Chapter 1 #2
What she couldn’t afford to do was dither, flapping about like a faint-hearted flibbertigibbet.
According to Chapter 3, Section 2, Subsection 4 of the Parasol Academy Handbook, a nanny or governess “must always act precisely and with assuredness. Dillydallying, or any form of shilly-shallying, can waste precious minutes, especially in a precarious situation where a child’s safety is at stake.
Assess, decide, take action. Above all, carry on. ”
No matter what.
And then Mina heard another sound beneath everything else like a soft, heartbreaking undercurrent.
The sobs of a child.
Mina’s heart clenched. It was Lord Fitzwilliam.
She’d know the sound of his weeping anywhere.
Hadn’t she provided comfort to the boy on numerous occasions over the past six months?
Like the time he’d scraped his knee in Hyde Park.
And when he’d badly cut his finger with a pen knife in the schoolroom of Fitzwilliam House.
The occasion when he’d suffered from a stomachache.
And then of course, when his beloved godmother, Lady Grenfell, passed away but a month ago, and she, Mina, had been the one who’d had to break the terrible news to her charge.
She hastened through the mess, following the sound into another narrow passage. There, to the right—or should she say, on the starboard side?—were three wooden doors, perhaps leading to cabins; the weeping seemed to be emanating from the middle one.
Oh, my poor little lord.
Mina rushed over. “Lord Fitzwilliam?” she called in a hushed voice as she tried the polished brass handle—of course, it was locked, but she’d been expecting that. “It’s me, Miss Davenport. Can you open the door, my lord?”
The crying ceased and the young viscount whispered through the keyhole. “Miss D-Davenport?” There was a sniffle then a hiccupped breath. “Is-is that really you?”
“Yes,” Mina whispered back in the most reassuring voice she could muster. “’Tis I, my lord.” She glanced about. The coast was still clear. “I’ve come to fetch you. Is there a key in the lock? On your side?”
Another hiccup. “No …” Another small whimper ensued. “Sir Bedivere locked me in. He-he said I had to stay down here where … where it’s safe.”
Mina’s lips tightened as she scoffed inwardly.
Safe? Who in their right mind wanted to take a child on a rough-sea voyage to such a far-flung and inhospitable place as the Northwest Passage?
A notoriously treacherous, essentially uncharted sea route that had claimed the lives of many intrepid sailors.
As Lady Grenfell had once put it, “Sir Bedivere suddenly fancies himself as a modern-day Sir Walter Raleigh. He’s got it in his head that he wants to blaze a trail across the Arctic Ocean where no man has blazed a trail before. Come what may.”
More than ever, Mina was convinced she was doing the right thing in fulfilling her promise to Lord Fitzwilliam’s godmother. She must whisk Lord Fitzwilliam away to safety.
“Don’t worry, my lord,” Mina murmured through the door’s panels.
Reaching into the pocket of her governess’s uniform, she found her Academy-issued pewter leyport key, which could serve as a “skeleton” key if required.
Even through the fabric of her gloves, she could feel a light tingling, buzzing sensation in her fingers as the magic sparked. “I can open the door.”
Which she did, at once. Inserting the key, she tumbled the lock as she whispered the incantation, “Opendium,” and then she was entering Lord Fitzwilliam’s cabin.
As soon as she crossed the threshold, the little boy threw himself at her, his arms catching her about the waist like she was a lifebuoy in a stormy sea.
“Oh, Miss Davenport, I’ve missed you so much.
I’m so glad you’re here. I don’t want to go to the North Pole to see the-the walruses with their big pointy tusks, or the polar bears with their sharp pointy teeth. I want to go home.”
“There, there, my lord. Everything will be all right,” said Mina in her most soothing tone.
Beneath the tumble of the boy’s overly long blond curls, she gently patted his narrow back.
“I’m here now. And I will get us both off this ship.
I don’t particularly wish to meet a walrus or polar bear either. ”
“Really?” Lord Fitzwilliam lifted his watery blue gaze to Mina’s. The hope in his eyes sent a sharp pang through Mina’s heart.
“Yes, really,” she said firmly, then worried at her lower lip as another thought occurred to her.
It would take at least an hour for the Valiant to reach the mouth of the River Avon and thence the notoriously rough Bristol Channel.
While her initial plan had been to sneak Lord Fitzwilliam away as soon as she boarded the ship, perhaps it would be better if she stayed a while longer.
If Sir Bedivere believed his ward had been “lost at sea” rather than snatched from the vessel while it was docked—especially by a “lowly” and apparently demure, play-by-the-rules governess—he probably wouldn’t bother to mount a search for his ward on the mainland … which would suit Mina.
On the other hand, if he did suspect that his ward had been kidnapped, he would mount a search.
Lady Grenfell had made it clear that the terms of the guardianship were such that the young viscount had to reside with one of his appointed guardians in order for them to access the family trust. Sir Bedivere, now Lord Fitzwilliam’s sole guardian since the passing of Lady Grenfell, would certainly not want to give up that sort of carte blanche access, not if it meant he had to curtail extravagant expeditions like this one.
But of course, the longer Mina stayed on board, the greater the chances were that she would be discovered.
And she couldn’t have that. Because not only would Lord Fitzwilliam still be stuck in a highly dangerous situation, but her name and reputation, and that of the Parasol Academy, would be muddier than a mud lark grubbing along the mudflats of the River Avon.
She’d lose her Parasol Academy license and her means to earn a living, not to mention the fact that she’d likely be sentenced to a life in prison.
It was rather a pity that she didn’t have permission from the Parasol Academy’s headmistress to conduct this rescue mission. Indeed, Mrs. Felicity Temple knew nothing about any of this … But whether or not she should confide in Mrs. Temple was a matter Mina would contend with later.
Right now, it was essential to teleport—or te-ley-port—both herself and Lord Fitzwilliam off this ship.
Mina knelt down so she could look Lord Fitzwilliam in the eye to explain what they were about to do next. “My lord—” she began, then broke off as a male voice she didn’t recognize drifted in from the corridor.
“My Lord Fitzwilliam …”
Mina’s pulse leapt as the thud of heavy, masculine footsteps approached. Ack.
“It’s my new tutor, Mr. Meecham,” whispered the young lord, his bottom lip protruding in a doleful pout. “I don’t like him. He’s always cross and raps me on the knuckles with his cane if I spell a word wrong. Or make a mistake with my sums.”
Mina fought to keep her expression neutral while inside she was ablaze with anger and righteous indignation. How dare a teacher do such a terrible thing? It was unconscionable. No child should be treated in such a cruel way.
But moral outrage would do her no good if she were caught.
Her gaze darted about the cabin. She couldn’t hide under the small single bed—the space beneath contained built-in drawers.
There was a narrow closet in one corner, but she feared she wouldn’t quite fit.
And while she could put up her umbrella and cast the Cloakify spell, if this Mr. Meecham entered the cabin, he would be sure to bump into her.
There was only one thing for it: She’d have to use her Parasol Academy umbrella in another way.
At that moment, the door opened. “Mr. Meecham?” Even though she was inwardly seething, Mina somehow managed to greet the astonished-looking tutor—a bespectacled man of middle-age with a balding pate—with her most winsome smile.
As she slid her umbrella from beneath her arm, she added in an approximation of amiable, “How do you do? Lord Fitzwilliam was just telling me all about you.”
The tutor’s mouth, which had dropped open, slammed shut, then opened again, reminding Mina of a snapping turtle.
“What …? Who …? How …?” he sputtered. Then he rallied and his expression shifted into the territory of cantankerous with a good dash of suspicion thrown in.
“What is the meaning of this? Who are you?” he demanded, tapping his cane against his thigh. “You have no right—”
Mina affected a sigh. “I know. I know, it’s all rather confusing, finding a strange woman in his lordship’s cabin, isn’t it, Mr. Meecham? But I think you’ll find that this will help.”
And then she gave the bristling tutor a short, sharp jab in the middle with the end of her umbrella—the magical Point-of-Confusion, to be exact—at the same time she uttered beneath her breath, “Perplexio.”
Almost at once, the tutor’s furious demeanor melted into pleasantly puzzled.
He blinked a few times and then rubbed a hand across his rumpled brow.
“I … Excuse me, miss … There was something … I seem to have forgotten …” His bewildered gaze drifted to Lord Fitzwilliam.
“My lord … I came to …” The tutor looked at Mina again as if asking for help.
She smiled. Thank goodness the confusion spell had taken.
Although, it would only work for a few minutes.
“You came to check on Lord Fitzwilliam,” she said, affecting a politeness she in no way felt, “and now you’re going to find Sir Bedivere and tell him that everything is perfectly fine.
That his ward is alone in his cabin and is diligently completing the mathematical problems you set.
Best you make haste and get back on deck. ”