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“Why was Miss Gaillard in the outbuilding?” Madalene asked as she watched the French teacher walk across the courtyard.
“Miss Gaillard expressed an interest in transforming the outbuilding into a living space for herself, and Mr. Walker granted her permission,” Mrs. Kipper explained. “Poor Miss Gaillard spends hours nearly every day in that outbuilding. I have even seen her working in there at night.”
“Is the outbuilding habitable?”
Mrs. Kipper looked at her with a curious expression. “Mr. Walker toured it with Miss Gaillard and deemed that it was. Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” Madalene replied. “I’m afraid I haven’t given the outbuilding much thought.”
“Neither have I, but I think it is admirable what Miss Gaillard is attempting to do.”
“I would agree.”
Mrs. Kipper took a step back. “Now, if you will excuse me,” she said, “I need to see to the girls before they resume their lessons.”
“Of course,” Madalene replied, her eyes remaining on the outbuilding and wagon.
Something didn’t feel right about Miss Gaillard using the outbuilding and storing a wagon in the courtyard. After all, she had no doubt that Edith would never have granted her permission to do either, especially since the courtyard was the only place the girls could safely play outside.
She needed to see what Miss Gaillard was up to.
With her decision made, Madalene hurried out of Edith’s room and down the stairs. She didn’t slow down until she exited the rear door and started crossing the courtyard. She approached the wagon, which was covered with a thick sheet securely tied down over the load. There was no way to peek under the sheet without loosening the rope.
Drat.
Turning her attention towards the outbuilding, she approached the door. She didn’t even hesitate as she opened it and stepped inside. It was a one room structure with a table in the middle. Crates lined the walls, making it nearly impossible to walk around the table.
On the ground in front of the table were four barrels that were secured by rope. She stepped closer to the table and saw piles of bullets, metal shards and a white substance that appeared to be flour.
The door opened, and Miss Gaillard stepped into the building. She closed the door, a sneer on her thin lips.
“I see you found what I have been working on for the past few days,” Miss Gaillard said in a tone that was anything but pleasant.
Madalene met her gaze. “What exactly are you working on?”
“You are clever, girl,” Miss Gaillard said. “What do you think I am doing?”
Madalene’s eyes scanned the barrels as she replied, “These barrels must have gunpowder in them, since they are tied by rope and not metal in order to avoid sparks.”
“That would be correct.”
“And the bullets and metal shards lead me to believe you are building a bomb,” Madalene rationalized.
“But not the flour?” Miss Gaillard asked.
Madalene gave her a baffled look. “I am not entirely sure what the flour is for.”
“Flour is extremely flammable, given the right circumstances,” Miss Gaillard explained. “Also, orange peels are flammable, as well. But it is rather difficult to acquire enough oranges right now to do the job justice.”
“I had not realized.”
“I am not surprised, but my father knew,” Miss Gaillard said. “He always knew exactly what was needed to make the perfect bomb.”
“Are you trying to blow up the orphanage?”
Miss Gaillard laughed. “Heavens, no,” she replied. “I find it admirable what you are trying to accomplish with these girls.”
“Thank you,” Madalene said hesitantly.
