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Jacqueline knelt and took the little girl’s hand. “I know, sweetheart. But I’m going to stay with you—all of you—until everyone is in the dining hall. Don’t worry about changing your clothes,” she told another. “Just put on your robe or take your quilt with you. Hopefully, we won’t have to be out of bed for long.”
But as she led the girls down the hall, the sound of breaking glass reached her from behind the door of an empty playroom on their left. A sharp thwack! told her a bullet had struck the wall. They are firing on my school!
“Shall we play a game?” she asked brightly. “Everybody get down as close to the floor as you can and crawl like a kitty all the way to the stairs. The first kitty there will get a lovely surprise when we reach the dining room.”
Thwack!
She dropped to her knees and crouched. “Everybody, down!”
“What’s that noise?” asked another child.
“Remember the talk we had this morning, Judith?”
The little girl’s eyes widened. “The bad people?”
She nodded. “Now, we must all be like quiet kitties. To the stairs, my loves.”
The number of bullet impacts she heard as they crawled to the stairs was alarming. How many people had Boucher sent? As soon as she reached the dining hall, she gathered the staff on hand. “Are all the children accounted for?” One by one, they answered in the affirmative. “Good. Can someone tell me how Dr. Horton’s patients are faring?”
Mrs. Coburn relayed that most of the sick girls were well on their way to recovery—with the exception of Janet. “She’s not going to get much rest with this lot down here.”
“I fear that cannot be helped,” Jacqueline told her. “This is the safest place for them to be. I assume Mrs. Sloane is at the front door keeping watch. Who went with her?”
Agnes informed her she’d taken Elsie and Henriette along. “I’ve sent Molly and Mr. Young to have an eye on the back gate and Dulcie to keep watch for them at the kitchen courtyard door and help relay any messages. We’re prepared to barricade it. I doubt anyone can get through the gate with the new lock and chain, but I’d rather err on the side of caution. Eglantine and Mary went to mind the door to the carriage house.”
“Are they armed?”
“Everyone has a pistol,” replied Agnes.
“Excellent. Agnes, I want you to leave Sally with me while you join Dulcie. That gate is our weakest point. If anyone is to gain entry by brute force, it will be there. Do you have the new keys?”
Agnes nodded. “Prudence gave me a set.”
“Begging your pardon, Headmistress,” said Mrs. Orson. “But sealing that door won’t do much good if they break through the gate. Even with it locked and barricaded, they’ll only break the windows in the classrooms to get in. We cannot possibly hope to defend—”
“Yes, I know,” Jacqueline interrupted gently. “Should our enemies breach the gate, Mr. Young will strike the braces holding up the entryway between the courtyards. Mr. MacCallum warned that should they fail, that entire section of the wall will come down.”
“They’ll climb over the debris.”
She shrugged. “I cannot prevent that, which is why everyone is gathered here. If they manage to make it to the inner courtyard, they will have only one way to reach us.” She pointed to the big double doors. “I’m going to stay here with you, and together we will defend this room.”
“Excuse me, Headmistress.” It was Mrs. Wicklen who, from her waxen cheeks, looked to be in imminent danger of fainting. “How long are we to stay here?”
“As long as it takes for Mr. Woodson’s help to arrive. There is plenty of food in the larder, and we have access to the well for as long as we can hold the inner courtyard. Agnes has had the kitchen staff drawing water all afternoon in preparation.”
“But how will we know when the help comes? How do we tell friend from foe?”
“Our allies will know the code word Mr. Woodson and I agreed upon this morning.” She laid a reassuring hand on Mrs. Wicklen’s shoulder. “He is sending help. We must be patient and hold our ground until it comes.”
…
Jacqueline’s lack of response had Will very worried. His note had been sent hours ago. And neither had his friends tried to contact him. “Something has gone amiss.”
“I beg your pardon, my lord?”
“Richards, please. Enough with the ‘my lord,’” he said, rubbing his temples in an effort to relieve the pressure in his head.
“Not until this is ended, my lord,” the dour-faced man insisted. “Then we’ll go to the pub and have a pint as equals.”
