Exile for Dreamers (5 page)

I may have thumped my fists against the heavy oak and let out a roar of frustration. I confess, I don't know for certain. Young ladies are not supposed to do such things. I do remember hearing Tromos from clear across the park let out an answering howl.

The sound of it preyed even further on my mind. I felt as if I might explode.

“Very well.” I whirled on the justice of the peace's son. “What is it you would like to know?”

He offered me a puppyish smile. “You're injured. Perhaps if you sit down, I might ask you a few simple questions to speed my father's inquiry along.” He indicated a bench off to the side of the drive.

I declined his offer and kept pacing. I was too agitated to sit. If I sat down, I felt as if I would slide off and collapse in a puddle.

“And, of course, the law requires us to confiscate your weapon.”

My knife.
He wanted my knife. The one with a stranger's blood all over it. “Help yourself.” I pointed brusquely at the tall grass across the park in Miss Stranje's back field. “My dagger is out there somewhere. You'll have to pardon me for not knowing the exact location. They forced a sack over my head.”

For the first time I became acutely aware of the body lying in the gravel on the other side of the drive. “What happened to that man?”

I wanted Georgie or Sera to answer, not him, not the interfering Mr. Chadwick. But he responded first. “Your headmistress shot him in an attempt to protect Miss Fitzwilliam and rescue you.” He indicated a spot across the park near Stranje House's garden door. “From there. Quite a distance. I wouldn't have expected a spinster schoolteacher to manage a shot like that at a moving target.”

Hackles raised, Georgie huffed. “What does her being a spinster have to do with anything?”

Sera interceded with a slightly less quarrelsome approach. “Surely, you are not assuming that Miss Stranje's aim would be less accurate because she is unmarried? One thing has nothing to do with the other.”

“Not at all.” He raised his hands, warding them off. “You misunderstand me.”

“Hmm.” Georgie crossed her arms. “If not, then you must be suggesting a woman cannot fire a gun as accurately as a man. Which is a preposterous notion—”

“Heavens no.” He backed up under her onslaught. “My own mother is an excellent shot. Outshoots my father on almost every hunt. No, I simply meant that in her profession, as a headmistress at a finishing school, one would not expect Miss Stranje to have acquired any skill with firearms.”

“
Oh.
” Georgie's arms dropped to her sides. “I suppose that is a fairly logical deduction.” She fidgeted. Georgie is unable to lie without displaying a great deal of discomfort. “Yes, I see why you might have drawn that conclusion. But it is quite possible Miss Stranje learned how to handle firearms while hunting with her father.” She smiled, pleased with the explanation she'd concocted.

It was clever, and I hoped it would throw him off the scent. What Georgie didn't know is that she had just told the plain truth of the matter. Miss Stranje's father had indeed taught her how to handle a gun. Mr. Chadwick need not be told that Miss Stranje's father had been one of England's finest spymasters and that he trained his daughter to follow in his footsteps. We had to guard the true nature of Miss Stranje's school at all costs.

He bowed his head to the side, seeming to accept her explanation.

Seraphina usually speaks with a gentleness that matches her angelic appearance, as if she empathizes with everyone. But that day Sera frowned at Chadwick. No, she well and truly scowled at him. I hadn't thought it possible for her.

In fact, she chided him in a tone so prickly that it sounded completely foreign coming from her. “I'm surprised at you, Mr. Chadwick. It is a dangerous thing to make assumptions without ascertaining the facts first. Particularly when you are here in service to your father's office.”

My mouth opened in shock. It was not like Sera to deliver a scold to anyone, and she wasn't finished. “Why
are
you here? Shouldn't you be off studying at Cambridge or Oxford?”

“I … well … er … no.” The young gentleman flushed, adjusted his collar, and looked considerably more rattled than he had when I'd yanked him over my shoulder. He took a deep breath before continuing.

“If you must know, and I'm not saying it's of any importance to the matters at hand, but as things stand I didn't, well, you see…”

Odd.
He'd been such a talkative fellow, and now he stumbled over his words.

His back went rigid, and he did not address any one of us in particular. Except he did glance sidewise in Sera's direction. “Very well, if you insist on the facts of the matter—I surpassed what might be gained at Cambridge at a fairly young age. That's why I am here. My father hired tutors to educate me. Excellent tutors.” He turned several shades of pink while explaining. He looked away, smoothed the nap of his top hat with care, and replaced it snugly on his head as if that signified an end to the matter.

So agitated was he at having told us about not going to university that he failed to notice Sera withdrawing even more. She closed in on herself as she so often does. It is impossible for Sera to hide her feelings. A sad gray pall settled over her.

She studied the gravel and quietly said, “You are fortunate to have such understanding parents.”

Ah, so that was it.

I understood then what was vexing her, and my heart ached on her account. Mr. Chadwick had been given approval and granted the opportunity to learn. Whereas Sera's peculiar gifts of memory and intellect had been treated with distrust and suspicion. He'd been rewarded for his extraordinary mind with tutors. She'd been locked away in the attic until her family finally sent her to Stranje House, hoping Miss Stranje would force their daughter to be more normal.

Uneasy with the silence that fell between them, I glanced over to where Georgie stood studying the dead man. I took a closer look and drew in a sharp breath.

Mr. Chadwick leapt to attention at my gasp. “You recognize him?”

Despite the sizable hole in his skull, I knew this was the man who'd lashed Tromos with his riding crop.

In a sudden panic, I whirled to Georgie. “Where's Tromos? Did they—is she hurt?”

“She's alive and well.” Georgie grasped my shoulders and frowned. “But Miss Stranje is right, you're trembling. You mustn't worry. Both dogs are fine. Agitated, of course, but unharmed. Jane fed them and took them to the kennels.”

I nodded with relief and she let go.

Chadwick renewed his question. “So you recognize the dead man?”

“Only that he whipped our dogs because they were trying to protect us. Other than that, no. I don't know him.” I backed away from the gruesome specter of his remains, stumbling in the gravel.

I never stumble.

I'm not squeamish. Not a bit, and yet gooseflesh raised on my arms and I shivered.

Mr. Chadwick closed in on my weakness. “Miss Wyndham saw this fellow lift you onto the horse. Do you remember anything else about them? I'm sorry to put these questions to you, but even the slightest detail might help us identify who they were and ascertain their purpose.”

“Their purpose?” My hand flew to the lump on my head. “They clubbed me and bagged me! As if I was an animal to be slaughtered.” Dizzy with rage, my voice flew up in pitch. “I know nothing of their purpose. How could I?”

He had the decency to flinch.

Georgie reached for my hand. Normally, I would never have taken it. I stand alone. Every night I face carnage and suffering—
alone.
Always alone. I cannot rely on the strength of others. But that morning, I let her clasp my hand in hers, and I am forced to admit it helped calm me.

Chadwick leaned in sympathetically. “My sincerest condolences, miss. They were villains of the first order.”

“
Condolences?
Are you pitying me? I'm not the one who is dead. Those men were nothing to me.”

He stepped back. “No, miss, but they put you in the monstrous position of having to take a life in order to protect yourself and someone you care about.” He shook his head and squared his shoulders. And for just a minute it felt as if his chief concern was my welfare. Except his voice regained its inquisitive bent and he flung one more horrid question at me. “Do you have any idea why they would try to abduct you rather than simply leave you unconscious in the field?”

I pressed my lips together, willing myself to silence, and shot Georgie a desperate glance, remembering exactly what the cutthroats had said. It was supposed to be
her
in that bag, not me. The command had originated from a female leader, and that could mean only one person: Lady Daneska.

What could I tell this prying son of a justice of the peace?

The truth?

We are actually young ladies with highly specialized talents. Miss Stranje is training us to work with spies and diplomats in service to our country. But we have been betrayed. One of our number ran away and joined Napoleon's Order of the Iron Crown.

Should I tell him that I had simply been an inconvenient substitute? That the traitor, Lady Daneska, in her vicious desire for revenge, planned to abduct Georgie and torture her in order to extract her formula for invisible ink and obtain the current location of several key spies, in particular Captain Grey and Lord Wyatt.

Out of the question. I couldn't say any of that.

So I shrugged weakly.

“It's all so very puzzling.” He rubbed his thumb across the faint stubble on his chin. “My father will have a number of questions before we can put this matter to rest. In all likelihood, he will suggest that Miss Stranje hire a Bow Street Runner to investigate. In my opinion, that sort of investigator would be of little use. They've no access to the higher circles of society, and I suspect there is something larger at work here. You're certain you have no idea who these culprits are? Or what connection they might have to yourselves or the school?”

“Of course not.” I swallowed against the lie that turned my mouth dry as sand. “Why would I?”

His hat shaded dangerously intelligent eyes. Nevertheless, I could read the signs—in the skeptical tilt of his head, his cheek muscles flinching, and his eyebrows raised a millimeter too high. He didn't believe me.

“How very perplexing.” He pursed his lips.

Sera wrapped her arm around my waist. “They were murderers and thieves. They must have assumed Miss Aubreyson came from a wealthy family and planned to extract a ransom.”

“That is possible.” He continued to appraise me far too astutely. “Although, given her mode of dress, I find that unlikely. Why
are
you wearing a dress of that sort?” He also noted the ragged hem on Georgie's dress. “What brought the two of you outside so early in the morning?”

“A walk,” I said tersely and rubbed my arms to keep warm.

“Precisely,” Georgie piped up. “We like to take a brisk walk in the cool of the morning before weeding the garden. You wouldn't expect us to wear our Sunday best for that, now would you?”

“I suppose not. But if that's the case, we must assume these men had been watching the house. How often is it your habit to perform these early morning activities, and…” Chadwick rattled off a string of questions, but my head throbbed and I found I could no longer listen. All I could see was the dead man with his skull blown half off.

It surprised me when Mr. Chadwick finally quieted for just a moment. He, too, stared at the dead man. “I still think it was a lucky thing your Miss Stranje was able to make that shot.”

Lucky?

I turned to stare out at the field where it had all begun. There was another man lying out there with a fatal wound in his chest.
My dagger having done the deed.
Lucky? There was nothing lucky in all this. I hated the word. It tasted like poison on my tongue. The pounding in my head grew nearly unbearable. I reached up to check the bump and was rewarded with a handful of matted hair and blood.

“Let me have a look at that.” Sera tugged my shoulder down so she and Maya could inspect the goose egg about to hatch on my skull.

“She needs rest,” Maya murmured to Sera. “The shock has been too much.”

Sera nodded and turned to my inquisitor. “Mr. Chadwick, look at how pale she is. She must lie down soon, or I'm afraid she'll collapse right here on the drive. We must excuse ourselves and take Miss Aubreyson home straightaway.”

“Yes, certainly. My apologies. I should've noticed she's worse off than she let on. I'll help you—”

“Wait.” I turned and pointed down the lane. “There may be another man, back there, lying in the road. I don't know if he's dead or not. When Lord Ravencross fired his pistol, the horse reared and threw the rider. We couldn't stop to check. Lord Ravencross's injuries were too…” I stared down the length of my arm. Wine-colored streaks stained my sleeve. Gabriel's blood was everywhere. Crusted and drying. I gaped at my outstretched arm. “Too severe.”

Shivers changed to quaking. I'm not the missish sort. Truly, I'm not. Nor do I have a weak stomach. Nevertheless, I felt as if I would vomit at any minute.

“I'm cold.” My plea sounded puny and weak even to my ears.

Mr. Chadwick whipped off his coat and draped it over my shoulders. He turned to Sera. “I'll help you get her home.”

Sera brushed him away. “Thank you, no. We can manage.” Maya put a supporting arm around me on the other side.

Georgie wedged herself between us and him. “You've done quite enough for one morning, Mr. Chadwick. At any rate, aren't you are obligated to stay here to meet your father and the coroner?”

“Yes, but…” He stood there looking more bewildered than ever as we trudged down the drive and started across the lawn toward Stranje House. Apparently, those excellent tutors of his had not taught him how to deal with young ladies.