AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Mary had returned in a panic from guarding the carriage house entrance. Someone had indeed tried to pick the lock, but they’d been defeated, just as the locksmith had promised. Failing that, their enemies had tried forcing it open. But that door in particular was built to withstand much abuse—solid English oak, triple barred, and reinforced with iron, like the ones in the Tower.
Nevertheless, Jacqueline had sent two more teachers back with her to help barricade it. After that, there was little benefit in leaving anyone there to guard it, so all of them had returned.
According to Elsie, who had come to give an account on the state of the main entrance, someone had attempted to use a key—to no avail. Mrs. Sloane had shouted through the door that she would shoot anyone who crossed the threshold. No one had attempted to gain entry there since, despite some ongoing commotion she reported hearing on the other side.
Now their main concern was the back gate. Though all had been quiet until now, instinct told her trouble would come from there.
As if the thought had summoned the evil, Dulcie came flying through the kitchen door, her face ashen. “Mr. Young sent Molly back. There are lights and much activity by the gate, and he heard horses.”
Jacqueline took a deep breath. “Tell him to strike the posts beneath the arch. If they have brought horses, there’s no point waiting. They’ll pull the gate down, lock, hinges, and all.” She turned to give orders to the other teachers, but Dulcie stopped her.
“Headmistress, wait. Molly said Mr. Young has an idea to keep them out, at least for a while, but he needs the way open a while longer to make it work. She’s gathering the items he requested now.”
Standing, Jacqueline headed for the kitchen. Molly was indeed dashing about, gathering things. “What are you looking for?”
“Empty wine bottles, cloth, and as much lamp oil as we can get. And Sally’s shuttered lamp—I told him what she’d done,” the girl said, her cheeks reddening.
“We will help.” Together, the three of them gathered the materials. Jacqueline wouldn’t allow anyone else to fetch Sally’s lamp. While retrieving it, she risked a quick look through the girl’s window—or, rather, what was left of it.
Every house on the street was dark. Not a single window shone with light. Cowards. They see we are in trouble, and they do
nothing. She couldn’t blame them for wanting to preserve their own skins, but this was a school—there were children here. Everyone around them knew it. Surely one had slipped away to summon help?
But, in truth, she couldn’t depend on anyone else. Taking the lamp, she retreated downstairs. She set the lamp on the table beside the other items. “Now what do we do?”
“Mr. Young wants us to fill each bottle with oil and insert a twist of cloth down into it. He said to leave a good bit hanging outside. The rest of the oil can be left in its containers.”
When all was ready, Molly lit the lamp and then shuttered it until only the barest gleam of light escaped to illuminate their path.
Following her and Dulcie, Jacqueline carried her basket to the archway, where Mr. Young was waiting. “Mr. Young?” she whispered. “We have the items you requested. Have you learned anything?”
“Only that they’ve brought more horses. I’ve seen a few lamps, but I think they’re trying to keep from drawing too much attention to themselves, which is good for us. The less light, the better.”
“What are you planning?”
“I’m going to set a fire—the hay cart—right by the gate.”
Alarm raced through her. “Fire? Are you mad? It will spread! One spark, and—”
“Not at all, ma’am,” he interrupted calmly. “The walls are solid stone all around.”
“What of the roof?”
“The wind is blowing away from it,” he replied. “I’m going to douse the hay cart with oil and get it as close to the gate as possible without being seen. Then we wait.”
“Are you certain you can move it?” Her driver was a big man, but the cart was an enormous load.
“I’ve done it before. It’s heavy, but the wheels are well greased.”
“How will you light it?” Lightning flickered, and in the brief illumination, she saw him bend.
The sound of a fingernail tapping against glass followed in the darkness. “With these, I won’t have to get close. That’s why I need the lamp—not to light my way, but to light these.” Another flare of lightning showed him holding up a bottle and grinning like a naughty schoolboy.
She waited, her heart in her throat, as Mr. Young made his way stealthily out into the dark carrying two heavy baskets filled with jars separated by bits of cloth to keep them quiet. Every now and again, lightning would flash, and she’d tighten with worry that he’d be seen. But no alarm was raised. Any sound he made moving the cart must have been drowned out by either the growing activity beyond the gate or rolls of thunder, which were growing increasingly frequent.
“If it rains, he’ll have risked himself for naught,” mumbled Molly beside her.
Though her observation echoed precisely what was going through Jacqueline’s own head, she hushed her. She peeked around the corner but could see nothing. The next flicker of lightning showed the cart in place before the gate and Mr. Young heading back toward them.
