Exile for Dreamers (37 page)

Gabriel muttered his agreement and turned back to watch the last of the explosion burn out.

“You must join us for supper, Mr. Chadwick,” I said, thinking that his company might be good for Sera, and besides it would've been boorish not to ask him to dine with us. “We'll have a grand supper and there will be cake to follow, cake with frosting. Or so I'm told. The more the merrier.” I directed him to the table. “You must be parched after your ride over. A glass of wine, perhaps?”

Sera stood beside the table, fidgeting with the cloth. She attempted to keep our guest distracted from looking at the steamship puffing back to shore. “Do you enjoy fireworks, Mr. Chadwick?”

“I suppose everyone must. How can one not?” Mr. Chadwick kept trying to glance over his shoulder toward the sea. “My father took me to London to see the fireworks display at Vauxhall Gardens. But those produced a different sort of explosion than yours do.”

“These are a special type,” Lord Ravencross assured him.

Mr. Chadwick nodded genially to me. “A pleasure to see you again, Miss Aubreyson. I see you are getting along better with Lord Ravencross.”

I have no idea why, but my cheeks warmed foolishly at his comment. “I … He…”

Mr. Chadwick rocked on his heels. “And have you consented to be his wife?”

“Heavens no.” I gaped at him. “What I mean to say is, there has been a misunderstanding—”

“That's a tactless question, Mr. Chadwick.” Gabriel pushed himself between me and Mr. Chadwick.

“Begging your pardon, my lord. I had thought that you announced … but she…” He realized the pickle he'd gotten himself into and backed away, turning to look for Sera. There was little chance then of our keeping the warship a secret, for when he turned he had a first-rate view of the steamship puffing merrily toward the shore. “By the stars! It's a steamship.”

“So it is, Mr. Chadwick, so it is,” said Sera quietly. “We call her the
Mary Isabella.
”

The setting sun cast a mellow orange glow over everything, while the sky above us darkened to a deep Spanish blue.

“I'm going to go help pull her ashore.” I dashed away from them, taking the path down the cliffs. Gabriel wasn't far behind.

Our sailors waved at us as they landed on the shore. “Did you see it?” Jane shouted to me. “Wasn't it glorious?”

“It was,” I shouted back, racing along the beach to meet them.

Mr. Sinclair grabbed Jane by the waist and gleefully spun her around. She swatted at his shoulders. “Put me down this instant, Mr. Sinclair. Do try to be civilized.”

“I can't help myself, Lady Jane. I'm just so blamed happy I feel as if I might burst.” He set her down, still grinning broadly. “But then, what do you expect? After all, I am a heathen from the Colonies.”

Lord Wyatt jumped onto the beach. Gabriel and I helped him tug the craft as far onshore as possible, and then he tied the docking line around a sturdy boulder.

“Well done, everyone.” Miss Stranje applauded. “Well done.”

Lord Wyatt slapped Sinclair genially on the back. “First rate, Sinclair. Your uncle would be proud.”

I warned them that Mr. Chadwick had surprised us with a visit and that he would be along shortly with Sera. A few moments later the two of them walked up the beach toward us.

Mr. Chadwick's eyes were enormous, and for once he seemed at a loss for words.

Sera turned to him. “What do you think?”

“It's a marvel.” He twisted his hat in his hands and smiled hesitantly, as if he wasn't quite sure what he'd stumbled upon.

“Yes, well, that it is. But now I confess, I'm famished.” Miss Stranje tugged him away from our prototype. “Shall we all adjourn to the house for some supper and cake?” She looped her arm through Mr. Chadwick's, towing him away from our ship, but he continued trying to peek over his shoulder.

Mr. Sinclair had the same problem. He couldn't stop fussing over his ship, inspecting the pontoons for damage and smoothing his hand over the connecting rods and the flywheel.

“Come along, Mr. Sinclair,” Jane called to him. “The furnace is out and your beautiful
Mary Isabella
is snug and secure in the cove.”

He walked up the beach beside Jane, turning around and walking backward every once in a while to gaze at the
Mary Isabella.
“She's a beauty, isn't she?”

“Indubitably.” Jane caught him before he tripped on a rock.

We had all climbed up to the bluffs. Miss Stranje crooked her finger at Sera. “Miss Wyndham, perhaps you would like to show Mr. Chadwick to the house. He must be positively famished after his long ride over here.”

“It's not so very long a ride,” Mr. Chadwick assured her. “We're only a few miles up the coast.”

“I'm well aware of the distance.” Miss Stranje patted his arm as if he was ten years old instead of twenty. “I've been to your estate and had tea with your lovely mother on several occasions. An extraordinary woman, your mother. I'm fortunate to count her a friend. That is all the more reason why you must join us for a bite of supper and cake. I wouldn't dream of sending you home hungry at this hour.”

“I oughtn't impose. Although I do have some news for Lord Ravencross, about the incident.” He turned in search of his subject. “My lord, the coroner has concluded his investigation. He and my father are convinced the men who made an attempt on your life were indeed hired assassins. I'm not as certain we've come upon the complete answer yet. I don't suppose you have any French relatives who might want to do you in?”

“None.” Gabriel's answer was flat and didn't invite speculation.

“It is so very perplexing. I find it particularly puzzling that these same men would also attempt to abduct the young ladies. My father and the coroner have closed the matter, but we are still left with a great many unanswered questions.”

Miss Stranje clicked her tongue in a mild scold. “Come, Mr. Chadwick, we must not speak of such distressing matters tonight.” She handed him off to Sera. “This is a birthday celebration. We shall be happy for Mr. Sinclair's sake. He is a very long way from home.”

“My apologies. I promise to set the mystery aside for the evening.” Mr. Chadwick bowed. “But if I'm to stay, you must all call me Quinton. Please, I insist upon it.”

He was a nuisance, an obstacle to be sure, and altogether too curious about everything, but I have to admit it was difficult not to like Quinton Chadwick.

“Are you a fifth child, Mr. Chadwick?” Sera asked as he strolled with us back to Stranje House.

“Oh, you mean because my name is Quinton.” He smiled at her. “No, my mother named me after her father. He was the fifth child. I, on the other hand, am an only child.”

“Of course you are.” Sera sighed. “No wonder they doted upon you.”

“They did,” he agreed cheerily. “I am most fortunate.”

“You are. I envy you.” Sera quietly admitted the sad truth. She said it so softly I doubt anyone but me paid any heed.

Mr. Chadwick regaled us the rest of the way with stories of how his intrepid mother taught him to ride and jump hedges as a youngster, and how his father taught him to play chess at six, but when at seven he bested his father, their chess-playing days came to a close.

We entered the dining room and all of us murmured approval at the sight. Greaves instructed the footmen to set an extra place at the table. The spectacle of the dining room was all very grand and elegant. The silver shone in the candlelight, the crystal goblets glistened, and my roses graced the center of the table in a large vase.

I could scarcely look at them. Even the fragrance of those blossoms reminded me of Gabriel's heated kiss in the garden and caused my cheeks to burn. Gabriel, on the other hand, stared at them quite steadily and with a jovial curl of his lips. It was not like him to be jovial.

Cook had prepared a feast for us. Of course, most of us had assisted in the preparations. That is, when we weren't busy mixing gunpowder or building bomb casings. The result was a banquet suitable for a duke's birthday and, we hoped, passable for our American. He praised Miss Stranje and seemed genuinely delighted. We took our seats around the table and were treated to a first course of white soup. After which Greaves and our footman paraded in carrying platters of roast chicken, new potatoes and creamed peas, crab soufflé, mutton roasted with turnips and carrots, and steaming freshly baked rolls slathered in butter.

Best of all, throughout the entire meal, the biggest, most splendid cake I have ever seen sat on the sideboard tantalizing us.

Cake.

I'd heard stories of such cakes served at the Prince Regent's palace in Brighton and at great homes in London, but I'd never seen one in person. Cook had outdone herself. Not only that, but our cake was coated with a thick, glistening sugar icing.

After tucking away a hearty portion of mutton, several slices of chicken, and a generous helping of crab soufflé, Mr. Sinclair set down his knife and blotted his mouth, looking quite satisfied. “I must say, that cake looks extraordinary.”

How he would have room for it strained the imagination.

“It's twice as big as any my mother ever baked. I thank you, Miss Stranje. This is a perfect end to a perfect day.”

Lady Jane smiled to herself.

Georgie leaned over and confided to me, “Jane made the icing. Boiled butter and sugar mixed with egg whites. Cook fussed at her, saying it was a sin to cover up such a fine moist spice cake with a crust of sugar. But Jane convinced her with a tale of woe about how our poor Mr. Sinclair is such a long way from home and he would be terribly disappointed without it.”

Poor
Mr. Sinclair raised his cup, not in a toast but in a proposal. “What would you say to inviting all the servants in to share a piece of it with us? That's what we do at home on our birthdays.” He lowered his glass. “Do you suppose your Madame Cho would like to eat cake with us? It might help her warm up to me a mite. I'm afraid we got off to a bad start when I first arrived…”

I didn't hear a word he said after that.

 

Twenty-six

COUNTERTRAPS

An intense uneasiness came upon me. Not as in a dream, or a day vision; it was as if I'd misplaced something of monumental proportion. I rose with a start. “I'll take Madame Cho a plate.” She was standing guard downstairs, but I couldn't very well remind them of that with Mr. Chadwick sitting at the table.

Miss Stranje squinted at me as if trying to figure out what I was up to. “Philip will take her a plate.”

But the footman was busy serving the fruit and cheese, and Greaves was pouring wine.

“I would like to do it. I haven't seen her much today.” More to the point, my insides were gnawing on themselves. I couldn't possibly sit another minute until I checked on her and Daneska myself. I filled a plate and promised to return to carry cake to her, or perhaps I would relieve her of her duties elsewhere so that she might come and enjoy cake with Mr. Sinclair in person.

Ravencross studied me with an uneasy expression. “I'll come with you.”

“No, thank you, my lord. I would rather go alone.”

His features shuttered closed. He suspected I was up to something. But I couldn't very well allow him into the dungeons and passages lurking beneath Stranje House.

I forced myself to walk with calculated calm until I left the dining room and turned the corner. Then I flew through the hall and raced down the stairway to the dungeons and cellars. They were dark, darker than they should be. The lamps had sputtered out, or else someone had put them out. I held the plate of food with a trembling hand and pulled my dagger from its sheath. I slowed my steps, not wanting careless footfalls to alert anyone to my presence. The closer I got to those cold underground corridors, the more I felt certain something was very wrong.

There was one lamp at the end by Daneska's cell. That would be Madame Cho's lamp, a thin oily amber light that flickered and shivered off the gray stone walls, creating shadows that unnerved me as they moved beside me like phantoms. I peeked around the corner and drew back. Cho was not at her post and Daneska's cell door hung partially open.

I set the plate down and crept forward, inching toward the door with my dagger poised to strike. The heavy oak creaked as I pushed it open. Daneska was hunched over Cho.

Daneska spun around. “There you are! I've been waiting for you.”

“Get away from her.” I charged in with my dagger.

But Daneska jerked Cho's limp body in front of her and held a knife at Madame's throat. I recognized the blade. It was Madame Cho's own knife. She'd been disarmed. I couldn't understand it. “How?”

Daneska pressed the knife tighter against Madame Cho's throat. “Drop your dagger. Now, if you please.”

I let my blade clatter to the floor.

“Kick it over here. That's right.”

Cho's head was bleeding heavily. “What have you done to her?”

“It's nothing. A little bump on the head, that is all.” She swung one of her manacles in a circle, as if it were a mace. “At least these bracelets came in handy for something.”

This was all too incomprehensible. If I didn't know better I would've thought it was a dream. “How did you get them off?”

Daneska pursed her lips as if I was being foolish. “Did you really think I couldn't pick the lock on these old things?
Phfft.
I've had them off since the second day.”

“But your wrists, I saw—”

“Oh, yes, that was so very affecting, or perhaps the word is affectionate, when you ripped your own dress to cushion my poor torn skin.” She was mocking me. “Really, Tessika, didn't you wonder why I hadn't torn my own underskirt to do that for myself?”

“How did you ever get the better of Cho? She's faster than you are.”