Sons of Liberty (12 page)

“
You were lucky to escape with your life,” Gwen said, quietly. “Raechel isn't like you, Irene.”

“
She is,” Irene said. “She’s inexperienced, true. She hasn't learned the calculated ruthlessness of a woman born to the lower classes. And, until now, she didn't have a cause to play for. But she is very much like me as a young girl.”

She looked down at the deck. “You have to learn to use whatever assets you have to best advantage,” she added. “And you stop feeling guilty after you comprehend, deep inside, just how quickly you can be discarded.”

Gwen closed her eyes for a long moment, then sighed. “Do you expect her to give up her identity?”

“
She may have to, eventually,” Irene said. “Lady Raechel Slater-Standish isn't exactly a public figure, but if she’s always present when something interesting happens ...”

“I see,” Gwen said.

“
I told her that she could leave at any moment, if she wanted to back out,” Irene added. “And so far she’s stayed, despite learning some uncomfortable truths. I think that says something about her, doesn't it? You and Raechel have quite a bit in common.”

That, Gwen knew, was true. She’d wanted to use her talents, truly use them; Raechel, too, wanted to do something meaningful with her life. And there were very few options available to a woman, particularly one without magic. Raechel would find herself nothing more than a high-ranking wife, just like her aunt, if she married and stayed in London. Hell, she might not even be allowed to accompany her husband overseas, if she married a diplomat or a soldier. Lady Standish hadn't accompanied her husband until the final fatal trip.

And I bet she regrets that now, Gwen thought. Lady Standish had been a harsh mistress to her maids, including Gwen. It had been a taste of life as a servant and she hadn't liked it at all. She’s still in that bloody bedlam.

“
Very well,” she said, finally. “But you are not to push her into anything.”

“
I understand,” Irene said. “Please send her back here when you can.”

***

Raechel made sure to tighten her mental shields as she stepped into her cabin, although she was too conflicted for them to do much good. Part of her was embarrassed beyond words at being interrupted by Gwen, part of her was silently relieved that they’d been caught before they went too far. How bad would things have been, she asked herself, if they’d gone further before they’d been caught? And would the entire ship know before breakfast?

“
I owe you an apology,” Irene said, once the door was closed and locked. “And something of an explanation.”

She took a breath. “My parents were lower middle-class merchants; my father a refugee who fled Germany as a young man, my mother the youngest daughter of a poor family in Glasgow. Father was a talented singer and taught me how to sing, although we were too poor to hire tutors. I was a good singer, so good that I often sang solos outside church for Christmas and Easter. A passing spotter noticed me, followed me home and extended an invitation to join the opera.”

Raechel frowned. She had the odd feeling that Irene had deliberately left something out.

“
I was excited, very excited, when I first entered the theatre,” Irene continued. “There was little hope for me elsewhere, you see. Father had insisted that I learn to read, write and do sums, which put me ahead of most of the young men who might otherwise have asked for my hand. Young girls weren't meant to be educated, you see. I’m still not sure how father managed to pay for the lessons. But it was enough that I wanted more from life. The glitz and glitter of the stage sounded better than life managing a tiny shop.”

“Like me,” Raechel said.

Irene nodded. “It didn't take me long to realise that I had to ... work ... for my roles,” she said, bitterly. “A casting agent wouldn't take me on unless I ... worked ... for him. I felt filthy, afterwards, even though it led directly to my first major role. It was a great success, yet I still had to ... work ... to be sure of constantly remaining in the spotlight. I was both a star and a prisoner. The only way for me to maintain some shred of independence and dignity was to learn to manipulate the men who controlled the stage. I rapidly learned the value of information, particularly information that no one else had. It didn't take me long to add blackmail to my skills.

“
In hindsight, my talents were already starting to develop. But I didn't know that at the time.

“
Five years after I started, I gained enough independence and wealth that I was being noticed on a wider stage,” she added. “We were travelling Europe at the time, you see. There I met a ... nobleman who flattered me, promising that he would make me his queen. It was enough to convince me to live with him for several months.”

Raechel’s eyes narrowed. “You couldn't read his thoughts?”

“
Only emotions, at the time,” Irene said. “And I think he genuinely believed what he was saying, to be honest. His father wasn't expected to die soon. He thought he had time to convince his family to accept me. It wasn't as though I wasn't qualified for the post. But his father died and his sisters, who had never liked me, convinced him that he needed a wife from a better family. He wanted to keep me as a mistress, but I decided it would be better to flee his territory before I suffered a small accident.”

She snorted. “The stress pushed my talents up a notch,” she added. “I fled to London, half-mad, and found a place to hide. The bastard hired detectives to follow me, one of whom was alarmingly good. Luckily, I had a few allies of my own by then. I faked a marriage and vanished, leaving a mocking note for the nobleman. He thought I had good reason to keep everything a secret too now, so he called off his dogs.”

“
But you didn't get married,” Raechel said. “How did you fake it?”

“
I had some help,” Irene said. “Suffice it to say that, shortly afterwards, I was recruited by British Intelligence.”

She smirked. “And the nobleman in question was killed by the French, a few years later,” she added. “I believe his wife was killed too.”

Raechel frowned, unsure what to say. How much of the story was actually true?

“
All of it,” Irene said. Raechel flushed and slammed her shields back into place. “I’ve left out a few details, but the basic outline is accurate.”

She looked up, meeting Raechel’s eyes. “I have done a great many things I’m not proud of,” she added. “And they were necessary. You’ll have to ... lower yourself to do the same, if you want to survive in this world. Trying to sweet talk Fredrick is barely the icing on the cake.”

“
It wasn't easy,” Raechel said. “And we were interrupted ...”

“
Maybe you can pick it up again later,” Irene said. “If you still want to, that is ...”

Raechel flushed. Irene’s advice had covered a multitude of subjects her aunt would have flatly denied existed, if Raechel had had the nerve to ask. She hadn't even thought about some of the different ways to please a man, or herself, until Irene had mentioned them. Now, it was clear that Irene had done them herself. It had been the only way to survive and prosper in her world.

“
There's something else I should tell you,” Irene warned. She held up a dainty hand. “Do you know Geoffrey Norton, Barrister-At-Law?”

“
No,” Raechel said. The name was unfamiliar. Besides, she’d never been encouraged to have any dealings with lawyers. “Who is he?”

“
A friend,” Irene said. “A stout, study Englishman. Works for the Royal College. He loves me, more deeply and truly than he knows. I like him too, more than I care to admit. But if he knew what I’d done, even after I came to work for the Crown, he’d be revolted.”

“Men have married widows before,” Raechel pointed out.

“
Everyone knows that widows are respectable,” Irene said. “Men can be quite funny about certain matters.”

“I know,” Raechel said.

“
If you want to keep learning, you may find yourself cut off from polite society forever,” Irene warned. “Really, you need a whole new identity, one you can discard at will.”

“
It isn’t polite,” Raechel said, automatically. The thought of being permanently separated from her aunt and uncle wasn't a bad one. “And I’m not going to stop now.”

Chapter Ten

“
I do wonder just why the French committed so many magicians to the invasion,” Colonel Jackson said, as he moved his knight forward. “Didn't they know they risked terrible losses?”

“
I dare say they thought they didn't have a choice,” Gwen said. She frowned, stroking her chin contemplatively. Jackson was a good player, better than her. “Victory in the Battle of Dorking would have allowed them to make peace on excellent terms.”

“
Perhaps,” Colonel Jackson said. He watched as she moved a pawn forward, then pushed his bishop across the board, opening up a whole new angle of attack. “But we would have worn them down, regardless.”

He looked up. “Unless you have other secret weapons hidden in Cavendish Hall?”

Gwen shrugged. Olivia probably counted as a secret weapon, although there wouldn't be many dead bodies around for her to animate. The French understood the dangers of leaving dead bodies lying around as well as the British. But then, the government might have been secretly collecting and storing dead bodies, just in case. They’d done worse during the Swing.

“
The French are a lion,” she said, as she moved her own knight back. “We’re a whale. Each one is supreme in its own environment, but unable to come to grips with the other.”

“
Interesting concept,” Jackson said. He seemed more inclined to give thought to her words than most of the men she met. “Do you think ...?”

He broke off as a voice echoed through the hull. “Man for action,” it bellowed. “Man for action!”

Gwen rose, feeling a trickle of alarm running down her spine. There had always been a danger of encountering a French squadron on the voyage, although Captain Bligh had taken pains to reassure the more nervous passengers that the French would be hard-pressed to find the convoy, let alone muster the force to attack it. Gwen gritted her teeth as she glanced around for Irene and Raechel, then remembered that they were still in their cabin, reading files and discussing their plans for New York. A handful of crewmen rushed past the door, their leader bellowing orders as they passed. Gwen glanced at Jackson, then headed to the ladder. She had to know what was going on.

“
My men aren't equipped for fighting at sea,” Jackson muttered, as he followed her. Gwen was silently grateful she was wearing trousers rather than a dress. “They’ll be sitting ducks if a French squadron gets into gunnery range.”

You should be with them, Gwen thought. She wasn't surprised that Jackson had chosen to sail on Duke of India, rather than one of the cramped troopships, but it wasn't a decision she could support. And you might be needed there.

Captain Bligh turned to look at her as she led the way onto the bridge. “Get off my bridge,” he snapped. “A battle is about to take place.”

“
She’s a sorceress,” Jackson pointed out, before Gwen could say a word. “She might be very useful.”

The Captain eyed him darkly, then nodded. “Seven French warships, heading right towards us,” he ordered. “Some bastard must have given them our projected course.”

Or they had a magician looking for us, Gwen thought. It wouldn't be easy, locating a convoy of ships in the middle of the ocean, but the French might have managed to do it. Or they might just have had an immense stroke of luck.

She peered into the distance, watching as the French ships came into view. They had to have been spotted from the mast, she realised; the lookout would have seen them long before they were visible to anyone on deck. The ships looked nasty, she thought, although they didn't look to be purpose-built steamships. No doubt the French had hazarded most of their iron warships on crossing the English Channel.

Which makes sense, she told herself. Outfitting an ironclad for crossing the ocean is far harder than building ships to cross the water to England.

“
Sailing ships,” Jackson commented. “Your guns should be able to make mincemeat out of them, Captain.”

“
They’ll have a layer of armour,” Bligh countered. “A lucky shot could be fatal for us - or for them.”

He turned to bark orders to his crew. The squadron was separating into two formations; the warships proceeding onwards to meet the foe, the freighters and troopships hanging back. It puzzled Gwen until she realised that, if the engagement went badly, the other ships would have a chance to scatter before the French chased them down. A handful of them might even make it to New York.

“
They’re forming a line,” Jackson whispered. “I think they expect a passing engagement with us, then a chance at the freighters.”

Gwen nodded. The French would probably find sinking the warships very satisfying, but if they had any sense they’d concentrate on the freighters. Blocking reinforcements to America would make life easier for their armies, particularly when the great offensive finally started ... if it hadn't started already. Being so badly out of touch disconcerted her more than she cared to admit. A flash of light flickered on one of the French warships, followed by a great goat of water splashing up far too close to the lead British ship ...

“They’re taking aim,” Jackson said.