Chapter 19
In Which a Governess (or Perhaps a Footman?) Embarks on a Middle-of-the-Night Foray into Enemy Territory …
The soft lilac butterfly resting upon Christopher’s pillow gently undulated its wings as the boy slept. But his rest wasn’t peaceful. He was having another bad dream.
Mina gnawed her bottom lip as she hovered in the doorway of the boy’s room, watching as he muttered in his sleep and curled his small fingers tightly into the sheets.
It was almost midnight, and she’d only said goodnight to Lord Kinsale in the library a short time ago; she really should try to get some sleep herself.
But that would be impossible when she was so worried about Christopher.
It had been a whole month since she’d taken the young viscount away from his guardian and three weeks since they’d arrived at Kinsale House.
Three weeks since she’d begun casting the Guardia Nimbus spell each night to protect the boy from any attempted kidnappings by Queen Mab and her minions.
The powerful Fae ward had been able to keep Christopher’s nightmares at bay at first. But not tonight or the night before that.
And Mina wasn’t sure what more she could do to help.
Well, that wasn’t quite true. She could offer Christopher a magical sleeping draught before he went to bed.
A concoction she’d read about in the Parasol Academy Handbook that while ostensibly safe, would put a child in such a deep slumber he or she wouldn’t dream at all.
But Mina didn’t like that idea. It seemed rather drastic. Not all dreams were bad.
Of course, the alternative was equally horrid—that a seven-year-old child would continue to be plagued by nightmares about a woman of snow and ice with black-as-midnight eyes. A being who whispered she would claim Christopher and spirit him back to her kingdom, one way or another.
Christopher whimpered, and as he rolled over, Mr. Hopwell fell to the floor. Mina immediately crossed the room and returned the toy velvet rabbit to the bed, tucking it in beneath the quilt. The Guardia Nimbus butterfly fluttered its wings, but it didn’t fly away.
There must be something Mina could do to ease the boy’s distress in sleep. He’d been looking so very tired of late with shadows beneath his blue eyes.
Tom Fleet and even Lord Kinsale himself had been looking tired too.
Mina knew Lord Kinsale’s ward had still been sneaking out at night and that the marquess sometimes followed the boy to make sure he was safe.
Brutus had recently let the thought slip when he’d been complaining about how cold the streets were when he’d accompanied his master on one occasion.
It was touching to think this burly bruiser of a man had such a soft spot for a boy who’d been a street urchin.
Christopher sighed in his sleep and hugged his toy rabbit closer.
And then Mina had an idea. Something that should have occurred to her sooner.
She should visit Fitzwilliam House right now to collect some of her charge’s favorite things.
Some of his other toys. The books he loved.
His clothes. Items that were familiar and would bring him comfort. Things that would make him feel secure.
Even though Sir Bedivere was back in London, she hadn’t seen him, thank heavens, since that brief glimpse of him outside Hatchards three weeks ago.
She’d been scanning the London broadsheets every single day—surreptitiously, of course, so no one at Kinsale House would notice (especially Lord Kinsale, Smedley, or Mrs. Aldershot)—but she hadn’t seen a single article about the baronet setting off for the Northwest Passage on the Valiant.
Or the fact that his young ward, Viscount Fitzwilliam, was missing and Scotland Yard was scouring the entire country, searching for him.
If she were pragmatic—like every good Parasol Academy nanny or governess should be—she’d also visit Ponsonby House, to glean intelligence about the baronet’s plans, then she wouldn’t be wondering, tossing and turning half the night. Fretting about being caught.
Although, truth to tell, worrying about Sir Bedivere—and what he may or may not be doing in regard to locating his ward—wasn’t the only reason Mina was restless at night.
Her infatuation with Lord Kinsale kept her awake too …
well, until wrung out with frustration, she sometimes took matters into her own hands and tried to dispel her thoroughly unprofessional urges under the cover of darkness beneath her bedcovers.
She was certain she was breaking the Parasol Academy rules, but no one would ever know, so she did what needed to be done to alleviate her unsatisfied desire.
Surely that could be classed as pragmatic?
Of course, Mina enjoyed every moment she spent with her employer during the day—Lord Kinsale often visited the schoolroom to see how Tom was progressing with his lessons.
He also accompanied them on jaunts about town.
Mina especially adored the time she spent alone with the marquess in the evenings.
How he made her laugh. How he took an interest in her.
How he made her feel when he smiled at her.
(Aside from perpetually blushing, her heart had never performed so many somersaults before.) Lord Kinsale had made so many gains with his speech and with his acquisition of “manners,” she was quietly proud of what he’d achieved.
He deserved so much respect. He deserved to succeed.
But that made it even harder dealing with the fact that she was lying to her employer every single second of every single day about Christopher’s true identity.
It hurt her heart to know she was being so duplicitous, that she was betraying the man’s trust when he’d shown her nothing but consideration and kindness.
Thank goodness her best friend, Emmeline, was returning to London soon; the newly wedded duchess had sent a telegram—just the regular kind—to Mina the day before, announcing her imminent return, and Mina couldn’t wait to visit her friend.
Not just to see how she was faring as the wife of the Duke of St Lawrence—Mina was sure she must be blissfully happy—but to seek her advice about the pickliest pickle of a situation she was in.
What would Emmeline do? was a frequent refrain in Mina’s head.
Of course, Emmeline would make sure her charge was safe and happy. And then she’d deal with any threat to the child’s safety. She wouldn’t hide and she wouldn’t back down.
So that’s what Hermina Davenport will do, decided Mina.
Reassuring herself that Christopher was as safe as he could be for now—Mina trusted the Guardia Nimbus ward would stay in place until the sun rose—she retreated to her bedroom to prepare for her foray to Fitzwilliam House.
First, she checked that her Parasol Academy–issued knife was firmly strapped to her ankle.
Then she collected an empty carpetbag from beneath her bed; she’d need something to put Christopher’s toys and books and clothes in so she could easily ferry them back to Kinsale House.
She contemplated taking her Parasol Academy umbrella—poking a nosy parker with the Point-of-Confusion or casting the Cloakify spell while beneath the umbrella’s canopy were always handy tools to have at one’s disposal when subterfuge was paramount.
But given it was midnight and the handful of skeleton staff left at Fitzwilliam House were likely fast asleep in their beds—well, apart from the night footman—there didn’t seem much point.
Christopher’s bedchamber wasn’t too far from the governess’s quarters; in fact, it was only a short trip down the servants’ stairs to the floor below.
She’d simply teleport into her old wardrobe, the one that she knew very well—just to make sure she arrived safely.
And on the off chance she did happen to bump into another servant, she could always employ a befuddling potion.
Deciding she was as ready as she’d ever be, Mina pulled her pewter leyport key from the pocket of her uniform, then crossed to her wardrobe.
With a deep breath, she “unlocked” the door, pushed aside her gowns, then conjured the leylight flame.
It flickered in the deep shadows, coaxing her to use its ancient power to spirit her to where she wanted to be.
Focusing on the leylight’s pale luminescence, Mina pictured her destination …
and then she climbed into the cupboard as she determinedly whispered, “Vortexio.”
The familiar whirlwind of breath-stealing white light immediately swept Mina away, and in no time at all, she was stepping into her old bedroom at Fitzwilliam House.
Thankfully, this teleportation had been a success.
(Mina still hadn’t worked out what had gone wrong when she’d teleported off the Valiant with Christopher, but that was a mystery for another day.)
A pale beam of moonlight filtering through the casement window traced a silver path across the neatly made single bed and the slightly worn Aubusson rug on the wooden floor.
Mina winced as she tiptoed across the room to the door and the floorboards creaked, but it couldn’t be helped.
There weren’t any servants’ bedrooms on the floor below.
Just a private study and sitting room that had once belonged to Christopher’s father.
Lady Grenfell had never used it during Mina’s time at Fitzwilliam House, preferring to keep to her own suite at the other end of the townhouse.
As far as Mina knew, the late viscount’s rooms had been closed up and holland cloths had been thrown over everything.
Christopher’s bedroom was just a little further along.