“Yes,” Raechel said. Her aunt had been a young girl during the whole affair and spoke of it often, normally when rebuking Raechel for not being perfectly ladylike. “It’s one of the great cautionary tales.”
“And so it is,” Irene said. She cleared her throat. “The average British nobleman will have no hesitation in setting up a mistress, but he will react badly to any thought his wife is enjoying the same liberty. Learn the rules of any given place before you break them.”
Raechel swallowed. Did her uncle have a mistress? She found it hard to imagine her stuffed shirt of an uncle doing anything of the sort, but she had to admit it was possible? And her aunt wouldn't say a word, even if she knew ... she’d probably be glad that her husband was slaking his lusts somewhere else. A proper woman was not supposed to admit the existence of sexual pleasure, let alone feel it for herself ...
“Quite right,” Irene agreed.
I’m going to learn how to block you if it’s the last damned thing I do, Raechel thought, grimly.
“Good,” Irene said. “Work on it. You’ll have plenty of time to practice.”
She opened a large wardrobe, revealing dozens of different outfits. Raechel stared; there was a dress that wouldn't be out of place in the palace, a milkmaid’s outfit, a working class dress that had been patched several times ... and, beyond them, a handful of masculine outfits ranging from a military uniform to an elegant suit and jacket.
“Tell me,” Irene said. “Why did I order you to undress?”
Raechel felt her cheeks burning, yet again. “To show me what I would have to do.”
“Partly,” Irene said. She tapped her finger on her chest, between her breasts. “And partly to strip you of your identity. What you wear” - she waved a hand at the outfits - “will give you a new identity. Wearing a disguise is not just about putting on a silly outfit, but assuming a whole new identity. You must not act out of character or you will be discovered.”
She produced a maid’s outfit and held it up. “A maid is always respectful to her employers,” she added. “She is never cheeky, never rude; whatever happens, she never raises her eyes or fights back. A maid may be slapped - or worse - by her mistress and she has to take it. She cannot fight back.”
Raechel swallowed. She was no stranger to her aunt’s hand, but the thought of allowing someone else to strike her ...
“Precisely,” Irene said. “You have to play the role convincingly, if you want to succeed.”
She smiled. “Still want to play?”
Raechel hesitated, then nodded.
Chapter Three
“What I would like to know,” Lord Mycroft said coolly, “is just what happened to Major Shaw.”
Gwen groaned, inwardly. It felt like only bare hours had passed since the French offensive had been broken, since the French had been forced back to enclaves surrounding Dover and Brighton, since she had been recalled to London. At least Sir James could handle matters, if the RSC needed to get involved. The vast majority of the French magicians had been killed in the Battle of Dorking.
“He got a number of good men killed,” she said. Her tired mind hadn't quite processed why she’d been called to the Diogenes Club, rather than Lord Mycroft’s office. Clearly, she was in trouble for something. “I told him to sit down and shut up.”
“You broke him,” Lord Mycroft said. “Rumours are already spreading.”
His voice hardened. “I ask again, Lady Gwen,” he said. “What did you do to him?”
Gwen gritted her teeth as she turned to stare out of the window, towards the spires of the Britannic School. It was hard, so hard, to keep her temper in check. Lord Mycroft had been one of her strongest supporters, right from the start. He didn't deserve to have her screaming at him, as if he was in the wrong. And yet, the nasty part of her mind wondered if he was in the wrong.
“I have a report here from the doctors,” Lord Mycroft added. “Major Shaw has been crying and shaking uncontrollably for the last five hours. The entire command staff saw him blubbering like a little boy. I dare say that rumours have already reached his family, having grown vastly out of proportion. It will not be long before they start demanding punishment.”
“I am no daughter to be slapped, nor wife to be rebuked,” Gwen snarled. She fought hard to control herself. Life would be so much simpler if she’d been born a man. “That ... disobedient oaf disobeyed orders in the middle of a battle and got a great many good men killed!”
“You are a servant of the Crown,” Lord Mycroft said, sternly. “And I ask again, for the final time, what did you do to him?”
Gwen sagged. “I discovered that I could ... influence ... someone if I combined Charm and Talking,” she said, slowly. Master Thomas had controlled her, back during the Swing. The memory of no longer being in control of her own body was terrifying. “I didn't realise just how bad an effect it would have on Major Shaw.”
Lord Mycroft looked up. “And you were going to mention this when?”
“I first managed to get it to work in Russia,” Gwen said. “There was a Russian soldier I managed to ... to redirect. I was going to discuss it privately with you when I had the opportunity.”
And that, she knew, was a lie. She’d left quite a few details out of her report, fearing what would happen if the truth emerged. Charmers were already feared and hated for their power, yet a strong-minded man could avoid being Charmed. Her power - her new power - was much harder to defeat. If people were scared of Charm, what would they make of a power that could control someone? And a power possessed by only one person.
“I see,” Lord Mycroft said. “And you had no idea of the side effects?”
Gwen shook her head. She hadn't noticed any when Master Thomas had controlled her, although she’d been too busy trying to fight to survive. And the Russian soldier ... she felt a sudden stab of guilt. Had he been in trouble because of her? He’d only been doing his duty, not getting in her way ...
“No, My Lord,” she said. “I didn't expect him to do more than obey me.”
She clenched her fists in helpless range. Major Shaw would have thought, right up until the moment Gwen returned from Russia, that he’d be working with Sir James. He would never have dared to disobey Sir James, let alone take matters into his own hands. Maybe he did have reason to question the competence of a woman on the battlefield, but she’d fought during the Swing and in Russia ...
“He disobeyed orders,” she added. “And he got a number of men killed.”
“So you said,” Lord Mycroft said. “And you would be right. The Duke of India is not happy with him.”
Gwen felt a flicker of vindictive glee. The Duke of India was not known for tolerating incompetents, no matter their connections. Shaw would probably have been summarily removed from his post, perhaps even shot for incompetence in the face of the enemy. And no one would have dared quibble with his opinion. Britain’s most famous professional soldier brooked no interference with his command.
“But your actions have caused this government a political problem,” Lord Mycroft added, grimly. “Quite apart from the fact you kept this new ... talent ... a secret” - Gwen winced at his tone - “you also broke the mind of a well-connected young man. Even if he recovers, Lady Gwen, it is going to cause a great many problems.”
Gwen sighed, looking back at the school. She’d wanted to go there, once upon a time, despite the horror stories she’d heard from her elder brother. There were even women at the school, the daughters of Indian or African rulers mingling with the British aristocrats who would one day rule their countries. She could have gone ...
... But her mother had refused to even consider the possibility.
“I was the commanding officer,” she said, tiredly. She looked back at Lord Mycroft, willing him to understand. “He shouldn't have disobeyed.”
“That is not in dispute,” Lord Mycroft said. His tone softened, slightly. “I understand precisely how you feel, Lady Gwen, but his fam
ily will be furious. And it will tie in to the concerns about having a woman - a young woman - in command of the Royal Sorcerers Corps. There was a strong feeling that you shouldn't serve as the tactical commanding officer, whatever post you held.”
“Master Thomas didn't have such problems,” Gwen snarled.
“Master Thomas was nearly ninety years old, with experience that stretched all the way back to the Seven Years War,” Lord Mycroft pointed out. “He fought in the American Revolution, the War of 1800 and various conflicts in India. There was never any doubt about his ability to do the job.”
Gwen nodded, conceding the point. Even in his last year of life, when he’d taken her on as an apprentice, Master Thomas had been a very dangerous man. He’d been in his position for so long that he’d known where all the bodies were buried. It was unlikely that anyone could have dislodged him, if anyone had dared to try. Even the King had known better than to push the old man.
“You are nineteen years old, more or less,” Lord Mycroft added. “You have been in your post for less than a year and your experience of military command in the field is non-existent. And you had almost no experience of anything before you were pushed into the role of Royal Sorceress. Sir James says good things about your skills as a lone warrior, but questions your ability to fight as part of a team.”
I was kept at home, Gwen thought, bitterly. Mother hated the thought of letting me go into the great outdoors.
“There are plenty of good reasons for people to question you, Lady Gwen,” Lord Mycroft added. “And while some of them have to do with your sex, which is beyond your control, there are plenty that don’t.”
Gwen took a breath. “How exactly am I supposed to gain experience,” she asked, “when I am denied the only way to gain experience?”
“I believe Major Shaw might have asked himself the same question,” Lord Mycroft said, sardonically. “And you know how that turned out.”
He cleared his throat. “It has been decided, by myself and the Prime Minister, that your talents would serve us better elsewhere,” he added. “And it so happens we have a task that may well allow you to gain the experience you need.”
Gwen scowled. “You’re sending me into exile.”
“In a manner of speaking,” Lord Mycroft said. “But the task is quite genuine.”
He paused. “Do you recall Sir Simon Muybridge?”
“Yes,” Gwen said, surprised. She forced herself to recall the middle-aged sorcerer. He’d missed the Swing - he’d been in Ireland at the time - and she hadn't really had time to form an impression of him. But Master Thomas wouldn't have promoted him if he hadn't felt the Blazer could handle the job. “We met briefly, two weeks after the Swing. He was on his way to America to take over as Sorcerer Commanding.”
“He’s dead,” Lord Mycroft said, shortly. “And so is all, but one of the trained sorcerers assigned to America.”
Gwen stared at him. “Dead?”
“Poisoned,” Lord Mycroft said. “Sir Simon made the mistake of hosting a dinner for the sorcerers under his command, before they were deployed to Amherst to meet the expected French invasion. A cook poisoned the soup, according to the reports; Sir Simon and the other sorcerers died in quite considerable pain. The lone Healer assigned to New York was apparently at the Viceregal Palace, unable to make it back in time. Only one sorcerer survived the poisoning.”
“Oh,” Gwen said. She bit down the urge to say a very unladylike word. “We have no sorcerers in the Americas at all, save for him?”
“There are a handful of untrained sorcerers,” Lord Mycroft said. “Thomas Rochester, His Majesty’s Viceroy, has used emergency powers to conscript them. However, they are untrained. They need a training officer, now.”
He scowled, his jowls wobbling angrily. “I warned the Viceroy of the dangers!”
Gwen blinked. “Dangers?”
“The cook was a black slave,” Lord Mycroft said. “A fine cook, by all accounts; he belonged to Sir Simon personally. And one fine day, with every combat sorcerer in America sitting down to dine, he dumps poison in the soup and runs for his life. He might even make it to French territory before he gets caught!”
“I see,” Gwen said.
She gritted her teeth in understanding. The French had abolished slavery in their territory years ago, after the War of 1800. They’d even started treating coloured men and women as equals, realising the dangers of trying to build an empire in lands where the white man was outnumbered fifty to one. And they’d been using their treatment of coloured people as a recruiting tool for years. How could she blame a slave for snatching at the golden ring of freedom, despite the risks ...
Her blood ran cold. “There are thousands of slaves in the Americas.”
“More like hundreds of thousands, perhaps a million,” Lord Mycroft said, curtly. “And a large number of them will be men of military age. The plantations are watched closely, but it would be very hard to stop a slave rebellion in the south before it spread out of control - or the French arrived to arm the slaves and add them to their forces. A rebellion that erupted under our nose would make it much harder to hold on to the south, let alone push the French back into Mexico.”
He sighed. “That isn't the only problem,” he added. “The American Tories have been making enemies, while the American Whigs are largely powerless. Poor Americans are wondering if the slaves will take their work, such as it is, while wealthier Americans chafe against the industrial restrictions. Oh, it was a mistake to concede slavery, even if it did win us the support of powerful men. I fear we will wind up paying for that sin in due course.
“The Viceroy has inherited a snake pit, Lady Gwen, and it’s likely to get worse before it gets better. Any proposals for reform get shot down by the Tories before they can reach London, which adds strength to more radical groups who want to make another bid for independence, using the war as a distraction. And any plans to cut the import of slaves or bring the slave-owners to heel run into other problems. The last thing the government needs, right now, is a power struggle in New York.”
Gwen frowned. “The slave-owners aren’t going to join the French, are they?”
“I do not know,” Lord Mycroft said. “On the face of it, they would have to be insane to join the French, knowing that the French would probably free the slaves. But on the other hand, they might believe that the French would betray the slaves, just like Lord Dunmore did after the war came to an end. They may feel they can hang on to their power despite abandoning the crown.
“But the radical groups are likely to cause trouble too,” he added. “They are no friends to slavery, Lady Gwen, but they will have interests in common.”
“I see,” Gwen said. “What do they actually want?”
Lord Mycroft smiled. “Depends who you ask,” he said. “There are a number of different demands, ranging from universal suffrage and a united American Parliament to outright independence from the British Crown. General Howe may have intended to keep the Americans divided, when he arranged the post-war government, but it has caused a number of unintended problems. In particular, the Tories are organised at a level the Whigs simply cannot hope to match.”
“Which causes frustration,” Gwen said.
“And frustration leads to violence,” Lord Mycroft agreed. “His Majesty has agreed, secretly, to back a bill granting the Americans a Parliament of their own. Certain powers will still be reserved to the Crown, naturally, but the Americans will be in a much better position to sort themselves out.”
“That will not please the Tories,” Gwen predicted.
“No, it won’t,” Lord Mycroft said. “The timing will be particularly poor. These concessions will be made as a last resort, which will make us look weak. I’m having to leave the exact moment this bill is announced to the Viceroy too. He’s surrounded by Tories, so his timing may be very poor indeed.”
He shook his head. “But the prospect of a French invasion may get a few heads fo
cused on important matters,” he added. “And now we come to your task.”
“Training sorcerers,” Gwen said.
“As far as anyone else knows, that’s precisely what you will be doing,” Lord Mycroft said, simply. “You’d hardly be the first officer sent to the Americas while matters cooled down here. Major Shaw’s family can be soothed, if necessary. Unofficially, I want you and Irene to monitor the situation in America and advise the Viceroy. You’ll have several sets of orders when you depart, Lady Gwen. Use whichever one seems best for you and burn the others.”
“I understand,” Gwen said. A thought struck her and she paused. “Irene ... has taken on an apprentice.”
Sons of Liberty Page 3
