we couldn't force her to do it. Are you thinking of sending a letter in her name? I noticed last night she has her signet ring with her, so I suppose—”

“A letter would be too suspect.” Miss Stranje took her time delicately consuming the last of her strawberry. “I agree with you that she would never willingly cooperate with us. And I believe I know her well enough to say she cannot be coerced.”

Sera had been sitting quietly, studying our headmistress, drawing with her finger on the tablecloth. “You're thinking of misleading her,
tricking
her into carrying false information back to Napoleon.”

“Exactly.” Miss Stranje tilted her head respectfully at Sera. “If Daneska thinks she alone possesses critical information, she will view it as a prime opportunity to distinguish herself further in Napoleon's esteem.”

Jane appeared to be deep in thought. Her crystal goblet hummed as she played the edge with her forefinger. “I daresay she might be even more motivated if she thought giving him this information would sabotage us.”

“This is useless conjecture. It's impossible,” I said impatiently. “How do you propose to accomplish any of this with Daneska imprisoned here in our—” I stopped, suddenly afraid of Miss Stranje's answer. “You wouldn't.”

Miss Stranje clasped her hands in a tight fold.

“Escape!” I turned to the others. “She's suggesting we let Daneska escape.” I could see Jane and Sera had already tumbled to this idea. Maya, too. But Georgie looked as horrified as I felt.

“No, you can't.” Trembling, I grabbed the edge of the table to steady myself and pleaded. “Have you forgotten she tortured Lord Wyatt? Her betrayal? The secrets she's given our enemies? She's too dangerous. She's a traitor. She's…”

My enemy.

All the air seemed to have left the room.

My arguments paled to a silent frozen whisper.

I hated that Miss Stranje waited patiently for me to calm down. I hated the sad expression on her face as if she understood my agony. Most of all, I hated that she was right.

Jane gently laid her hand on my arm, and I finally drew a breath. “It might not be so bad,” she said somberly. “It's possible we'll catch two birds with this one dreadful stinking stone. Think, Tess. She'll probably go straight to
him
as soon as she escapes. This way, she'll carry false information to Napoleon and, at the same time, she might lead us to Ghost.”

She might. Still, it turned my stomach sour to think of letting our betrayer go.

Miss Stranje spoke in an oddly subdued tone. “We must proceed cautiously or she will see through our plan. We all know how exceptionally clever she is. If this is to work, Lady Daneska must believe that she gleaned this information from us. Not that we fed it to her.”

My hand shook as I reached for my glass of lemon water.

Georgie suggested that we
accidentally
let her see us constructing the warship.

“Yes, brilliant.” Jane set down her fork. “And it should be fairly easy to make certain she observes Mr. Sinclair's fireworks on test night. At the very least she'll hear the noise from the explosions.”

Sera cleared her throat, trying to get our attention. “Perhaps Lord Ravencross might be persuaded to increase the guard around his house. That way Lady Daneska might catch a glimpse of what appears to be an army building up.”

“I'm not so sure.” Jane turned to Sera. “Local farmers make a rather ramshackle looking army, wouldn't you say?”

Sera acknowledged Jane's criticism with a quick nod and charged bravely forward. “Perhaps, but if we were to bring Mr. Chadwick and his father into our confidence, we might be able to convince them to call out the local militia and post them at either Stranje House or Ravencross Manor.”

“Splendid idea, my dear.” Miss Stranje leaned forward, with eagerness practically shooting out of her fingertips. “The sound of troops training might be the perfect ploy to convince her that England knows of the threat and is preparing.” She sat back. “Although I would prefer we did not bring the Chadwicks
all the way
into our confidence.”

By this she meant she didn't want them to know that she was coordinating a spy ring from her girls' school.

“And how do you expect us to do that?” Lady Jane sniffed, carefully setting her silverware at exact angles across her plate. “The younger Mr. Chadwick will not be easily duped.”

“He need not be duped at all.” Maya's gaze floated gracefully around the table to each of our astonished faces. “Tell him the truth, with a few minor adjustments, and his curiosity will be appeased. Indeed, if he believes he is doing it to save England it will place him in the position of a hero. Something, I daresay, he would rejoice in.”

“Minor adjustments?” Miss Stranje's eyes glittered with intrigue.

Maya rolled her palm to me. “Tess might recall something her abductors said about murdering Lord Ravencross so that a French landing party could be housed at Ravencross Manor. Perhaps she now remembers hearing Napoleon's name mentioned.” Maya tilted her head and spoke directly to me. “All of Britain is afraid of invasion. If Tess were to deliver this news with sufficient terror, as if she had just awakened to these suppressed memories…”

“He would believe her.” Sera finished.

Maya smiled. “Just so.”

“Excellent.” Miss Stranje all but clapped. “Well done, Maya.”

Jane set her plate away from her. “A pity Mr. Chadwick must be used so falsely by us.”

“Nonsense,” Miss Stranje corrected her sharply. “There is nothing false in it. He may well be saving his country. At least, we must all hope and pray that this tactic will stave off invasion for the next month.”

Sera stared at her water glass, turning the stem. “He will like the thought of being a hero.”

“Exactly,” agreed Miss Stranje. “I shall send an urgent note this very morning.”

I shook my head. This was not what I had in mind.
None of it.

The pulse in my neck throbbed. “Even if we accomplish all this, how will you let Daneska escape? If you make it too easy, she won't believe it. She'll know she's being set up.”

Miss Stranje's features softened, and she leaned toward me.

I backed away. Her expression frightened me. I'd a thousand times rather she came at me with her hard, disapproving frown. Not this. Not this caring look, drenched with worry. This one made me want to run.

“Your question brings me to the most difficult part.”

I swallowed.
More
difficult than it already was? She leveled that statement at me and I'd rather she'd aimed a knife at me. I could dodge a knife.

“It is my considered opinion that it will be more believable if one of you helps her escape.”

“None of us would do that. She'd never believe it,” Georgie protested before I'd even fully absorbed Miss Stranje's words.

Miss Stranje stared at me, dripping with reluctance. And yet she pressed forward, coming at me like a surgeon who must hack off the leg of an unlucky soldier. “There is only one of you that she was close enough to believe would help her.”

The food in my belly turned to jagged stones. My arms fell to my sides, suddenly heavier than lead weights. “Me? You can't mean me.”