He opened his eyes, wondering how he had ever thought her fragile. "What is your part of our task?"
"I'm the expert on Britain and how it operates," she said promptly. "Plus, it's my job to keep you in working condition since you are more central to this task than I."
"Is that why you kissed me? Part of your maintenance program?"
"Of course," she said primly. "Why else would I want to?"
He laughed, his dark mood lifting a little. "After we've seen a bit more of Liverpool, I'd like to visit Manchester and see if the energy really is different there."
"That's a good idea. The more we know, the better."
And the more they knew, the more difficult their task seemed. Fighting drunken sailors was straightforward. But how did one fight demons of greed and violence? "We need a name for this force that supports slavery," he mused.
"Can't we just call it the Slave Demon?"
He thought a moment, then shrugged. "Very well, the Slave Demon he is. The Demon for short."
"From now on, we will fight for the safety of key abolitionists, and against the evil of the Demon." Jean sighed. "It's easier to fight drunken sailors than wicked spirits."
He caught her hand and kissed it. "And perhaps someday there will be time for just us. Thank you for saving me today, Jean."
She blushed and her hand curled into his. "Any time, my captain. Any time."
Manchester was indeed very different from Liverpool. It was a city of hope and new ideas and hardworking people who expected to do well by the labor of their hands. Though there was no strong pro-abolitionist sentiment visible, Nikolai and Jean agreed that Manchester would be fertile ground for the abolitionists.
After several days exploring the city, Jean suggested, "It's time to activate the next spell. Shall we see if we can do it on our own? The energy in Manchester is strong and positive, and it might help us move forward without having to go to London to find Kofi and his daughter."
He nodded. "Let us gather our possessions and find a quiet place to try."
They found their quiet spot outside the city, in a copse off a small road. "Why here?" Nikolai asked.
"There is a ley line—an energy line in the earth," she said when they reached the quiet clearing. "Can you feel it?"
He concentrated. "Yes, but not well. I wonder if Guardians are more in tune with the energy?"
She skimmed her palm a yard above the earth, feeling a strong buzz from the ley line. "Perhaps. We really need to write about the differences we're finding between Guardian and African abilities. My sister-in-law, Gwynne, is a scholar of Guardian lore, and she would love to know." She stopped short, overwhelmed by feelings of loss. "That is, she would be interested if Gwynne still lives and there was a way to get the information to her."
"Let us write up our experiences anyhow." He settled his travel bag over his shoulder. "We can't know about your sister-in-law, but we can leave the information at Falconer House and know it will reach the right hands."
His words steadied her. No one lived forever, but the Guardians had existed for time beyond measure. Even if their information didn't reach Gwynne, every generation produced keepers of the lore. Knowledge endured, not like frail humans. "Are you ready?" She positioned the next spell bead in the middle of her palm and clasped Nikolai's hand.
They took turns speaking the ritual, and she could feel the energy rising around them. Personal power, nature energy, the positive energy of the nearby city. The vortex formed and swirled around, but it was not strong enough. "We're so close!" Jean exclaimed. "Just a little more energy and we would be able to trigger the spell!"
Nikolai's dark face was tight with strain. Then he suddenly laughed. Still holding her hands, he said, "We have another method of raising energy."
He bent to kiss her, and sexual energy exploded between them. She gasped, dizzy, exhilarated, spinning through time and space….
They landed in a churchyard, so closely wrapped that she was barely aware that they had moved through time until Nikolai pulled away from her, slowly. His mouth quirked. "We have found the secret of raising our energy enough to travel through time by our own efforts."
Every part of her body was pulsing with the most personal and primitive of energies. "It was smoother and less unpleasant than the other times, at least for me," she said, trying to sound calm rather than burning with lust.
"It was better for me, too," he murmured, his eyes dark with promise. "I think the right time for us to come together is near."
He turned his attention to the churchyard. Ragged tufts of grass grew around tombstones and a chestnut tree shaded one corner. The church was on a hill, and from their vantage point they could see streets and buildings spreading into the distance. "Where are we now? London, I think?"
She scanned the horizon. "I believe so. I wonder when."
Nikolai closed his eyes. "Not too much further into the future, I think, though I'm not sure why. I might be developing an ability to judge time similar to my ability to judge location." He offered his arm. "We have become expert in arriving in new eras. Let us find an inn."
She took his arm and they left the churchyard through the lych-gate, finding themselves on a busy street. It wasn't long until they came on a respectable inn. The few people they saw on the streets wore clothing that seemed identical to what they had seen in their last time.
There was only one room available, not a pair of adjoining chambers. Jean eyed Nikolai warily, but nodded acceptance. Whatever might happen between them would happen even if they had separate rooms.
The innkeeper had a newspaper that had been left in the taproom, so she took it with them. As soon as they were in private, she glanced at the front page. "It's April 1788, so we came forward only about six months. And we've moved past Adia's knowledge."
She plopped into a chair and swiftly skimmed the pages, with occasional glances up to admire Nikolai as he prowled around, settling into the room. He moved like a graceful wild creature, and she never tired of watching him.
He caught her looking at him, so she said, "There are several articles relating to slavery and abolition. This piece says that a lady spoke to a debating society on the immorality of slavery, and was most effective in her words. Naturally, no name is given, but the article says it may be the first time a woman has ever addressed a debating society. Are you familiar with the societies?"
He slung his bag over one of the bed's foot posts, then hung his hat on the top knob. "Not really, though you've mentioned them a time or two."
"They are public lectures and discussions on topics that are likely to interest enough people to make a profit for the organizers. Entrance costs only sixpence or so, and people from all levels of society attend," she explained. "Twenty years ago, I saw no debates advertised about slavery. Now half the debates listed are about slavery and abolition. The one where the lady spoke voted on the subject at the end and carried almost unanimously against slavery. Public opinion has come alive and is on our side."
"Interesting, indeed," he agreed. "In our time, few people thought about abolition because they assumed it was impossible. They are no longer assuming that."
Before he could continue, he was interrupted by a knock on the door. He opened it to find one of the inn's maids. "This note just arrived for you and your wife, sir." She handed over the message, bobbed a curtsy, and left.
Nikolai broke the seal and read, his eyebrows arching. "We have been invited to a reception at the home of William Wilberforce, MP. The purpose is to honor those who support abolition."
Jean's jaw dropped. "How do the ancestors do that? How did they manage an invitation and know where to send it? We didn't know we'd be here until half an hour ago! How did they get us an invitation?"
"Better not to think of it and get another headache," he advised. "That's what I've decided. But if I had to guess, I'd say the ancestors are weaving a great tapestry whose subject is abolition. The threads are interwoven, so events connect. Wilberforce is
obviously a force for abolition, and so are we. As soon as we arrived here, we became part of the pattern, and that connected us to the abolition movement."
"I'm not sure that makes sense, but it sounds good." She flipped the newspaper to another page. "When is the reception?"
He glanced at the invitation again. "Tonight."
"Good God!" She shot out of the chair, horrified. "We need to find suitable clothing!"
Nikolai frowned. "Is that possible? There is no time for proper tailoring."
"In London, all things are possible. I'm sure the innkeeper here can refer me to a shop that deals in quality used clothing and can do tailoring in a few hours."
And so it proved. The rest of the morning was spent finding the shops recommended by the innkeeper, choosing garments that were proper for the occasion and a reasonable fit, then waiting while quick alterations were made. Jean found that clothing silhouettes were narrower for both men and women than in her own time. Assuming that the 1750s could still be considered her time.
Jean found an attractive gown whose fine cotton fabric had narrow stripes of white and two shades of green. The costume suited her without being dramatic enough to call attention. She also bought powder for her hair. Though she disliked powdering, covering up her red locks removed her most identifiable characteristic.
Nikolai was impossible to disguise. Women would notice him immediately in his handsome dark blue frock coat, and men would react to his aura of masculine power. "You look splendid," she said. "I hope no one challenges you to a duel."
He looked startled. "Why would anyone do that?"
"Husbands will resent their wives hovering around you," she explained.
He laughed. "I doubt that. But I do wonder why the ancestors want us to attend this event. Maybe Clarkson will be there and in trouble."
She fluttered the Chinese silk fan she'd bought to go with the gown, glad she hadn't lost the knack. "More likely he'll be off in the provinces stirring up abolitionist trouble, and more power to him."
Nikolai offered his arm and they headed down to the light carriage they'd hired. The reception was being held in Wilberforce's home in Clapham, a village three miles south of London, so it seemed best to arrange their own transportation.
They arrived to find a jam of carriages and a crowd of energetic people. As they walked from their carriage to the spacious house, Nikolai said under his breath, "This area radiates light and positive energy."
"The newspaper mentioned that a number of Evangelicals live here, all of them working to improve society." Jean thought back to Adia's notes, which had two pages of information on Wilberforce. "Mr. Wilberforce shares his home with a cousin, Henry Thornton, who is also an active Evangelical reformer. So many good people in the area must drive off the Demon's darkness."
Nikolai's expression grew vague as he studied the energies around them. "I can feel the darkness just outside this beacon of light. It's like a wolf prowling around a fire, hoping that some weak or foolish person will wander close enough to become prey."
"A charming thought." She clutched his arm more tightly as they climbed the entry steps. "Let us hope the wolves keep their distance tonight."
"You may wish for that," he said, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "I prefer to hope for excitement and progress."
Chapter
THIRTY-TWO
Jean and Nikolai entered the house and found themselves in a short receiving line. At the head was a small, pale young man not much taller than Jean. Even his side whiskers couldn't make him look worldly.
To her surprise, the young man smiled and said, "I'm William Wilberforce. It's a pleasure to welcome our movement's strongest supporters to my home."
Nikolai introduced Jean and himself, and they chatted a moment with their host. Wilberforce might look unimpressive, but he had a remarkable voice and a warm charm that made him seem six inches taller.
As Nikolai continued talking to their host, Jean moved on, exchanging greetings with Henry Thornton, cohost and cousin to Wilberforce. She met several more abolitionists before a familiar voice said, "Mrs. Gregory, I believe?"
Jean looked up into Lord Falconer's amused eyes. He must have been past seventy, she guessed, thinner and with his hair all silver, though he still looked capable of besting a man half his age. It was strange to see him and realize that the man who had been like an older brother now looked more like her grandfather. But he was still her friend, and blessedly alive and well.
She caught his hand in hers. "Lord Falconer, I didn't expect to see you here." Though her words were neutral, she couldn't hide the pleasure in her voice.
"I am now considered the leading voice of abolition in the House of Lords," Simon explained. "Some days it seems like I'm the only voice. My lordly colleagues do not believe that all men are their equals and therefore should be free, but they sometimes respond to a plea for pity."
She wanted to ask about Meg, but didn't dare. What if she had died? Perhaps seeing that in her expression, Simon said, "Lady Falconer is somewhere in the crush. I'm sure she'll be delighted to see you."
Jean smiled gratefully and moved on as Simon and Nikolai shook hands. Most of the crowd was gathered in the grand, high-ceilinged library, sipping wine and talking enthusiastically. Though she didn't see Thomas Clarkson—even in such a crowd his great height would have stood out—it wasn't long before Meg found her.
Like her husband, Lady Falconer showed her age in her snowy white hair and a hint of fragility, but her hug was vigorous. "Jean!" She stepped back and surveyed her friend before saying under her breath, "Did I ever look so young?"
"Younger. You seemed about fifteen when I first met you." Jean surveyed her old friend, who was elegantly dressed and radiated dignity. Though she showed her years, she was no less lovely than when she was a girl. She reminded Jean of Lady Bethany Fox, who had been old and wise and wonderful when Jean was newly arrived in London. "You seem to have come to terms with being a countess."
"I've learned to be quite a good countess in public. Anything is possible with the right man." Her gaze drifted to her husband, who was still greeting guests. "Speaking of which, what about that gentleman of yours?"
"I'm not sure he's the right man and he's probably not a gentleman, but my life has certainly become more interesting since we met!" Jean glanced across the room to where Nikolai was talking with a well-dressed African. "Do you know who Nikolai is speaking with?"
"That's Gustavus Vasa, a former American slave who earned enough to buy his freedom and lives in England now. He's well known for his writing and speaking on abolition." Meg's smile turned cynical. "Even the most fervent abolitionist usually supports blacks from a distance. Only a man as eloquent and charming as Vasa will be found in a drawing room."
"Distant charity is better than none at all," Jean observed. "But Gustavus Vasa? Wasn't he a Swedish king?"
"Mr. Vasa's first owner thought it amusing to call a slave boy by a grand royal name," Meg explained. "Now Mr. Vasa is writing a book of his experiences, and Simon is encouraging him to publish it under his African name."
"He sounds most interesting." Hoping she would have a chance to speak with him, Jean surveyed the crowded room. "I thought I saw another African when I came in."
"That would probably be Quobna Cuguano, another African writer and lecturer who is accepted in respectable drawing rooms." Meg sighed. "Perhaps someday one might attend a reception of whites and blacks and Red Indians and Chinese and no one will notice complexion, but we are a long way from that."
Thinking of Santola, Jean said, "I know a place where people of all colors live in harmony, so it's possible. But it will not happen in Britain any time soon."
"I will settle for an end of the slave trade. Freedom first. Equality will come eventually." Meg's gaze moved past Jean. "There is someone I must see. You and I will speak again before the reception ends."
The countess moved away, leaving Jean to quietly study the crowd, using mage vision as well as her eyes.
Some guests were very fashionable like the Falconers, and others were soberly dressed Evangelicals, but their mutual desire to end the slave trade was genuine. Many had dedicated great amounts of time and money to the cause.
Yet the Demon was not far away. As Nikolai said, it was possible to feel that negative energy outside this beacon of goodwill. Slave supporters might act from selfish motives, but they were as passionate as the abolitionists. Even here, in William Wilberforce's drawing room, the spirit of slavery was near.
Uncannily near. She glanced around uneasily, wondering if the West Indian lobby had sent a spy and she was sensing that energy.
Her speculations ended when Wilberforce climbed onto a portable podium that had been set up only a few steps from where she stood. Even with the extra height he was barely above crowd level, but when he began to speak, he commanded the attention of everyone in the spacious chamber. "My friends, it is good to welcome you here today as we celebrate the great gains we have made toward ending the slave trade."
The room erupted in applause. Wilberforce waited patiently, a slight smile on his face. Jean saw Nikolai quietly working his way through the crowd toward her. He reached her side as Wilberforce began speaking again.
"I thought you would be interested in our strategy for the parliamentary session that is about to begin," Wilberforce said. "Hearings are being held that provide massive, irrefutable evidence of the wickedness of the trade. I intend to present this evidence to the full house. My colleagues may choose to look the other way, but they will never again be able to say that they do not know!"
There was another burst of applause. Wilberforce continued, "Legislation has been drafted for a law that will render the trade illegal. Great rolls of petitions supporting abolition are being delivered to Parliament from every corner of Britain—more petitions than have ever been received on any other topic. Support increases every day!"
More applause. Wilberforce knew how to raise a crowd's enthusiasm. Under cover of the noise, Nikolai murmured to Jean, "Falconer says that even if the law passes the House of Commons, it will never pass the House of Lords. Too many of the lords derive wealth from slavery, and few have real sympathy or understanding for the less fortunate."
A Distant Magic Page 28
