Exile for Dreamers (28 page)

Except she did.

“No!” I gasped. “I won't do it. I can't.”

Yet even as I said it, I knew that I had to.
I must.

I swallowed against the bitter taste of bile in my mouth. I could hardly breathe. If she had asked me to beat a confession out of Daneska—I would've gladly done that. If she'd ordered me to ride out and keep riding until I found the real Lord Ravencross, and then thrust a sword into his heart—I could've done that, too. But not this. She expected me to pretend I cared about Daneska, enough to help her escape.

“It won't work.” I shook my head. “I'm no good at lying.”

“No, you're not.” She took a deep breath and launched into a sermon. “It's quite possible this task will prove beneficial for you as well.”

Impossible.

She wanted me to ask how
.
But I didn't. Because I knew what she was suggesting and it was impossible.

Undaunted she pressed on. “It is not healthy for you to harbor ill will toward another human being.”

I drew back, indignant.
Make no mistake about it, I do not harbor ill will. My ship of ill will rides boldly across a sea of anger in glorious billowing full sail.

“Forgiveness can bring peace.”

Peace?

Me?

I almost laughed. Didn't she know? I was not made for peace. I was made for unrest, for sleepless nights, for dreams of unspeakable terror. I was made for madness, not peace.

“I know Lady Daneska hurt you. She betrayed all of us, you most of all, because you were closest to her. But she knows what we all know deep inside…” Miss Stranje waited for me to meet her gaze. Waited to see if I was actually absorbing any of her sermon.

She reached for me, but my arms stayed where they were, wrapped tight around my middle, too busy holding me together.

She silently pleaded with me to listen.
“Hatred and anger are not the opposites of love, Tess. They are backsides of the same playing cards. It is easier to flip hostile feelings over and find the love and forgiveness that have been hidden there all along, aching to be found, than it is to produce new feelings.”

Through gritted teeth, I shot a question at her. “Then what is the opposite of love?”
Because whatever that is, that's what I feel for Daneska.

“Indifference.”

One word.
One word that hit me in the gut so hard I almost doubled over. Because I didn't feel indifferent toward Dani. I couldn't.

Miss Stranje pitied me then. I could see it. So I closed my eyes.

“Do you see why you're the only one here who Daneska would believe could soften her heart enough to help her escape?”

I sank back. Curling into the chair. Massaging my forehead. Scarcely able to keep down breakfast.

It was too much. I covered my face with my hands. I had only just accepted the fact that I must become a murderer and kill Ghost. Now Miss Stranje was demanding I forgive my greatest enemy and become her friend, so that ultimately I could betray her.

I wondered briefly which of these two—murder or forgiveness—would prove more treacherous to my soul.

Miss Stranje broke into my whirling thoughts. “Will you do it?”

“No.” Sera stood abruptly. “We can't ask this of Tess. Look at her. This is too painful for her. I'll do it.”

“She'd never believe it of you, Sera.” Jane sounded mournful. “Remember how she used to call you a useless mouse. She never really liked the two of us. Only Tess.” Jane reached for my shoulder; her touch was gentle, but her pity pressed more weight atop it. “I'm sorry,” she said. “You know I'd take your place if I could.”

I stared at my plate.

“I might be able to help you,” Maya said in a soothing, lyrical voice.

Surprised, I looked up. “How? What do you propose to do? Mesmerize me into not hating Daneska?” I hadn't meant for it to sound as biting as it did.

“Not exactly. Although music and meditation might help you forget some of the anger you feel toward her.”

Did I want to do that? Forget Daneska's betrayal? No.

Georgie sat across from me, watching my every move with worried eyes. “We'll
all
help you.”

“Good,” I said, with more enthusiasm than I felt. “Help me by strangling her.”

“As to that,” Miss Stranje said cryptically, drawing our attention. “We will need to make genuine attempts to get information from her. I'm afraid we must use some rather … er … persuasive methods, even though we know they won't work. If we don't, Daneska won't believe it when Tess helps her escape.”

Sera kept staring at me, her brow squeezed up in worry. “This is going to be very difficult for you. Perhaps I should try. She disliked me, but she might believe I am weak enough to feel sorry for her, and—”

Dear sweet Sera, she was kind, but not weak. Never that. And not even Lady Daneska, in all her cynicism, would believe Seraphina Wyndham could be disloyal.

“No. Jane's right. Daneska and I were like sisters before you came.” I pushed away from the table and stood. Somehow, I would have to find a way to stop hating her. “God help me, it will have to be me.”

 

Twenty

DECEPTION

Scarcely a half hour went by after Miss Stranje sent the note before Mr. Chadwick and his father rushed into Stranje House in a state of great alarm. They were shown again into the blue parlor, where Miss Stranje laid the groundwork. I was some moments later ushered in, after having pinched my face almost to the point of bruising it and drizzling salt water down my cheeks. I did my best to produce tears, but after so many years of resisting them, the ruddy things wouldn't come. I relied upon an attitude of utter panic to carry my part.

“Oh, sirs! Thank goodness you've come.” I collapsed into a chair and feigned such wide-eyed distress that both men drew back nervously. When I clutched at the elder Mr. Chadwick's hand, and told him my dreadful tidings and begged him to do something, his weathered pallor whitened.

“Good heavens, child.”

“If only I'd remembered this horrible news sooner. The very name Napoleon fills me with terror. That must be why I forgot. And to think that those awful men were sent to kill Lord Ravencross so that they might clear the way for Napoleon to launch his attack.”

He rubbed his chin, deep in thought. “Makes sense. No fortresses nearby to contend with like there are at Dover or Chatham, and it's a straight road from here to London.”

How this speech was supposed to comfort me I could not tell. “So you can understand why I am speechless with fear. Please, sir, tell me you can do something, I beg of you.”

“Yes, my dear. Rest assured, we will do something.” He patted my hand, huffled and puffled, floundering for speech. “These are bad times. Bad times, indeed.” He glanced desperately about the room.

“I'm not entirely sure how these things work.” Miss Stranje spoke with an innocent hesitancy that did not come naturally to her. “But since you are the magistrate, can you not call up our local militia?”

At this, he leapt up and began to pace with great agitation. “No, miss. That would be our Lord Lieutenant, a good friend, and the very man who appointed me magistrate. My son and I shall ride with all haste to his estate, where we will explain the situation. He will immediately do all that is required to protect our country, of that you can be certain.”

“Thank you,” I answered quietly.

The younger Mr. Chadwick bowed elegantly to me as they were taking their leave. “Is there anything more you would like to tell us, Miss Aubreyson?”

There was such genuineness about him that I almost faltered.

In a hushed voice he asked, “If there is something else—”

Miss Stranje rushed to my aid and put her arms about my shoulders. “I'm afraid this whole experience has overtaxed her, Mr. Chadwick. We are so very grateful to you for handling these dreadful matters for us. I confess we were beside ourselves trying to figure out what ought to be done.”

“Course you were,” boomed his father. “Far too grievous a situation for the weaker sex to manage. You need a man about the place, Miss Stranje. You did right sending for us. Now we must be off to advise the Lord Lieutenant of these grievous circumstances. I've no doubt but what he will muster up the militia as quickly as can be done. You and the young ladies will have protection, Miss Stranje, even if I have to load up my musket and come guard the place m'self. Come along, Quinton.”

Miss Stranje seated herself in the chair beside me. “Sharp eyes, that young man. I shall have to watch him.” I wasn't sure what she meant by that, whether to watch out for him or to put him to work in her little family of spies.

“You performed admirably, my dear.”

“I feel guilty.”

“I see no reason why you should. Everything we told them is dangerously close to the truth. England is in peril at the moment. You and I are simply trying to preserve the country we love the best way we know how.” She leaned back in the chair and sighed. “I sent word by courier to Lord Castlereagh's office. But with the wars stretching our military to the breaking point, the political climate shifting, and French sympathizers in the House of Lords making so much noise, unless an attack actually occurs on British soil, I fear the foreign secretary's hands are tied.”

I liked climbing walls and throwing knives, but just then I didn't like the other parts of being a spy or, as Miss Stranje preferred to call us, diplomatic aides.

“You know what must be done now?”

I must face Lady Daneska. More deception.

I nodded.

“I think you should hand me your dagger for safekeeping.”

“You're afraid I'll use it on her.”

“Hmm.” She held out her palm. I lifted my skirts and unsheathed my newest weapon and handed it over. “Shall we be going?”

*   *   *

Miss Stranje decreed that I should be the one to bring Daneska her food. Something about how food softens the heart. If she planned to soften Daneska's heart, she was going to have to offer better fare than gruel and crusty bread. She led the way downstairs to the underbelly of Stranje House, giving me a few instructions along the way, but most of the time we walked in awkward silence. When we reached the bottommost floor, she pressed a large brass key into my hand and whispered, “Thank you for your bravery, Tess. I wish I could spare you this task.”

I folded my fingers around the key. “She can no longer hurt me.”

Even though we both knew it was a lie, she didn't argue with me. She simply brushed my arm sadly and pointed the way. “The cell is down this hallway. Turn to your right after you pass the discipline chamber. It is the door at the far end.” She stepped into the shadows. “I shall wait for you here.”

Stranje House had dungeons left over from the Tudor years when there were enemies around every corner. Even back then, Miss Stranje's ancestors were involved in political intrigues. But as dungeons go, this one wasn't as bad as one might imagine. There were no dead rats or skeletons. Not yet, anyway. I unlocked the heavy oaken door, and the hinges groaned as it creaked open.

The small chamber was shadowy but not as dim as the hallway. At the top of the wall there was a small window, about the size of a cutlery box, providing some light. The glass was crusted with a salt glaze from the moist sea air, which made it difficult to see through. The gray stone walls held in the damp and cold even though it was summer. Mold crept through cracks, and a slow, dark sludgelike moisture seeped through, leaving black trails to the floor. Greaves had laid a pallet on the stones along with a woolen blanket.

“So the noble Countess Valdikauf is reduced to sleeping on the floor.”

She sat up atop the pallet looking as regal as possible considering there was no throne and she was chained to the wall. Although they had given her a generously long leash. I'd have much rather seen her arms stretched between two iron rings. Instead, she had ample chain and looked altogether too comfortable.

Gruel sloshed in the bowl and the crust of dry bread tumbled about the tray as I carried it into her cell. I wrinkled my nose. Her chamber pot stunk, but I wasn't about to empty it for her.

Despite the stench, she smiled up at me, still as confident as if we were meeting in a grand parlor. “I'm surprised Miss Stranje trusted you to be alone with me.”

I stood by the door with that stupid tray and didn't know what to say. “What makes you think she did?”

She smirked. “Because I'm not already dead.”

I laughed at that. I don't know why. It seemed enormously funny to me. Funny that Daneska knew how murderous I felt toward her and yet Miss Stranje supposed I could turn this relationship around and convince the bloodless Countess Valdikauf that we were such dear close friends that I would help her escape.

In that moment I realized how utterly absurd this plan was. I decided to stop pretending, because it was useless. “Maybe I poisoned your food.” I glanced menacingly at the gruel. “You never know.”

“Oh, but I do know, my dear Tessika. Poison is not your style.”

“Don't call me that,” I snapped.

She shrugged. “You are most assuredly the knife type. If you decided to kill me, you would use that lovely blade you have strapped to your leg.” She pointed to my calf. “That isn't to say that you wouldn't strangle me given enough provocation.”

“True. About the strangling, I mean.” I glanced down at where the sheath was hidden beneath my dress. “But Miss Stranje made me remove my dagger.”

“
Mon Dieu
.” She clucked her tongue. “Tessie without her blade.” She chuckled at this. “Do you think our Miss Stranje was afraid I might grab your leg and seize your trusty knife?” She shook her head, golden curls dancing. “Surely she knows you would best me in a fight. Especially because I am forced to wear these charming bracelets.” She held out her wrists, admiring the iron manacles as if they were encrusted with jewels. “No. I believe she confiscated it so you would not run me through when I irritated you sufficiently.”