A School for Unusual Girls (15 page)

I gasped. Surely another girl stared back.

Unless Maya had charmed my stubborn curls with her flute playing, the pomade had worked a miracle. My rebellious frizzles were transformed into soft shiny waves. Jane had scooped up my curls and pinned them back loosely, allowing a fullness that flattered my face. Instead of making me look like a garish sore thumb, the cornflower blue dress complimented my hair, and gave me the look of an exotic colorful bird. More like Maya, or Sera, or even Jane.

“You
are
magicians,” I whispered, still scarcely able to believe it.

“Very pretty.” Maya set her flute aside. “Well done, ladies.”

Sera and Jane bowed like troubadours in a traveling circus. The clock on the mantel chimed and Jane immediately straightened. “It's getting late. Has anyone seen Tess?”

No one answered.

“We can't delay any longer. It would be just like Lady Daneska and her aunt to arrive early to catch us off guard.”

“Go,” Maya said. “I will stay here and help Tess get ready.” She retreated to the window seat and draped her robes over her head, hiding under an elegant hood, and made the song of a faraway songbird float from her flute.

“Come.” Sera grabbed my hand. “We'll wait and watch from the Hamlet hole.”

 

Nine

BATTLES IN THE DRAWING ROOM

“Hamlet hole? Wait.” I slipped out of Sera's grasp. “What am I supposed to do, exactly? And why does Lady Pinswary wish to meet me?”

“I suspect her niece is behind this visit. Lady Daneska is curious,” Sera said.

“Why should she be curious about me? And why did Tess call her a traitor?”

Jane looped her arm through mine and tugged me to the door. “You ask a great many questions. We'll explain everything later. For now, we really must go. I'm certain I heard someone in the main hall.”

Thus far, in my experience here at Stranje House, people rarely explained later. They had more of
wait-and-see-for-yourself
policy. We hurried downstairs and turned sharply into an under-stair closet.

“Come along.” Jane darted into the closet. Which could only mean it was another …

“Oh, no.” I balked and clutched my skirts.
Spanking bad luck these secret passages
. “I don't want to ruin your lovely gown mucking about in another narrow dusty—”

“It's all right.” Sera urged me forward. “Everyone knows about this one, even the servants. See. They've swept it.”

The passage was narrow but tidy. We stopped in a nook barely wide enough for the three of us. “We call this Hamlet's hole,” explained Sera. “You remember, in
Hamlet
how they hid behind a curtain or a screen to spy on one another?” She slid open a wooden panel to reveal a silk painting mounted across the opening. “This lets us see in, without being seen, and eavesdrop on the evil about to befall us in the drawing room.”

“You do remember the scene in
Hamlet
where Polonius gets stabbed hiding behind a curtain?” Jane hid her amusement behind her half smile.

“That's not funny.” Whatever evil was about to take place here had to do with me, not her.

“Oh, piffle. One can choose to be sour and afraid, or we can poke fun at our trouble.” She demonstrated her philosophy with a finger to my ribs.

“I doubt those are our only available choices.”

In answer, she pressed her troublemaking finger to her lips warning me to be quiet.

We studied Miss Stranje's drawing room through the backside of an Oriental silk painting of two dancing cranes, a line of Chinese writing, and a few spindly trees. The brushstrokes hardly obscured our view at all. Darkness concealed us, but we had a perfect view of the sunny parlor. The gilded furnishings, the sea blue Turkish carpet, the vase of flowers on the mantel, the entire tableau lay before us in impressive detail.

Miss Stranje sat in a chair next to the fireplace with mending on her lap and a sewing box beside the chair. She looked the very picture of domestic tranquility—a clever ruse. The butler ushered in a guest who could not possibly be Lady Daneska.

Our headmistress set aside her mending and stood to greet a young gentleman. He limped into the room and bowed curtly.

“Oh, my,” Jane murmured. “Is that…? It is. It's
him,
isn't it?”

“Lord Ravencross,” Sera mouthed in awe. “I knew it. He's—”

“So much younger than I thought he'd be,” Jane whispered. “And taller. So much more—”

“Yes.” Sera took a quick breath. “Exactly as I'd imagined.” She exhaled slowly.

Lord Ravencross wore a simple linen shirt with no vest, the way a young farmer would, rather than a lord. A plain brown coat strained over his muscular shoulders. His limp, rather than making him seem weak, made Lord Ravencross appear stronger, a man to be reckoned with, powerful. Dangerous. A man who could not be stopped, not even by a severe injury.

No short stylish Beau Brummel haircut for him. His mane of dark hair had been raked back, soldier style, into a simple leather thong. He looked completely out of place in a drawing room. But he had those eyes, deep brown and wounded. The kind of eyes that made a girl wish he would turn and look at her. Only her. He could melt steel with those eyes. But right now they were rimmed with gray, and I guessed Lord Ravencross had been harassed all night by a guilty conscience.

He stood at attention, like a young officer lecturing his troops. “Let us come straight to the point, Miss Stranje. I may have injured one of your…” His rigid posture broke and he hesitated as if searching for the right word. “Er, that is to say, one of your…”

“One of my guests?” suggested Miss Stranje.

“Guests?” He alerted on her terminology. “I thought they were your students. Thought you ran some sort of school for problematic chits?”

She shrugged. “However do these rumors get tossed about? Do I look like a schoolmistress?” In that coy manner of hers, Miss Stranje settled back into her chair and gestured for him to be seated on the sofa.

I swear I have never seen a man who looked as much like a trapped wolf as Lord Ravencross. He clamped his jaw tight and glanced wildly about the room as if the brocade couch had intentionally boxed him in. To make him feel more at home, the flowers would have to be thrown out, the damask curtains ripped down, and the whole place changed into a dark cave. “Confound it! Is the girl injured or not?”

“Won't you have a seat, my lord?” Miss Stranje waited very primly.

He raked back a lock of hair that had escaped its moorings, and limped over to the couch, but did not sit.

“Would you care for some tea?” Miss Stranje's left brow cocked in an irritatingly smug manner and humor tainted her voice. “I daresay you'll be more comfortable if you actually lower yourself onto the cushion.”

He sat but refused tea. “Miss Stranje, I beg you will answer the question. Is the girl hurt or not?”

She plunked down the teapot. “Yes, I believe she may be. Perhaps you ought to see her and judge for yourself.” She rang a hand bell and Madame Cho, who I suspected had been lurking in some hidden corner of the room, appeared almost instantly. “Please fetch Miss Aubreyson to the drawing room.”

“No.” He shot up from the couch as if she'd dumped hot coals in his lap. His lame leg rammed into the tea table and set the china to clattering. He clenched his teeth and hobbled sideways to where there was more room to pace. “I don't need to see her. If she's injured, just tell me and I'll pay for the damages.”

But it was too late. Madame Cho had hurried away.

“Ah, I see. You view the young lady as one would a chipped saucer.” Miss Stranje held up a cup and saucer, making a pretense of inspecting it. “You have the idea a few sovereigns will patch up the damage and ease your guilt.” She clucked her tongue the way one does at a naughty boy.

“Guilt has nothing to do with it. The fault was not mine.” He waved away the cup she offered. “She ran into my horse. Not the other way 'round. Running like a ruddy savage, she was, and on my land, too.”

“I see.” She set the cup on the table and laced her fingers neatly in her lap. “That explains your distress. A young lady
running
. Oh, my!” She sniffed and shook her head. “And on your land, too.”

“That has nothing to do with it. You don't understand at all, damn it. She fell, and I”—he stopped pacing and rubbed the back of his neck—“I may have been a trifle abrupt with her.”

“You, my lord? Abrupt?” Miss Stranje asked, all innocence and sugar. “I cannot fathom such a thing.”

“Must she tease him so?” Sera whispered in Jane's ear.

“It's for his own good,” Jane answered in hushed tones. “Watch what she's doing. It's masterful.”

Masterful?
High praise to give a woman who was making her guest squirm. What earthly good would such treatment do him?

Jane observed my confusion and leaned next to my ear to explain, “She's helping him face what he did wrong.”

“Yes, fine. I was
abrupt,
” Lord Ravencross snapped, pacing ferociously. “And it is possible I may have said a few curt words, as well.”

“Curse words, you say?”

“Curt words,” he corrected. “Hasty. I spoke without thinking.”

Just then Tess appeared in the doorway of the drawing room. Lord Ravencross froze to his spot on the Turkish carpet and stared.

“Oh.” Sera inhaled sharply, and clutched my elbow. “She looks … she's—”

“Astonishing,” I breathed.

Tess filled out the vanilla lace gown in ways I never could. She had breasts. The neckline on her gown left no doubt of that fact. She didn't look sixteen, or even seventeen. She looked eighteen, shapely and elegant, a diamond of the first water. She certainly didn't look like a girl who rose before dawn every day and sprinted across muddy sheep pastures, or a girl who climbed through grimy secret passages and kept a pair of rats for pets.

“Come in, my dear.” Miss Stranje stood and motioned to Tess. “Lord Ravencross, may I present Miss Tess Aubreyson.”

Lord Ravencross appeared to be just as stunned at Tess's change in appearance as we were. He swallowed hard, drew back his injured leg, and bowed quickly. “You are well, I see.”

Tess didn't answer. She simply curtseyed, very prim, very formal, and very unlike Tess.

Miss Stranje needled him further. “You do realize, my lord, that not all wounds are outwardly visible.” It was another of her twisty-turn-y comments. Did she mean Tess's hurt feelings after being left to fend for herself in the mud? Or the emotional scars Lord Ravencross must surely be hiding?

“I admit it was badly done.” A lock of dark hair fell across his eyes. “I should've made certain she hadn't twisted her ankle, or—” He didn't have a chance to finish.

“Pardon me, miss.” The butler edged into the double doorway and in a formal monotone addressed our headmistress. “Your guests have arrived. Lady Pinswary, accompanied by Lady Daneska and Miss Alicia Pinswary.”

“Thank you, Greaves.” Miss Stranje stood and smoothed out her skirts. “Show them in.”

Lord Ravencross's guilt evaporated instantly. He broadened his stance and stared at the doorway like a wolf bracing against attack.

Lady Pinswary didn't wait to be shown in. She shoved past Greaves. A buxom woman clad in a gown of mahogany brown bombazine, she sailed into the room like a warship entering a placid blue harbor. A broad-brimmed hat, decorated with fruit and fowl, sat at a jaunty angle on her head. Any minute I expected the pile of cherries, flowers, and stuffed bluebirds to tumble off the side.

She disregarded everyone else in the room and headed straight for Miss Stranje. “Thank goodness we've arrived in time,” she bellowed in a nasal tone. “We've come to warn you—”

“Auntie Prue
, être à l'aise, ma chère tante
. We need not shout the alarms. See our friends, they are unharmed,” said one of the young ladies drifting in behind Lady Pinswary. Despite the French, her accent crystallized from the snowy mountains of Prussia. “Miss Stranje will think we buy our manners at the Piccadilly market, yes?” She said all this in such charming tones that Lady Pinswary stammered incoherently for a moment, but then her shoulders relaxed into silence.

“Daneska,” Jane hissed, and stared hard at the young lady.

“She's exquisite,” I whispered, and suddenly felt inadequate, a country bumpkin in comparison, or as my mother would say,
a peasant
. I chipped at one of my ragged fingernails.

Sera nodded and quietly added, “Too beautiful for her own good.”

I jumped back as Lady Daneska turned sharp and glanced up at our screen as if she'd overheard us. Just as suddenly she gave us a saucy wink and whirled away. The silk on her lustrous dress swished like winter snow whipping against a cold wind—all glittery sparkliness.

“She knows we're here,” I whispered.

“Yes.” Sera's voice drooped with sadness. “She was once one of us.”

“What—”

Jane pressed a finger against her lips again, hushing me.

The other young lady, Miss Alicia Pinswary, was lovely in her own way, with flawless skin and perfectly coiffed dark hair. She entered the room with her chin up and quite dignified even though she toted a fluffy little black and white spaniel puppy in her reticule.

Both girls wore the latest fashions, shiny exotic silks made up in daring French styles. But poor Miss Pinswary was like a serviceable teacup standing next to a dazzling crystal goblet. Lady Daneska captivated the attention of everyone in the room.

Except the puppy, who barked eagerly at Tess.

Amid the dog's antics Lady Daneska spotted Lord Ravencross. She caught her hand to her throat and stifled a small gasp. It was barely noticeable, but I would've sworn her fair skin blanched even whiter for a moment. She recovered and quickly turned to greet Tess.