Sons of Liberty (23 page)

“
I would love to attend,” she said, trying to project a mixture of excitement and trepidation into her shields. It would be believable, of course. Being caught out of bounds - and unchaperoned - would be disastrous for a London girl. “When are we going?”

“
Now, unless you want some tea,” Alison said. “We can take the time to make sure that the oldsters are blathering happily amongst themselves.”

Raechel shook her head. “I don’t think we should take any chances,” she said. “Lady Irene might lose her temper and storm out.”

Jane gave her a sympathetic look. “A harsh chaperone?”

“
My uncle and aunt are depending on her,” Raechel lied. But it was a believable lie. “And she’s taken that to heart,”

Her thoughts raced as the girls led her though a maze of corridors and out into the gardens. A chill was settling over the city - clouds were gathering overhead - but none of them seemed concerned as they strolled into the garden, down towards the far wall. Another mansion rose up on the other side ... she concentrated, trying to remember the map Irene had shown her. It was Lord Tarleton’s mansion, if she recalled correctly. And his son was very definitely a dissident.

“
I bet you can't do this in London,” Jane said, as they reached a half-hidden door set in the brick wall. “Just pop through a door to visit your friend?”

“
Not without an escort, no,” Raechel said, trying to sound uncomfortable. It was easy enough. She was halfway to being convinced that Jane was the Talker. “And out in the countryside ... if you want to visit a friend, you need a horse and carriage.”

She sighed, feeling a sudden stab of pain. Her parents had been decent, certainly better than Gwen’s. She might have been a daughter, but they’d let her ride around the estate ... and even go into the countryside, if she had an escort. Going to London had seemed a treat until she’d had to move in with her aunt and uncle, whereupon it had turned into a prison. There were just too many opportunities for scandal in London.

They passed through the door and hurried to the mansion, where a doorway gaped open invitingly. Alison led the way into the building and down a corridor, into a large room. At least four dozen young men were already there, standing in the room while a dozen other young women leaned against the far wall. Oddly, at least in her experience, two of the men were setting out the teapots and jugs of water. She thought they were servants until she caught a glimpse of their clothes. No servant wore clothes made of such fine cloth.

And they’re pouring the drinks, she thought, numbly. There was no alcohol in sight, as far as she could tell. She’d wondered if she’d wanted into another erotic club, but it looked rather more like a church meeting. Will wonders never cease?

“
We have a guest today,” a familiar voice said, as the doors were finally closed. She looked up to see Hamish Tarleton, standing on a chair. He sounded less snooty than before. “Please welcome Lady Raechel Slater-Standish.”

Raechel blushed as a number of glances were thrown in her direction, although there was an undercurrent of ... wariness ... that hung in the air. The crowd didn't seem inclined to welcome her with open arms, even if they weren't inclined to reject her either. Raechel wondered, inwardly, just how much of the whole affair was being staged for her benefit ... had they known she was going to attend? But if Alison had already known she was coming to her mansion, it would be easy enough to pass the word to Hamish Tarleton ...

Her blood ran cold. Whatever was going on, she realised, she’d walked headfirst into deadly danger. If she failed to convince the group that she wouldn't betray them, they’d cut her throat instead of letting her leave peacefully. She’d seen too much - names, faces - to be allowed to run free. Imprisonment was the best she could expect.

“
You know why we are here,” Hamish said. “America hangs on a knife-edge. We are a large continent with a growing population, yet we are subject to laws made by men in London. They tell us that we have representation in Parliament, but our MPs are not numerous enough to stop the imposition of policies that hurt our lives, ruin our industries and blight our future. Why should we be subject to men in London?”

He lowered his voice. “Time is pressing,” he added. “The French plan to invade - and invade soon. When they do, our social order will disintegrate. This is our chance - our one chance - to break free of both Britain and France! This is our one chance to seize the power our forefathers surrendered to London!”

Raechel listened, feeling cold, as Hamish continued. The Sons of Liberty were clearly far better organised than the Viceroy suspected, particularly if they included so many aristocratic children. But she could see their point, too. America would never reach its potential when its fate was decided in London, by men who had never been to the colonies. And too many of the American aristocrats had sold out to the British Crown.

“
We must claim the rights of freemen,” Hamish concluded. “And for that we must fight!”

“
He’s an impressive speaker,” Jane said. She elbowed Raechel in the side as Hamish jumped off the chair and headed over to a pair of young men. “Don’t you think?”

“
He is,” Raechel said. She didn't need to pretend to admire the speech. The idea of genuine rights for women was one calculated to appeal to her - and to the other aristocratic women in the room. If she’d been able to inherit her father’s money from the moment he died, she wouldn't have had to live with her aunt and uncle. “Does he mean it?”

“He means every word,” Hamish said.

Raechel jumped. She had been taught to be aware of her surroundings, but Hamish had sneaked up on them without her sensing his presence. Irene would probably have slapped her, if they’d been practicing, just to remind her of the dangers. Hamish merely smiled at her, his gaze open and friendly. It was a far cry from the toff she’d met at the ball.

“
I’m glad to hear that,” she said, feeling an odd twinge of disquiet. “Do you really intend to give the vote to everyone?”

“
Of course,” Hamish said. “I believe the original revolution failed because it didn't give the vote to everyone. It lost because it was not firmly rooted in equality.”

And I can believe as much or as little of that as I like, Raechel thought, cynically. She could understand upper-class women doing what they could to assist the poor, even though Irene had poured scorn on the concept, but not simply giving up power. Will you be selling out your allies after the revolution?

She looked up at him. “You’re the son of one of the wealthiest men in the colonies,” she said, challengingly. “Why do you want to overthrow the current order?”

“
My father tamely accepts rules intended to keep us in place,” Hamish said. “I could have covered this continent in rail lines by now, if I had the freedom to build factories and design my own engines. But father ... he is too blinded by his title to see the problems.”

He cleared his throat. “But that’s a question for another day,” he added. “Tell me about Lady Gwen.”

Raechel tried not to tense as she felt the tingle at the back of her head, once again. And Jane was standing right there ...

“
I only talked to her a handful of times during the voyage,” she said, picking her words carefully. A direct lie would be harder to conceal. “She caught me kissing one of the ship’s officers and told me off for it.”

Hamish snickered. “And why should you not kiss whoever you liked?”

“
She spent most of her time with Colonel Jackson,” Raechel continued, trying to convince them that she had no reason to know anything interesting. The tingle was still there. “They played a great deal of chess, when they weren't walking the deck together.”

“
Chess,” Jane said. She sounded oddly amused. “Were they lovers?”

“
I think he might have been interested in her,” Raechel said. She had never had the chance to ask. “But they were never truly alone together.”

Hamish nodded, slowly. “Do you think she’s a decent person?”

“I think so,” Raechel said.

“
And yet, the only thing that gives her power is her power,” Jane said. There was a hint of bitterness in her tone. “An accident of birth makes her equal to the men. You understand that, don’t you?”

Raechel nodded. It was easy to feel the same bitterness. To be born a woman was to be born property, first of one’s father and then of one’s husband. It might be wrapped up in all manner of fancy words and concepts, but it boiled down to being property. And even if she managed to remain unmarried long enough to inherit in her own right, she would still have far more limitations placed on her, just for being born female. There were only a handful of exceptions ...

And all of them have to pay for their freedom, she thought. Gwen is isolated by her power; Queen Elizabeth could never marry and died alone ...

Raechel kept a tight lock on her emotions as they bombarded more questions off her, the tingle waxing and waning as Jane monitored her reactions. They wanted to know about her family, about the politics in Britain ... thankfully, she knew there was no point in concealing anything about the former and she knew little of the latter. Hamish seemed particularly interested in why the Duke of India had resigned as Prime Minister, just to lead the army into battle one final time, but Raechel knew little of the situation.

“
We'll talk soon,” Hamish told her, finally. “Until then, don’t say a word about this meeting.”

“
Of course not,” Raechel agreed. It was easy to make herself sound like an idiot. “Irene would throw a fit.”

“And you would pay the price,” Jane giggled.

Raechel nodded, then wandered the room with Jane, splitting her attention between the bubbly girl and the other attendees. They weren’t just aristocrats, she realised; there were merchants, sailors and militiamen. One young man was telling another - she just happened to overhear - about leaving the city tomorrow to join the army. It took her several moments to realise he meant a secret army. The Sons of Liberty were clearly preparing a Swing of their very own.

She cringed, inwardly, at the thought. The last Swing had caused no end of damage, even though it had been cut short by the French. Now, with British forces in disarray and the French probing the borders, an uprising would be utterly disastrous. It had to be stopped, but how?

And you feel they have a point, she told herself. The chance to be equal, to face her uncle or her future husband as an equal, was not one to disdain. You don’t need magic to be powerful ...

“
Ah,” Jane said. She caught Raechel’s arm. “A messenger has arrived for your chaperone, I’m afraid. It seems that the Viceroy wishes you would dance attendance upon his son.”

Raechel glared. “Does everyone want to marry me?”

“
He probably wants to keep you out of an American match,” Jane said, as they turned to hurry out the door. “That would set the cat among the politicians.”

She smiled, rather thinly. “If you want to leave,” she added, “we can help with that.”

“
Thank you,” Raechel said. Irene needed to know what she’d discovered, as quickly as possible. “I may need it.”

Chapter Nineteen

“
Lady Gwen,” Rochester said, as Bruce showed Gwen into the War Room. “Please, take a seat. I am expecting the others momentarily.”

He glanced at his son. “You took your time.”

“
Lady Gwen needed time to get ready,” Bruce said. There was a hint of amusement in his tone. “I brought her as soon as I could.”

Gwen shot him a nasty look. “I had to leave the hall on an urgent matter,” she said. She didn't want to talk about a rogue magician in front of several onlookers. “He waited for me to return, then brought me straight here.”

“
Good,” Rochester said. He pointed to the table. “Please, sit down.”

Gwen nodded and sat down, suspecting she knew what she was about to hear. The War Room was effectively identical to the one she’d seen in Whitehall, right down to the giant maps mounted on the walls and smaller maps scattered over the wooden table. Colonel Jackson was seated at one end, next to General Paget; he shot her a mischievous smile that had her smiling back, despite the seriousness of the situation. A man she didn't know was seated next to General Paget, his eyes closed; another man, wearing a naval uniform, sat next to him. He had to be Admiral Parker, Gwen decided, the commander of the American squadron. The situation was looking more and more dire every second.

Bruce sat down next to her, saying nothing. Gwen cast a sidelong glance at him - she wasn't sure why he was attending, even if he was the Viceroy’s son - but it wasn't her job to throw him out of the room. His father prowled the room until Lord Tarleton and Lord Jackson entered, then snapped out a command to the servants to serve drinks and then leave the compartment. Gwen forced herself to wait patiently, studying the other attendees while she waited. Lord Tarleton seemed deeply worried, but Lord Jackson looked like a man with a toothache. She couldn't help wondering if Lord Jackson and Colonel Jackson were related, although she knew it was probably unlikely. Jackson was a very common name.

“
Gentlemen,” Rochester said. “The French have finally begun their invasion.”

Gwen sat upright, feeling a jolt of alarm running through the room. They’d known it was coming - they’d all known it was coming - but it was still a shock. Even Bruce looked surprised, and worried, before his features slipped back into an indolent mask. The war had touched America before - French and British ships had clashed in nearby waters - but now the fighting had turned serious.