Exile for Dreamers (18 page)

Upon my mentioning the dogs, they all nodded, convinced.

A fine thing that is.

They doubted me but immediately conceded the dogs would have known. Perhaps it was just as well I was leaving. At least at home they would have believed me. They wouldn't have been comfortable about it, they might've accused me of being a witch, but they would've believed me.

Jane's face screwed up as if she'd bitten down on a lemon. “That means they came by that information some other way. But how?”

We looked about the room at each other, shifting from foot to foot, and I felt distrust creeping into all of our minds. After Lady Daneska's betrayal, the possibility of treachery was never far from our minds.

Miss Stranje put a hasty end to our suspicions. “They could've gleaned that information any number of ways. It could even have come from one of our neighbors. Perhaps, Lady Pinswary. She is forever spying on us from her upstairs window.”

We knew for a fact, because we'd observed her through our telescope standing at her window with a pair of opera glasses trained on Stranje House. Although from clear across the fields I wasn't sure how much she could've observed at that hour in the morning.

Miss Stranje mumbled under her breath, “I've been meaning to plant some tall growing trees on that side of the grounds.”

Georgie brightened, relieved that she didn't have to think one of us had betrayed her. “For that matter, Lady Daneska could've observed it herself last month when she stayed with Lady Pinswary.”

“Lady Daneska could've gathered that intelligence any number of ways,” Miss Stranje concluded with a cluck of her tongue. “Given Tess's dream this morning, I think we must expect the Iron Crown will be more involved in the next attempt. That being the case, we should expect a far more organized approach.”

Lord Ravencross raked a hand through his hair and pushed forward. “We ought to contact the authorities. I'll send a note to Lord Castlereagh and explain the situation.”

Miss Stranje smiled politely at his remark. “And tell them what, my lord? That based on the dreams of a seventeen-year-old girl we have reason to believe a band of ruthless cutthroats may try to gain entrance to our house? What do you suppose they would do? Send a troop to stand guard?”

“Might do.” Georgie remained bent studiously over her drawing. “After all, France went to war over Joan of Arc's dreams.”

“Don't be ridiculous.” Jane flicked Georgie's arm. “No one in Britain would move troops on the say-so of a dream.” Jane had her back to me. When she saw the others glancing worriedly past her shoulder at me, she flushed a guilty pink and turned. “I didn't mean that as it sounded, Tess. You know I have complete confidence in your visions. I am merely being practical.”

Ravencross stared in my direction. There was sureness in his gaze, a steadiness, and a warmth that made heat race into my cheeks.

No. He mustn't do that. Hadn't he listened to me? We had no future.
I looked away. Down. Sideways. Anywhere but at him.

Lord Ravencross would not relinquish the idea that we needed outside help. “What about contacting Captain Grey? Or Lord Wyatt? Surely they would come to your—”

“Yes.” Miss Stranje rarely interrupts anyone, but there was a sideways fist in her even tone. “I intend to send word as soon as possible. But we have not heard directly from either of them for a number of weeks. Mr. Sinclair's arrival was the first inkling we've had that they are even alive.”

Georgie's sharp intake of breath hushed all of us.

“As matters stand,” Miss Stranje continued in a much softer tone, “we must conclude that we are on our own.”

A pall fell over us. Even Maya stilled, not so much as even the whisper of a hum. I fancied I could even hear the clock tick in the main hall. Georgie scratched the graphite in shading lines indicating the ocean on her diagram.

Jane cleared her throat. “Very well, we are on our own. It won't be the first time.” She said it proudly, and with a catch in her voice that forced us all to remember who we were.

We were the same five girls who'd crossed the channel and dared breach the Iron Crown's stronghold. We'd freed Lord Wyatt from his chains and set the place on fire. Miss Stranje squared her shoulders and smiled at her pupils.

Jane rallied us further with a clarion call. “This only means it is even more important that we determine exactly what the Iron Crown wants. And how they might try to get it.” She sat down with a fresh sheet of foolscap and her quill. “Shall we begin the list with Georgiana and her ink?”

Sera looked round the room at us, paler than normal; the seriousness on her elfin features seemed so out of place. “You all realize, of course, that we are not the only ones in danger.”

She lifted Georgie's drawing and set it aside. It had lain atop a map of England and France, which outlined the new borders on the European continent—borders Napoleon had recently established. This was the very map Mr. Sinclair had been so eager to see, and now he viewed it with a grave expression.

“There is a larger problem at work here.” Sera pressed forward, forgetting her shyness for a moment. She set a tin cup filled with sticks of graphite on the map near Hanover. “The bulk of our army is cornered here. What troops do we have left to guard Britain's coast? A battalion stationed in Chatham at Fort Amherst? Another at Dover? Five hundred men? Six hundred? What would happen if Napoleon decided to invade next week?”

Jane gasped. “They would be slaughtered.” Mr. Sinclair cast an anxious look in her direction. I tried to swallow my trepidation, but it left a dry lump in my throat.

“And then what?” Sera is normally kindness itself. But today, even though she spoke gently, her matter-of-fact tone chilled the air. “Would they send the Yeomen to the coast and leave the monarchy defenseless? No, they might try to raise the Fencibles again, and call out the volunteer militia. Perhaps Wales and Ireland might send troops. But all these measures would take time. I have it on good authority that Whitehall is trying to transport our troops home for this very reason.” She caught herself, recalling how we'd searched Miss Stranje's papers to glean this authoritative tidbit, and turned a guilty sheep face to Miss Stranje.

I waved away her concern. “She already knows.”

“Go on,” Miss Stranje urged.

Sera's alarm faded and she continued. “At best it would take several weeks, more than likely a month or more, to transport enough of our troops from Hanover, especially given the fact that most of our ships are engaged in the conflict across the Atlantic, four or five weeks away.” She glanced apologetically at Mr. Sinclair, who merely nodded his understanding that she meant the war the Americans had brought against us in 1812.

She picked up several of the small buttons that we normally used to symbolize ships. “We must face facts. Napoleon is no fool. At this very moment England sits at her most vulnerable. Helpless.” She placed the ships in the channel between Britain and France. “I believe the Iron Crown may be paving the way for an invasion of England. With that in mind, yes, Georgie's ink would be a prize worth taking. But assuming he told us the truth at breakfast and that he has not already given them plans for his uncle's warship, I believe they will be hunting most ardently for Mr. Sinclair.”

We turned as one to our American guest. It was the first time I'd seen Mr. Sinclair without even a trace of humor on his sunny features. His lips blanched and formed a round, soundless whistle. He jammed his fingers into his mess of golden curls. “Looks as if I'm in a bit of a pickle.”

None of us argued the point. Jane looked particularly pensive.

“Yes sir-ee.” He thrust both hands into his coat pockets. “If I were a betting man, I'd say I'm done for.”

Miss Stranje straightened and tried to reassure him. “Nothing of the kind, Mr. Sinclair. We've been in far worse fixes than this.”

“You may have been in tighter squeezes, Miss Stranje, but not I. I'm a tinkerer, pure and simple.” He turned to Jane. “And regardless of what you may think of me, my lady, I'm a darned fine engineer.” He edged back from the table. Apparently the map he'd been so eager to look at no longer held any appeal. “What I'm not, is a soldier. Oh, I know which end of a gun to hold when it comes down to it, but I'm not the killing and fighting sort.”

No, he was an otter. Playful and smart.

“Do you want to make a run for it, then?” Georgie tilted her head, taking his measure. “You could make your way to a port town. I'm sure if you're willing to work for your passage…”

“The thought did occur to me,” he admitted.

“Run if you like.” Jane sniffed. “Of course, with impressments being as rampant as they are, it is more than likely you'd be put in service, and then it would be a handful of years before you'd make it back to your home in the Colonies.”

“United States,” he corrected reflexively.

“She's right, you know.” This came from Lord Ravencross. “I'll take you to a port myself, if you wish. But chances are, you will get thrown straightway into a crew. Then, whether you like it or not, you'll find yourself in the middle of a battle at sea.”

“Aye, I'd figured as much.” Sinclair scuffed at the Turkish carpet with the toe of one of his borrowed shoes. “A piece of bad luck, this. I'm caught between a grizzly bear and a rattlesnake.”

“Take heart, Mr. Sinclair,” Georgie chirped, just as if her life weren't in as much danger as his. “There's an alternative. In Lord Wyatt's letter, he explained that our foreign Secretary, Lord Castlereagh, believes he can get approval for funding for your uncle's steam-powered warship if you will but create a drawing and working model. We could help you in this endeavor. If we move with all haste, you and your plans will be safe with Whitehall, and if you succeed, you will be doing both your uncle and us a great service.”

Miss Stranje faced him squarely, without any discernible emotion. “It is, of course, your decision, Mr. Sinclair. But should you chose to stay with us, I assure you, we will protect you with our very lives until such time as we can guarantee your safe passage home. That is no small promise.”

“Indeed. You should see her with a pistol.” Georgie nodded vigorously. “And if your warship or one of your other inventions proves useful, I'm sure the government will conduct you safely to your home. The war between our countries can't last much longer.”

“Then I suppose we'd best get to it.” Mr. Sinclair sat at the table, picked up a pencil and Georgie's protractor, and began sketching a diagram of a steam-powered warship. Georgie leaned over the table, watching with interest. Jane stood between them, arms crossed, watching him draw.

I envied this boldfaced American. It was quite possible the Iron Crown would capture him when they attacked and torture his uncle's secrets out of him, but unlike me, at least he would be staying here with the people who mattered most to me in all the world.

Some things were worth the risk.

 

Fourteen

INQUISITION

While Jane, Georgie, and Mr. Sinclair worked on his warship plans, the rest of us tackled the problem of how to fortify Stranje House against intruders. Mr. Sinclair's suggestion to seal up the sneaky entrances met with mixed opinions.

Miss Stranje wasn't fond of the idea. “We can't seal the underground door. If Captain Grey and Lord Wyatt return by way of the sea cave and find their normal passage into the house blocked, they'll be forced to use the path up the cliffs to gain entrance. At night it is too hazardous a climb.”

I'd been up and down those cliffs a number of times and not by the narrow path that wound up the side. “They're more than up to that task,” I tried to reassure her.

She remained unconvinced. “Not if one of them is injured. I don't like it.”

I didn't either, but for other reasons.
It made me furious to think of my fortress being invaded by Daneska and her murderous thugs. But the thought of our escape hatches being boarded up made my palms sweat. When I remembered the fact that I would not be here, I'd probably be halfway to Wales when they tried to sneak in, I panicked even worse. “God forbid, if Lady Daneska and her men are successful getting into the house, how will you flee if all your secret escape routes are blocked off?”

Lord Ravencross suggested we might secure the secret doors by using barricades that could easily be removed from the inside. His idea set us to working on a list of what must be done to fortify Stranje House. We worked for more than an hour.

Miss Stranje stood and perused the progress Jane, Georgie, and Mr. Sinclair were making on his warship plans. “I'll send Philip to town first thing to purchase the supplies you will need,” she said, studying the diagrams. “Although some of these items you might find in my storeroom. There is copper piping in Miss Fitzwilliam's laboratory that might work.” She tapped his drawing, thinking, and turned to Jane. “Don't we have an extra copper tub stored in the garret? I'm certain I've seen one. I'll check.”

The garret Miss Stranje referred to was the long, narrow storage attic above our dormitorium, where the five of us often liked to gather at night long after we were supposed to be sleeping. It was our secret meeting place. It has lovely windows that extend out over the roof. Our spyglass comes in very handy in the garret. That's where, through our spyglass, we'd caught our first glimpses of Lord Ravencross after he'd come home wounded from the wars.

“Yes, I believe I saw just such a tub last time I went up to retrieve something out of my trunk.” Jane jumped up. “You needn't trouble yourself. Georgie and I will fetch it for you.” Jane knew exactly where that copper bath was. We all did, because we'd flipped it over to use as a table in our secret room. Our makeshift lantern sat atop it.