Exile for Dreamers (12 page)

“Aye, that they are,
my lady.
Disgraceful manners.” He chuckled and held up his hands in surrender. “I have eyes, Lady Jane. I can see that you're no plumper than you should be. And if it weren't for that spicy temper of yours, a fellow might find your proportions somewhat pleasing.” He gave her a roguish grin. “Although I have to admit, it was worth the breach of etiquette to watch you color up like red flannel and flap about like a flustered banty hen.”

“A banty hen!” Jane made a gurgling, stuttering noise that I supposed was her version of a growl. A very un-Jane-like noise. Jane never growls.

“Yes, my lady. It's a small fussy hen—”

“I know what it is,” she said through gritted teeth. “You're impossible! The rudest, most exasperating, insulting—” She waved him away, shaking her head. “Insufferable! I don't see how we can be expected to assist you with your inventions and prototypes. Not only that, but why we should put our lives at risk protecting you, when you are clearly the most obnoxious—”

He grabbed her shoulders. “Hold on there. No one asked you to protect me.”

“Oh, yes. Yes, they did. Lord Wyatt did exactly that in his letter.” She glanced down at his hand on her shoulder.

He instantly let go. It was his turn to shake his head and step back. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but that's stuff and nonsense. More of your fancy lies. Lord Wyatt is a perfectly rational fellow, and there's no way he would expect a passel of females in a girls' school to protect me from the likes of the Iron Crown. That would be pure foolishness. I reckon he sent me here because this place is so unlikely, so far removed from anywhere the Iron Crown might expect me to be housed, that it is one of the last places in England they would look.”

“That's where you're wrong.
Dead wrong.
” Jane crossed her arms and cocked her head, having finally caught him in an error. “This is one of the very first places they'll look.”

“I don't believe you.” He shook his head. “No. Lord Wyatt would no more expect a little mite like you to protect me than he would expect a horse to do math.”

“I am not a little mite, Mr. Sinclair. I'm taller than most women, and it might surprise you to learn that I could flip you over my shoulder and break your arm in three places before you had a chance to say
begging your pardon, my lady,
in that ear-scraping American brogue of yours.”

Jane couldn't really do that. Not yet. She was out and out bragging. If our practice sessions were anything to go by, she might be able to tug him over her shoulder.
Maybe
. Jane had skills, but combat wasn't one of them.

Mr. Sinclair shared my skepticism. “Care to place a wager on that?”

Fortunately, she was spared answering. Miss Stranje burst through the garden door at the end of the hall and strode toward them.

Mr. Sinclair greeted her with an almost passable bow.

“Ah. I see you are both getting an early start. Good. Lady Jane, please show Mr. Sinclair the workroom, where the paper is kept, the ink, the drawing instruments, and so on.” Miss Stranje briskly opened the workroom door for them. “Madame Cho will be along shortly to chaperone. Mr. Sinclair, should you need to mix chemicals, we have a well-stocked stillroom just down the hall. Miss Fitzwilliam will assist you there later. However, for obvious reasons, I would ask that if you mix explosives, you do so out of doors—well away from the house.” She marched past them with a curt nod. “Breakfast will be served at nine.”

She strode down the corridor and headed upstairs. I remained hidden, holding my breath, lest she might turn and see me sneaking about the house, eavesdropping instead of sleeping.

I gave up on the idea of sitting with Jane and returned to the dormitorium thinking I might rest for an hour or so before breakfast. Not sleep. Not that. I'd stay awake and simply rest my head.

“You're back.” Georgiana sat up in bed, yawning and stretching, her red curls a tangled but charming mess.

Sera leaned up, propping herself on one elbow. “How is Lord Ravencross?”

“Healing.” I remembered the peace on his face as he slept and smiled to myself. “Barring an infection, he should recover.”

“Good.” She flopped against her pillow. “We were just about to come find you.”

“So you say, sleepyhead. Jane beat you to it.”

“Jane?” Georgie's gaze shot to Jane's empty bed. “Where is she?”

“Downstairs. I think you might want to hurry to the workroom. When last I saw her, she was threatening to break Mr. Sinclair's arm in three places.”

“What? Why? Besides, Jane is no good at hand to hand—”

“I'm well aware of Jane's combat limitations. Unfortunately, Mr. Sinclair provokes her so thoroughly that I think she might give it a go.”

Georgiana threw back the covers. “I wouldn't want to miss that.”

I chuckled. “I rather think it is your job to keep that from happening. Lord Wyatt asked you to protect our guest, did he not?”

“Fiddlesticks! What sport is there in that?” She grinned at me and hurried toward the water closet.

Sera was already pulling on her morning dress. I helped her tie her tapes. “I'm tired. I need to rest for a few minutes,” I admitted.

She pointed to the sleeping draught. “Madame Cho left that for you. She was furious with us for letting you go last night. I imagine we will pay for that in our lessons today.”

“I expect you will. I'm sorry for that. I don't want to rest for long. Rouse me for breakfast, if you would? I'm famished.”

She agreed and hurried off. I removed my shoes, propped my feet up on the bed, and leaned back against the headboard. Punch and Judy scampered across the covers and leapt into my arms. Chittering and sniffing, their little whiskers tickled my cheeks. “I've no food for you today. No, not even a morsel.”

Clever little devils, their pink ears perked up as if they understood what I'd said. Judy gave me a whiskery kiss of forgiveness, but Punch jumped onto my shoulder and poked about behind my neck and into my hair, checking to see if I might be holding out on him. I shooed him down, and they tumbled and wrestled in my lap for a moment, then coiled up next to me to sleep.

“You rascals needn't settle in. I'm not going to sleep.”

Punch stuck his pink nose in the air. His whiskers twitched as he scrutinized me intently. Then, with a cynical little pip, he curled up next to my thigh.

“Scamp.”

He swung his tail and gave me a light swat in answer.

“I suppose I might close my eyes. Not to sleep, mind you. Not that. Only to rest for a moment.”

Only a moment.

I would not sleep.

Nor would I dream.

Yet even as my eyelids drooped, the world shifted. I knew, as it spun and whirled me into the void, that this would be one of those dreams—not so very unpleasant at first, but dangerous later.

 

Nine

GHOSTS

I found myself plunged into a sea of swirling images, some of which I understood. Others were too outlandish.
Impossible
. Then the dream whirled me to a place I knew.

The dungeons of Stranje House. I recognized the smell of mold and dampness that pervades that place. Thick darkness nearly suffocated me. I heard someone crying. It struck me that Lady Daneska might have captured Georgie. The sound of weeping echoed through the dark corridors of my dreamworld, but no matter how hard I tried to find her, she eluded me. I ran as fast as I could in the tangled underbelly of the house, and yet her sobbing only got weaker and more desperate.

Chasing the sound through the murky fog, I raced around a corner and collided with Lucien, Lord Ravencross's older brother. He looked as shocked to see me as I was to see him. His expression flashed from alarm to violence. He aimed a pistol at me. I've no idea why he didn't fire. In a blink, he vanished into the darkness.

Often in dreams, a scream is a wispy desperate cry that no one hears.

I awoke in a panic, gasping, a hoarse shriek trapped in my throat as if there had been many screams proceeding it. My heart thumped like a terrified rabbit, and Georgie's cries still rang in my ears.

Except it couldn't be. Georgie was here, shaking my shoulders. “Wake up!” I recognized her voice. “Tess, you must wake up.”

Slowly, she came into focus, her red hair glowing like fire in the sunlight that poured in from the dormitorium's windows.

It had been a dream. Only a dream.

And yet she looked frightened. She signaled frantically for Alice, our housemaid. “Go get Miss Stranje. Hurry! Run!” Then she called to Maya. “Do something. She can't breathe. Look, she's turning gray.”

Maya moved Georgie aside and blew softly on my face. “Tess, you must listen to me. Breathe.”

All I could do was gasp.

“It's over. You are safe now.” When Maya spoke, it was low and resonant, it sounded almost as if she purred. “Let the air out. You have taken in too much.” She exhaled slowly, showing me exactly what she wanted me to do. I tried to follow. “Yes, that is the way. Very good. Slow, even breaths.” It was then that I finally understood Maya was like a cat, a silken exotic cat. One of us and yet not. After that, I trusted her more. At least as much as anyone can trust a cat.

“Thank heavens.” Georgie sank onto the end of the bed and sighed. “Her color is returning. She'll be all right, now.”

But she would not.

“Georgie, get behind me.” I surged forward. “Hide. They're here—”

“Who? Who's here?” Jane leaned in from the other side and pressed me back against the pillows. Her brows pinched up with worry. “There's no one here but us.”

“What is it?” Miss Stranje rushed into the dormitorium. “What did she see?”

Thank goodness she was here. Now someone would listen to me. “Daneska! She's here. Or she will be. She and her henchmen.” I looked at all of their faces to make sure they understood the threat. “And Lord Ravencross's brother, Lucien. Except, no—” I shook my head, trying to clear it. “That can't be. He's dead. I never dream about the dead. The
dying,
yes. But not someone who has already passed.”

Yet I felt certain it had been him. He had looked different somehow, older maybe. But that was impossible.

Maya stood and edged away from me, slipping quietly behind the others. Georgie and Jane glanced at one another, exchanging the same worried look they had earlier.
More secrets? Or the same secret?

Sera sat beside me and clasped my hand, even though I had tightened it into a fist gripping my bedcovers.

“You know that we have the deepest respect for your dreams. But it sounds to me as if this one might have been nothing more than an ordinary nightmare, the kind any of us might have after the awful events of yesterday. You knew Daneska was behind the attempt to kidnap Georgie. Could it be that what you saw this time was simply your worries emerging in your dreams?”

“Ordinary,
” I repeated, astonished at the thought, so much so I very nearly laughed.

If only it were true.

Perhaps it was. I wondered if anyone else would welcome an ordinary nightmare with such open arms.

“What other explanation can there be?” Sera asked softly. “We know Lucien is dead. Lord Ravencross killed him at Möckern.”

“Yes,” I said, and my heart stopped beating quite so fast. My fists began to relax. “That could be it.”

But then I noticed Georgie and Jane had said nothing. Under normal circumstances, Georgie would have offered an opinion. So would Jane. Instead, both of them kept their eyes averted, looking anywhere but at me. That's how I knew that whatever it was they were hiding, it had something to do with Lucien. My stranglehold on the sheets tightened again.

Miss Stranje stood at the foot of my bed like a captain steering a ship. “What else did you see?”

“Nothing of any consequence. No Captain Grey. No Lord Wyatt. It was another worthless jumble. Explosions. Smoke. Water. Napoleon—”

“Napoleon?” She tilted her head, narrowing in on me.

“It was of no consequence.”

“Perhaps not. Indulge me.”

“I saw myself in a prison of some kind, except I was surrounded by soft cushions and had grapes to eat. I was dressed in fine silk, and yet I was chained and there were bars on the door. So you see, it makes no sense. And then Napoleon came in carrying an ornate silver bowl filled with swirling mystical green water. He told me to drink. When I refused, he grabbed my head and thrust me face-first into the bowl. It felt as if I was drowning, except then the dream changed and suddenly I found myself in the dungeons beneath Stranje House.”

“Hmm.” Our headmistress scrutinized me as if I were an errant pupil. “You're quite certain it was Napoleon you saw? How did you know?”

I refused to meet her gaze, carefully folding the edge of the sheet over the top of the coverlet. “He wore the emperor's gold laurel leaves on his head and yet he was dressed like a general.” My stubbornness returned and I looked up defiantly. “I
knew.
”

“Yes, of course.” Miss Stranje placed her hand on the spindle of my bed. “A most curious dream.”

“That part of it can't possibly mean anything. It was absurd. Perhaps Sera is right, maybe it was an ordinary nightmare, I don't know. What I do know is that I saw Daneska here. Inside Stranje House. And that part felt real.” I thumped the feather ticking with my fist. That portion of the dream unsettled me most. Some childish part of me liked to think of Stranje House as impenetrable, my personal fortress. And the thought that I couldn't protect one of my friends from her vicious schemes twisted my insides until I felt like a wrung-out rag.