The deep, abiding anxieties that afflicted her students were well founded, Concordia thought. All had been orphaned at some point in the past few months, cast adrift into the merciless seas of life without the support of family or financial resources. Their experience with devastating loss and the fear of an uncertain future gnawed ceaselessly at their valiant young spirits.
Concordia understood. She had lost her parents, and the unconventional community that had been her entire world, the year she turned sixteen. That had been a decade ago. The grief and the fear returned frequently to haunt her dreams.
“What if the stable is also on fire?” Edwina asked.
“It is on the opposite side of the courtyard,” Concordia reminded her. “It will be a long time, if ever, before the fire gets that far.”
“Miss Glade is right.” Theodora’s voice rang with renewed enthusiasm. “You will recall that we took great care in the placement of the devices so that the stables would not be immediately affected.”
“The die has been cast,” Hannah declared. “We are in the hands of fate.”
When she was not obsessed with a seemingly endless list of anxieties, Hannah showed a remarkable gift for drama. She was the youngest of the group, having turned fifteen quite recently, but she often surprised Concordia with her intuitive ability to slip into a role or mimic a person’s mannerisms.
“No, we are not in the hands of fate,” Concordia said briskly. She looked back over her shoulder. “Do not forget that we have a plan. The only thing that is necessary is to stick to it, and that is precisely what we are going to do.”
Theodora, Edwina, Hannah and Phoebe took visible strength from her show of confidence. She had been drilling the importance of The Plan into them for days. It was their talisman in this hour of crisis, just as she had intended. She had learned long ago that as long as one had a plan, one could keep going against great obstacles.
“Yes, Miss Glade.” Hannah appeared decidedly more optimistic. Her expressive dark eyes were still very wide but her voice had steadied. “We have all studied The Plan.”
“Rest assured, it will work.” She reached the bottom of the stairwell and turned to face them once more. “Step One has already been accomplished successfully. We are now ready for Step Two. I will open the door and make certain that the way is clear. Does everyone remember what to do next?”
“We will proceed together to the stables, keeping to the shadows of the old storage sheds along the south wall,” Phoebe recited dutifully.
The others nodded in agreement. The hoods of their cloaks were thrown back, revealing the heart-wrenching mix of anxiety and determination in their solemn young faces.
“Does everyone have her bundle?” Concordia asked.
“Yes, Miss Glade,” Phoebe said. She clutched her small canvas bag in both hands. It bulged suspiciously in one or two odd places, betraying the scientific instruments stuffed inside.
The apparatus had been part of the collection of books and supplies that Concordia had brought with her to the castle last month.
Earlier that afternoon she had tried one last time to impress upon each girl that only absolute necessities should be packed for this venture. But she was well aware that when one was dealing with young persons, notions of what constituted a necessity varied widely.
Hannah Radburn’s sack appeared heavier than it should have. Concordia suspected that she had disobeyed instructions and packed one of her precious novels inside.
Theodora’s bag was bloated with some of the art supplies she had been told to leave behind.
Edwina’s bundle was stuffed with one of the fashionable new gowns that had arrived from London earlier that week.
It was the gift of the expensive dresses that had alerted Concordia to the fact that the situation had become critical.
“Remember,” she said gently, “if anything goes wrong, I will give the emergency signal. If that occurs, you must all promise me that you will drop your sacks and run as fast as you can to the stables. Is that quite clear?”
All four immediately tightened their grips protectively around the canvas bundles.
There was a dutiful chorus of “Yes, Miss Glade” but Concordia got a sinking feeling. If disaster befell them, it was going to be difficult to persuade the girls to abandon their possessions. When one was alone in the world, there was a tendency to cling very tightly to whatever had personal meaning.
She could hardly fault her students. She had certainly not set an exemplary example of emergency packing. She would confront the devil himself before she dropped her own canvas sack. It contained a mourning locket with a photograph of her dead parents and the book of philosophy that her father had written and published shortly before his death.
She turned down the lantern. Hannah made a soft, frantic little sound when the stairwell was plunged into deep darkness.
“Calm yourself, dear,” Concordia murmured. “We will be outside in a matter of seconds.”
She slid the old bolt aside and tugged on the iron handle. It took more effort than she had anticipated to open the ancient oak door. A crack of fire-tinged light appeared. Cold air laced with smoke swept into the stairwell. The shouts of the alarmed men fighting to contain the fire grew much louder.
She could see no one between the door and the first of the old sheds.
“The way is clear,” she announced. “Let us be off.”
She picked up the darkened lantern and led the way outside. The girls crowded behind her like so many goslings.
The scene that confronted them was lit by a hellish yellow glow. Chaos reigned in the large courtyard. Concordia could see a number of darkly silhouetted figures rushing madly about, calling orders that no one appeared to be obeying. Two men were occupied hauling buckets of water from the well, but it was clear that the small staff of the castle was unprepared to deal with an emergency of this magnitude.
Concordia was stunned to see how much devastation had already been wrought. Only a few minutes ago the flames had been long, searing tongues licking from the gaping mouths of a few shattered windows. In the short span of time it had taken her and the girls to descend the ancient staircase, the fire had grown into an inferno that was rapidly consuming the entire new wing.
“Oh my,” Theodora whispered. “They will never be able to quench those flames. I wouldn’t be surprised if the entire castle burns to the ground before dawn.”
“I never thought the formula would create a fire of that size,” Phoebe said, awed.
“We have got just the distraction we require,” Concordia said. “Hurry, everyone. We do not have a moment to spare.”
She went forward quickly, conscious of the weight of her cloak and gown. It was not just the long skirts and heavy material that made running difficult tonight. Over the course of the past few weeks she had sewn a number of small items that looked as if they could be pawned into hidden, makeshift pockets. The idea was that the stolen goods would eventually be used to sustain them when she took the girls into hiding. But at the moment each item felt like a block of lead.
The girls stayed close behind her, moving easily in skirts that had been stitched together to form wide-legged trousers.
They fled in a tight cluster past the row of sagging, boarded-up outbuildings that had once housed grain and supplies for the castle.
A short time later they rounded the corner of the old smithy. The stables loomed ahead in the shadows.
Concordia was concentrating on the next phase of The Plan when a large man moved out of the shadow of the remains of the ancient windmill and planted himself squarely in her path.
There was enough light from the glare of fire and moon to make out his thick features. She recognized Rimpton, one of the two men who had arrived from London earlier in the day. His coat was tattered and singed.
He held a gun in one hand.
She froze. The girls did the same, perhaps instinctively imitating her in the face of danger.
“Well, now, i
f it isn’t the teacher and all her pretty little students,” Rimpton said. “And just where d’ya think you’re going?”
Concordia tightened her fingers into a death grip around the handle of the lantern. “We’re escaping the flames, you dolt. Kindly get out of our way.”
He peered at her more closely. “You’re heading for the stables, ain’t ye?”
“It would appear to be the building that is farthest away from the fire,” Concordia said, putting every ounce of disdain she felt for the brute into the words.
She had disliked Rimpton on sight. There had been no mistaking the lecherous manner in which he had looked at the girls.
“You’re up to some trick,” Rimpton said.
“Hannah?” Concordia said, not taking her eyes off Rimpton.
“Y-yes, Miss Glade?”
“Kindly demonstrate Araminta’s response to Lockheart’s surprising revelation in Sherwood Crossing.”
Rimpton’s heavy face screwed into a confused knot. “What the bloody hell—?”
But Hannah had already taken the invisible stage. She launched herself wholeheartedly into the role of Araminta, the heroine of the sensation novel she had finished reading the week before.
Uttering a choked cry of anguish and despair, she crumpled to the ground in a perfectly executed swoon that would have done credit to the most talented actress.
Startled, Rimpton swung his big head around to peer at the fallen girl. “What’s that silly little bitch think she’s about? I’ve had enough of this nonsense.”
“Not quite,” Concordia muttered.
She swung the unlit lantern with all her might. The heavy base crashed violently against the back of Rimpton’s skull. Glass crackled and splintered.
Stunned, Rimpton sagged to his knees. Incredibly, he still gripped the revolver.
He was only dazed, Concordia realized, not unconscious. She watched in horror as he tried to regain his feet.
Frantic, she raised the lantern and brought it crashing down a second time, putting everything she had into the blow.
Rimpton uttered a strange grunt and fell flat on his face. He did not move. The gun clattered on the stones. There was enough light to see the dark wetness seeping heavily from the wound and pooling around his head.
There was an instant of shocked silence. Then Hannah scrambled awkwardly erect and picked up her bundle. She and the other girls stared at Rimpton, stricken with the effects of the sudden violence.
“Come along,” Concordia said, fighting to sound cool and in control. Her fingers trembled in a very annoying fashion when she bent down to scoop up the gun that Rimpton had dropped. “We are close to the stables. Hannah, that was a very effective piece of acting.”
“Thank you, Miss Glade.” Hannah spoke automatically. She seemed unable to take her eyes off the fallen Rimpton. “Is he . . . is he dead?”
“He looks dead,” Phoebe whispered.
“Serves him right,” Edwina said with a surprising show of satisfaction. “He and his friend Mr. Bonner were the two who took Miss Bartlett away. We told you that they did something dreadful to her. Everyone said she’d gone back to London on the train, but she would never have left her new gloves behind the way she did.”
“This way, ladies,” Concordia said. She no longer doubted the girls’ theory concerning the disappearance of her predecessor at the castle. “Stay close.”
Her crisp instructions had the effect of freeing the girls from the morbid spell cast by the too-quiet Rimpton. Hurriedly, they regrouped behind her.
She guided them through the shadows, tensely aware that the most difficult part of The Plan lay ahead. The task of getting the horses tacked up in the dark was not going to be easy, although she had made everyone practice the maneuvers many times.
Crocker, the man in charge of the stables, had shrugged and shown little interest when she told him that the girls must be allowed to ride regularly as part of their exercise program. There had been no proper sidesaddles available, but Crocker, after some prodding, managed to produce three worn farmers’ saddles and bridles to go with them.
The only horses on the castle grounds were the sturdy, patient beasts used to provide transportation to the village and to haul supplies.
Fortunately, Edwina and Theodora had been raised on a wealthy estate. They had learned to ride from the cradle and were quite expert. They had been able to serve as instructors to Phoebe, Hannah and Concordia. In the way of youth, Phoebe and Hannah had picked up the basic skills very quickly.
Concordia, however, had experienced considerably more difficulty. She doubted that she would ever feel entirely comfortable on the back of a horse.
To her enormous relief, they did not encounter anyone else when they moved into the deeper shadows of the stables. As she had hoped, all of the men were occupied with fighting the fire.
The three horses were alert and agitated. Concordia heard hooves stamp restlessly in the darkness. Soft, uneasy whickers rumbled from the stalls. There was enough fiery light to illuminate the three equine heads turned anxiously toward the entrance. Every set of ears was pricked violently forward. Although the building was not yet in any immediate danger from the flames, the animals had caught the scent of smoke and heard the shouts of the men.
Concordia opened the door of the tack room, moved inside and struck one of the lights she had brought with her.
“Quickly, girls,” she said. “We do not have a minute to spare. Put down your bundles and see to the horses.”
The students dumped their canvas bags on the floor and rushed to collect blankets, saddles and bridles.
Concordia was relieved to note that the endless drills were now paying off handsomely. The process of tacking up the horses went swiftly and smoothly.
Edwina and Theodora had decided in advance who would ride which horse. The twins took the liveliest of the three mounts, a mare, on the grounds that they’d had the most experience and would be better able to handle her if she got nervous. Phoebe and Hannah were assigned to a good-natured gelding.
Concordia got the second gelding in the stable, a heavy-boned beast named Blotchy. Edwina and Theodora had made the decision based on their assessment of the horse’s exceptionally placid personality. Under normal circumstances, it took a great deal of encouragement to get Blotchy to move at anything beyond a jolting trot. His great redeeming characteristic, according to the twins, was that he had virtually no inclination to startle and was unlikely to bolt or throw Concordia to the ground.
She put Rimpton’s gun down on a wooden bench and held out the bridle, trying not to reveal her trepidation. Blotchy obligingly thrust his head into the leathers and took the bit. He seemed as eager to leave the premises as she and the girls were.
“Thank you, Blotchy,” she whispered, adjusting the bridle. “Please be patient with me. I know I’m a very poor rider. But I need your help quite desperately tonight. We must get these girls away from this evil place.”
She led him out of the stall and picked up the gun. With a soft rustle of straw and the squeak of leather, Edwina and Phoebe emerged from the other two stalls, each with a horse in tow.
They got the three horses saddled. The canvas bundles were slung over the hindquarters of each animal and secured with straps.
“Mount,” Concordia ordered.
In the systematic manner that they had rehearsed many times, each horse was led to the block. Edwina and Theodora got aboard the mare. Phoebe and Hannah swung onto the other horse with reassuring ease.
Concordia waited until last, never taking her attention off the entrance of the stable.
When her turn came, she pushed the folds of her cloak out of the way, stowed the gun in one of the pockets of the garment and stepped up onto the block.
“I appreciate your patience and understanding in this matter, Blotchy.”
She put the toe of her shoe into the stirrup and hoisted herself aboard Blotchy’s broad back. The gelding started forward with unaccustomed eagernes
s. She seized the reins in both hands.
“Steady,” she said. “Please.”
A lantern flared at the stable entrance.
A beefy-looking man stood silhouetted behind the light. The glow of the lantern danced on the gun in his hand.
“So here’s where all the pretty little trollops went,” he said. “And their teacher, too. Had a hunch when I didn’t find you in your rooms that you’d likely run off.”
Concordia’s blood turned to ice. She recognized the voice. It belonged to Rimpton’s companion, Bonner.
“Step aside, sir,” she said, forcing every ounce of authority she possessed into her voice. “I must take the students to a safer location.”
“Shut up, you stupid woman.” He swung the barrel of the gun toward her. “I’m not a fool. If you’d fled straight from your beds in mortal terror of the flames, you’d all be wearing your nightclothes. Instead you’re all dressed for a walk in the park. I know full well what’s going on here. You’re trying to steal the girls, aren’t you?”
“We’re attempting to get to safety,” Concordia said coldly. “The students are my responsibility.”
“I’ll wager you found out that the chits are valuable, didn’t you? Thought you’d try your hand at turning a profit with ’em, yerself, eh?”
“I have no idea what you are talking about, sir.”
Surreptitiously she transferred the reins to her left hand and touched the pocket that concealed Rimpton’s gun. Unable to think of any other strategy, she kept Blotchy moving steadily forward.
“You must be a complete fool to think you could get away with stealing Larkin’s property and that’s a fact.” Bonner snorted in disgust. “You’re a dead woman, that’s what you are.”
She slid her free hand into the pocket of her cloak. Her fingers closed around the gun. “Sir, you are speaking nonsense. These students are my responsibility and I must get them away from the fire. The flames are spreading quite rapidly, in case you have not noticed.”