Against the Tide (25 page)

A noise on the roof distracted her. Probably just squirrels. Spring was coming on, and wildlife was beginning to stir again. She tried to attack the second sentence of the manuscript, but now the noise on the roof sounded like footsteps. Lydia stood and craned her neck to look up, but could see nothing.

When the smiling faces of two boys filled the skylight, she jumped. They giggled and pulled away from the window.

They couldn’t leave! Lydia shot to her feet and clambered onto the table, trying to reach the glass and summon the boys back to her, but her arm was not long enough. Gritting her teeth in frustration, she hopped to the ground and was in the process of lifting the chair onto the surface of the table when the boys appeared again. And this time they were fiddling with the hardware that kept the two frames of the cantilevered window fastened together. They were trying to get in!

Lydia hoisted the chair into place and climbed on top of it. From here she could reach the latch that held the windows closed. With a flick of her wrist she unlatched the hook, and one of the boys pried the window open from the outside.

“Hi! It’s cold out here. Can we come in?”

Lydia could not stop the grin that burst across her face. She stepped down from the chair and was about to help them step down, but one of the boys was already dangling from the window frame and the other was not far behind.

She could not believe she had been looking for these boys for a solid week, and yet now they were dropping through a skylight to see her. All three of them were standing on a worktable and staring at each other like idiots.

“Watch for the manuscript!” Lydia gasped. The fragile document was a few inches from one of the boys’ feet, but he stepped nimbly around it and sprang onto the floor. Like a real gentleman, he held his hand out and helped Lydia to the ground.

“I’m Jack Fontaine,” he said. “Are you the Professor’s girlfriend?”

Lydia almost choked. “Heavens, no! I’m merely translating a manuscript.” She turned around and helped the other boy to the floor. “You must be Dennis Webster,” she said to the other boy.

“How did you know my name?” he asked, his eyes wide with surprise. Jack gaped at her with equal curiosity.

She had little time to waste. “I was sent by Admiral Fontaine to help get you boys out.”

Both boys looked stunned, but Lydia kept talking. “I have a friend on the outside who is working on a plan to get you out, but I need to know where you are staying.”

“You know the wing that points out toward the west?” Dennis asked.

Lydia nodded.

“There are three chimney stacks on that wing of the house. Our room is on the top floor, the one underneath the double chimney stack.”

“Are there any rules you need to obey?” she asked. “Anything you are forbidden to do?”

“We have to be inside the house by nightfall,” Dennis said. “We are never allowed in the north wing of the house. And we have to be locked up in the third-floor tower room whenever a visitor comes to the house.”

“What about during the day? Are you allowed to move around freely during the day?”

Dennis nodded. “The Professor said we are allowed to go wherever we want, so long as we stay behind the gates. We can go fishing and climb trees. Although I don’t suppose he knew that Jack was going to want to prowl around on the roof.”

“I’ve been looking for you for days,” Jack said. “I see you walking around at night, and I always wondered where you were during the days. I figured you lived in the north wing, but I’ve looked in almost all the windows and I couldn’t see any trace of you. Today we decided to look down through the skylights, and here you are.”

“Here I am,” Lydia said, her mind trying to figure out an ongoing means of communication with the boys, as skylight visits would not work for long.

“What about the library off the great room?” Lydia asked. “Are you boys allowed to use the library?”

“During the day,” Dennis confirmed. “So long as we don’t
burn
anything,” he added with a glare at Jack.

Lydia had no interest in playing referee between the boys. “I can use the library in the evenings. We can pass notes to each other through a book.” She closed her eyes and tried to think of a volume the Professor was unlikely to use. “There is a set of encyclopedias on the bottom shelf of the library,” she said. She had noticed a fine layer of dust across the tops of the books, so they were most likely safe. “Why don’t you pick a topic you will remember, and I’ll put a note to you there.”

“Boston,” Jack said. “I’m from Boston and I won’t forget it.”

“Boston it is,” Lydia said. “I’m hoping to meet my friend tonight, and he may have a plan to get you out. I’ll put a note inside the encyclopedia by the Boston entry. I’ll be checking the same spot in case you need to communicate with me.”

“We can do that,” Dennis said.

“When are we getting out?” Jack asked. “I’m not waiting three years like Dennis. I want to go home now. Tonight.”

If she tried to walk out the gates with the boys, the dogs would alert Lars before they even made it to the gate. Bane had said an escape would take weeks rather than days. She was trying to think of a kind way to tell the boy to be patient when there was a tread upon the stairs in the hall.

“The Professor is coming,” she whispered to the boys. Without a moment of hesitation, they both sprang up on the table, but when Dennis hopped on the chair, he was too short to reach the skylight. Lydia scrambled on the table. With strength she did not know she possessed, she picked the boy up by his waist and gave
him a boost so he could wrap his hands around the frame of the window. She and Jack both pushed him up and out the window.

“You next, Jack,” she whispered. The footsteps were getting closer. She hoisted the boy a few inches, and Dennis helped pull him through. Jack’s legs were still dangling from the window when Lydia hopped down from the table, replaced the chair, and took her seat. As Jack’s feet disappeared from view, the door to the workroom opened. She had had no time to close the window, and both panes were hanging open into the room.

“Well, my dear. Making progress?” the Professor said as he strolled into the room.

Her fingers shook as she arranged the pages on the table. She slid the beginnings of her pathetic translation under some blank pages. “I’m still polishing off the copy work,” she said.

“I see. It’s quite drafty in here, isn’t it?” And then Lydia’s heart sank as his gaze drifted upward and he saw the skylight window hanging wide open. His eyes narrowed and his face went white. “Who gave you permission to open that window?”

Lydia could barely make her mouth move to form the words. “I . . . I . . . did not realize it would be a problem,” she stammered. “I thought a bit of fresh air . . .”

“Well, don’t think such careless thoughts in the future.” The professor’s voice lashed out like a whip. “I built this room to protect my precious manuscripts from the elements. I’ve taken every precaution against flood, fire, or temperature damage of any kind. It entirely defeats the purpose when you open a window like that.”

He did not wait for her reply as he hoisted himself onto the table and slammed both panes shut before locking them into place. He still appeared rattled as he descended from the table.

“I’m sure I need not instruct you any further on keeping that window secured at all times. Is that clear, Lydia?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Then I will look forward to reading your translations tomorrow. Don’t disappoint me a second time,” he said in a voice terrible in its coldness.

The sun began setting an hour later, and it became too dim for Lydia to continue work. She left the room, still shaking with anxiety. Unless Bane remembered her comment about always taking a long walk on the night of a full moon, the remainder of her stay at the mansion would be very short. And, without the transliteration book to help her translate, perhaps very dangerous.

Her confidence waning and her nerves spinning out of control, Lydia returned to her room and took a deep draught of Mrs. Winslow’s Soothing Syrup.

28

T
he compass was warm in Lydia’s palm as she stepped into the moonlit night, and she prayed Bane’s instincts would be strong and he would know how to find her. There was plenty of moonlight, making it easy for her to see the fragile, trembling needle of the compass as it pointed north. She would keep walking until she found Bane. Somehow, she knew he would sense her plan.

She could not afford to believe otherwise.

Lydia set off at a steady pace, her gaze darting between the compass’s needle and the thick underbrush beneath her feet. If Bane had figured out her plan, he would be waiting directly north of the house, and she could not afford to stray.

The longer she walked, the more the fear set in. There was no snow on the ground here. In the past she had followed her footprints in the snow back to the house, but that would not be possible tonight. Could she really depend upon the wobbly compass needle to get her back through endless miles of forest? Had she walked a full mile? Two? It was hard to know how close Bane would be willing to get to the house.

It seemed she had been walking for forever, but perhaps that feeling was just from the effort of staring so carefully at the compass while trying not to plow straight into a tree. Scratchy bramble snagged in her skirts and slowed her more. Each time she bent over to tug her skirt free, she had to wait while the needle readjusted to point north.

“Lydia.”

The whisper was so soft it barely carried in the cold night air. Her head shot up and there was Bane, a blinding smile of pure joy on his face. He spread his arms wide to welcome her.

The strength drained from her legs, and she sank down onto the damp forest floor. The rush that sent her mind spinning was so strong she feared she was about to faint.

A second later he was beside her, kneeling down as his arms clasped her to his chest. “What is it, Lydia? Are you hurt? Tell me what you need.”

“I need
you.
” Still clutching her compass, she wrapped her arms around his back and buried her face in his shoulder. She had no strength left as she lay in his arms and let him rock her like a baby. His voice was infinitely tender as he whispered against the side of her face.

“I’ve got you now. I’ve got you, Lydia.”

“I knew you would find me. I knew you would be here.”

She could feel his mouth turn up into a smile against the side of her face. “Of course I came for you. You little Greek pagan. I leave you alone for a week and I catch you praying to the moon.”

A watery laugh burst out from deep inside her. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“I suppose it did,” he said. “And look, I come bearing a gift.” From inside his coat, he pulled the slim volume of Byzantine Greek translation.

She ought to stand up and jump for joy, but she felt too wonderful to move, lying in Bane’s arms while he smiled down at her with all the love in the world reflecting back at her. She did not break eye contact with him as she took the book. “Only the dullest of men would consider Greek transliteration tables to be a gift.”

He winked at her. “Next time I’ll bring you a bowl of clam chowder from the Laughing Dragon.” He lowered his head and captured her mouth in a kiss so tender she could not help smiling against his lips. At last he pressed his cheek along the side of her face, simply resting there. How wonderful this felt, how soothing. “We need to talk,” he said softly.

Why couldn’t this moment last forever? She wanted to lie within the shelter of his arms and let him cuddle and tease her until the sun rose. “I know.”

He helped her rise and guided her to a fallen log where they both sat, hands clasped tightly together.

“Have you seen the boys?” Bane asked.

She nodded. “They seem to be fine and getting into plenty of mischief. At least Jack is. Dennis wants to follow the rules, but Jack is not long for this world if he keeps it up.”

When she explained the incident with the antique book, Bane’s eyes grew wide with horror until she told him the Professor knew nothing about it. “The servants are terrified he will find out, so they covered it up, but it is only a matter of time before Jack runs afoul again.” She told him about both boys dropping through the skylight to pay her a visit.

“That’s good,” Bane said. “It means they are not yet completely terrified, which is important if I’m going to get them out.”

“When will that be? How long will it take?” She hoped her desperation was not bleeding into her voice, but she didn’t know how much longer she could endure living in that icy fortress.

Bane held up a hand to silence her. “I need more information before I can answer that. Tell me who guards the boys.”

“The children are allowed to play outdoors, so long as they stay inside the fence. Guards surround the entire property twenty-four hours a day. Dogs too. It is only because Lars is friendly toward me that I am able to slip out of the gates each night. The servants inside the house watch the boys during the day. The worst is the one named Boris, who reminds me of a jackal, always snapping and snarling.”

Bane’s face was a study in concentration as he listened to her. “Keep talking. What is their schedule? Where do they sleep? Don’t overlook anything, no matter how minor it might seem.”

Lydia recounted everything she knew about the boys, although she had to confess the Professor had been quite effective in keeping her isolated in the north wing of the mansion. After she revealed every scrap of insight she could provide, she waited while Bane sat motionless as he processed her information. The silence lasted so long Lydia reverted to picking at her nails while Bane thought.

At last he broke the silence. “Does anyone in the household read the local newspaper?”

The question came from nowhere, but Lydia cast her mind about. “I’ve seen Mrs. Garfield use wadded-up newspapers to start the kindling in the stove. There is a stack of them in the servants’ kitchen.”

“Start looking through them,” Bane said. “In the last month there has been a rabies scare up near St. Albans. It has been widely covered in the newspapers. See if you can find any of those articles and leave them lying about. Better yet, ask Mrs. Garfield if she has heard of any local cases. Tell her you’ve heard rumors of it being particularly bad this year, and the newspaper stories are confirming it. Suggest you are terrified of rabies.”

That would not be difficult. “I
am
terrified of rabies,” Lydia said.
She told Bane a ghastly story about one of the girls at the Crakken Orphanage and her terrible death after a bite from a rabid dog.

“Use that,” Bane said ruthlessly. “I need you to plant the seed that will help incite panic in the household.”

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m not sure yet. But I need an emergency that will require the boys to be brought out of the estate with the full cooperation of the servants. A rabies scare might do the trick.” He continued to ponder, tracing tiny circles on the back of her hand. “Start laying the groundwork by putting everyone on alert about the rabies up at St. Albans.”

As Lydia realized the danger of the escape plan, a shudder raced through her frame, whether from the cold or from fear, she did not know. Bane pushed himself to his feet and held his hand out to assist her up. “You’re cold. I’ll meet you at this spot tomorrow night to advance the plan.”

Lydia nodded, dreading the prospect of returning to the awful fortress. Bane framed her face with his hands and scanned her face, almost as if he were memorizing her features. How wonderful this felt. How soothing. His thumbs traced the line of her eyebrows as he peered deeply into her eyes.

“You’ve been drinking opium,” he said.

Lydia glanced away. “Why do you say that?”

“Your pupils are tiny. Like pinpricks.” Bane did not move a muscle; he just pierced her with a hard blue gaze. “I saw the bottle of Mrs. Winslow’s in your room at the boardinghouse. How heavily are you using it?”

Lydia bit her lip. During the most difficult week of her life, she had only slipped twice in her effort to abstain from Mrs. Winslow’s, but it was hard to confess even that much. Bane continued to press her. “Back in Boston, you said you used it only about once a week.”

She dropped her gaze. “That was a lie,” she whispered, hating how thin her voice sounded in the wilderness. “It wasn’t until after I tried to cut back that I realized I was taking it most nights.” Seeing the pain in his eyes hurt her, so she twisted away from him and walked a few feet deeper into the forest. “I feel so weak. I’ve been frightened and alone and I know it is pathetic to use it. Now that you are here, and I have the translation book, I’ll do better. I know I can.” She managed a wobbly smile. “When you are near me, I feel like I can do anything. Climb a mountain, reach for the moon.”

Bane’s smile was sad. “Follow Lewis and Clark to the Pacific Ocean?”

She nodded. “Even that.” It was true. Bane’s confidence was contagious, and she always felt like she could see farther, dream bigger when he was near.

He crossed the distance between them and clasped her hands between his. With his face only inches from hers, he peered into her eyes. “I need to know if you are okay,” he said slowly. “I can’t send you back into that house if you are going to crack. It isn’t worth it.”

Lydia thought of the two boys grinning down at her from the skylight. She would never abandon them. “I won’t crack,” she said. “I know what needs to be done, and I’ll do it.” She did not promise to refrain from using Mrs. Winslow’s. She couldn’t. But she would endure whatever was necessary until the boys were safely returned to their parents.

The translating progressed quickly now that Lydia had the proper tools. The days she spent copying the text had embedded the characters in her mind, making it easier for her to use the translation book. Within the space of an hour she had the first two paragraphs of text decoded.

After only an hour of translating that morning, the Professor paid her an unannounced visit. The moment she heard his distinctive tread in the hallway, she shoved the Greek translation book beneath a sheaf of blank pages. Should he discover it, the book would prove she was a fraud. The door banged open as she withdrew her hand from the stack of blank pages.

The Professor’s imposing frame filled the doorway. “What have you to show me this morning?” he demanded.

Lydia pushed her page of translation toward him. “The writer speculates that the warmth of the sun powers the moon.”

Surprise mingled with delight on the Professor’s face as he took the page from her, holding the cheap copy paper as though it were a relic of high antiquity. His gaze flew across the page as he devoured the translated lines, his mouth faintly murmuring the words as he read.

It took the Professor only a few seconds to read the passage, but when he finished he was breathing as hard as though he had run a five-mile course. He walked around the table again and again as he read her passages. “Amazing,” he breathed. “For a thousand years that document has lain unread, unexamined. And now I am the first person to read these immortal words in over a millennium.”

Lydia’s eyes widened.
She
had actually read the words first, not that she cared to correct him. The way he kept circling around her and the table made her nervous, and her hand clasped the seat of her chair as she wished he would leave. The way he scrutinized her translation was nerve-wracking, but his next words made her blood freeze.