by Laura Beers
“Can you?” Morton asked. “After all, it will only take someone recognizing you once and you’re dragged back to the ship and hung for desertion.”
“I choose not to dwell on that.”
Morton took a step closer to him. “I’m giving you the opportunity to make history.”
“How could I make history?” Baldwin made sure his expression showed doubt with a good dose of hope mixed in. He wanted Morton to believe he was cautious but willing to be a part of the movement.
“We are recruiting a team to do a special assignment,” Morton said. “The pay is good, and the plan is infallible.”
Baldwin’s face grew slack. “No plan is infallible.”
“This one is,” Morton declared. “We just need like-minded individuals who are willing to do whatever it takes to make their voices heard.”
“Which is?”
Morton chuckled. “We aren’t ready to tell you everything yet,” he said. “I just need to know if you are interested or not.”
“Let’s say I do get caught on this special assignment,” Baldwin started, “is it punishable by death?”
“Isn’t every crime that is worth doing?” Morton asked, putting his hands out wide. “After all, the American colonists fought for freedom, at the expense of their own lives.”
Baldwin frowned. “I’m not entirely sure I want a noose around my neck any time soon.”
Morton tsked. “That is only if you get caught, and that isn’t likely to happen.”
“How can you be so sure about that?”
A door slammed above them, and Morton glanced up towards the ceiling before saying, “We have someone who is going to help us.”
“Who?”
“Someone who knows our plight and has offered to help,” Morton declared. “Our numbers are constantly growing, and we have factions all over London that are continuing to meet underground. But the time is coming when we will rise up and start a revolution.” Morton stepped closer to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “We are just waiting for a sign that will light the flame of rebellion.”
“What is the sign?”
Watching him intently, Morton dropped his hand to his side and said, “That is what I want you to be a part of. You can make history happen.”
Baldwin squared his shoulders. “I will do it, whatever it takes.”
Morton smiled broadly. “I knew I could count on you.” He walked over to the door. “I’ll be in contact, but don’t tell anyone. Not even your cousin. We don’t want to risk our plans being uncovered.”
“I understand.”
After Morton closed the door behind him, Baldwin sat back down on the straw mattress and pondered what he had just uncovered. Was the person who was going to help with the rebellion the French spy that he had been tracking? And what job was Morton recruiting him to do?
The door opened, and Oliver stepped into the room with some bread in his hand. “I just saw Morton leave the building,” he said as he closed the door. “What did he want?”
“He was recruiting me for a special assignment.”
“Which was?” Oliver asked eagerly.
“He didn’t say.”
Oliver groaned. “Does that mean we have to stay in this dilapidated building for another night?”
“Possibly two.”
“I am so displeased by your remark that I might not share this bread with you,” Oliver replied, shaking his head.
“You are free to leave,” Baldwin encouraged. “I told Morton that you were off chasing women.”
Oliver broke the bread and extended half towards him. “I can’t possibly leave you here alone.”
“Why is that?”
“Because you will get yourself killed,” Oliver teased. “After all, I left you alone for only a few hours and Miss Dowding broke your nose.”
“She did not break my nose.”
Oliver chuckled. “It looks pretty swollen from where I stand, and Mother would be furious if it is still swollen for the ball in your honor.”
“That is in three days’ time,” Baldwin said. “I have no doubt that the swelling will go down before then.”
“Let’s hope for your sake it does,” Oliver joked as he sat down on his mattress. “Did Morton give you any hints on the type of assignment that he was recruiting you for?”
“I do know that the crime is punishable by death.”
“That could be a host of things,” Oliver remarked. “Any treasonous activity is punishable by death.”
Baldwin leaned his back against the wall. “He indicated that someone was going to help with the plan.”
Oliver swallowed the bite in his mouth. “Do you think Morton was referring to the French spy?” he asked.
“I don’t know, but it is a promising lead.”
“That it is,” Oliver agreed. “When do you intend to report your findings to Corbyn?”
“I will go later tonight.”
“It’s a good thing Corbyn doesn’t sleep.”
Baldwin rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “I’m getting tired of sleeping on these mattresses.”
“Do you suppose there are more fleas or straw in them?” Oliver asked.
“Fleas, definitely.”
Glancing over at him, Oliver asked, “Do you miss working in France?”
“I resided on Jersey Island, but I traveled back and forth constantly,” Baldwin shared. “I miss the crashing of waves outside my window and the smell of fish on my hands and clothes.”
“The smell of fish?”
“I worked beside a fisherman as my cover,” Baldwin explained. “That is how I traveled to France without being detected.”
Oliver looked at him in amazement. “You failed to mention that in any of your letters.”
“Coded letters do not allow room for trivial information.”
“True, but I must admit that I am having a hard time imagining my brother as a fisherman,” Oliver joked.
Baldwin smiled. “I never said I was good at it.”
The sound of someone dumping the contents of a bucket out the window and into the alleyway caused Baldwin to grimace. “Between the smell wafting up from the alleyway, the thin walls, and the constant cries of children, I don’t know how anyone can get any sleep around here.”
As if on cue, a baby started crying from the floor above them.
Oliver laid his head on the mattress. “The noise doesn’t bother me,” he admitted. “It is the silence that I can’t handle.”
“The silence?”
“That is when I am alone with my thoughts,” Oliver said.
“Is that a bad thing?”
Oliver grew quiet, and Baldwin didn’t press him for a response. Finally, Oliver spoke. “It is for me, when I have to account for all the wrongs that I have done,” he said before rolling onto his side, placing his back towards Baldwin.
Baldwin laid down and stared up at the ceiling. It’s going to be a long night, he thought to himself.
Chapter Ten
Madalene hurried down the steps of her townhouse with a burst of newfound energy. She found herself growing increasingly anxious to see Lord Hawthorne today. She wasn’t entirely sure why, but it most likely had to do with the fact that he was going to teach her how to use a muff pistol. That had to be it. It wasn’t as if she were excited to see him. Heavens, no. The man was insufferable.
Stopping at the mirror in the entry hall, she took a moment to peruse her reflection. She was dressed in a simple white cotton gown with a round neckline, and her hair was pulled back into a tight chignon. She hoped she was properly prepared for the meeting with Lord Hawthorne.
The smell of food wafted out of the breakfast parlor, and Madalene felt her stomach growl in response. It took only a few moments for her to walk into the parlor and step over to the buffet table. She piled her plate high with food and went to sit across from her companion.
Mrs. Foster lowered the newspaper in her hands and greeted her. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” she replied. “Is there anything of worth in the newspaper today?”
Laying the paper on the table, her companion said, “Not particularly. It is just the same articles, day in and day out.”
“What, no noteworthy gossip on the Society page?”
“Lord Hawthorne’s ball is mentioned,” Mrs. Foster shared. “It is to be the event of the Season.”
“Truly?” Madalene asked as she laid her napkin on her lap.
Mrs. Foster nodded. “I must admit that I am looking forward to it.”
“Why?”
“Lady Hawthorne always hosts the most elaborate social events,” Mrs. Foster expressed. “I can’t imagine the ball will be any different.”
“Personally, I am dreading the ball.”
Mrs. Foster gave her a curious look. “Why is that, dear?”
“No doubt I will be forced to dance nearly every set with gentlemen that are far too eager to please me,” Madalene explained.
“Oh, you poor thing,” Mrs. Foster teased. “What a terrible plight you have. You are rich, handsome, and clever. Not to mention, unmarried.”
Madalene leaned to the side as a footman placed a cup of chocolate in front of her. “It is quite the burden to deal with the scheming matchmaking mothers.”
“I can only imagine,” Mrs. Foster said as she reached for her teacup, “but that is why I will be keeping a watchful eye on you. We can’t have a gentleman abscond with you to Gretna Green, now can we?”
“That isn’t likely to happen.”
“I’m afraid it is much more common than you think,” Mrs. Foster remarked, frowning. “Some men are desperate to get their hands on a woman with a fortune.”
“It is a good thing that Lord Hawthorne is teaching me how to use a muff pistol today, then,” Madalene shared.
Mrs. Foster placed her teacup back on the saucer. “What did you discuss yesterday when he came to call?”
“Nothing of importance,” Madalene said vaguely.
Mrs. Foster gave her a look that implied she didn’t believe her. “Why don’t I be the judge of that?”
“We spoke mostly of polite topics.”
“Now I know you are lying to me,” Mrs. Foster stated with a shake of her head. “You hate speaking to gentlemen about polite topics.”
“It is different with Lord Hawthorne.”
“In what respects?”
Madalene pressed her lips together as she attempted to come up with a believable lie. Finally, she settled on the truth. “We are such vastly different people.”
“That you are, but I urge you to use restraint around Lord Hawthorne.”
“Restraint?”
Mrs. Foster gave her a knowing smile. “Lord Hawthorne is a handsome man with a sizeable fortune, but there is something dark about him that I can’t explain. I just don’t want you to become enamored with him—”
“No, no, no,” Madalene spoke over her companion. “I have no interest in Lord Hawthorne.”
“No?”
Madalene shook her head. “Good heavens, no. Whatever gave you that impression?”
“He did come to call on you yesterday,” Mrs. Foster pointed out.
“Lord Hawthorne wanted to discuss something with me privately.”
Mrs. Foster lifted her brow. “What could he possibly want to discuss with you privately? You two are barely acquaintances.”
“It matters not.”
“I don’t like you keeping secrets from me,” Mrs. Foster said, frowning. “It makes me wonder what you are up to.”
“You don’t need to worry,” Madalene assured her. “It is nothing that I am unable to handle on my own.”
“It is my job to worry about you, and I do—incessantly.”
Madalene gave her a reassuring smile. “You have been my favorite companion, and I don’t know what I would have done without you these past six months.”
Mrs. Foster huffed. “I have been your only companion.”
“That makes my statement no less true.”
Graham stepped into the room and met her gaze. “Lord Hawthorne is here to call upon you, Miss. Are you available for callers?”
“I am,” Madalene replied as she reached for her cup of chocolate. “Will you show him to the lawn and inform him that I will be along shortly?”
“Yes, Miss,” Graham said, tipping his head.
After her butler departed, Madalene took a long sip of her chocolate. She returned the empty cup to the table and put her napkin on her plate.
Mrs. Foster leaned back in her chair. “I will be watching you both from the window. Try to avoid doing anything too scandalous.”
Madalene smiled. “I would expect no less from you.”
As she made her way towards the rear of the townhouse, Madalene wasn’t entirely sure which Lord Hawthorne she was going to see today. Would it be the unapproachable side of him, or would it be the pleasant side that she had seen a glimpse of in the drawing room yesterday? She found she rather liked seeing him smile, even if it was only for a moment.
She stepped outside and saw Lord Hawthorne standing on the lawn. He acknowledged her with a tip of his head.
As she came closer, Lord Hawthorne didn’t exactly smile at her, but he didn’t frown at her either. Rather, his expression held an emotion she couldn’t quite decipher. How is he able to mask his emotions so efficiently, she wondered.
“Miss Dowding,” Lord Hawthorne greeted.
She came to a stop in front of him. “Good morning, my lord,” she said. “May I ask how your nose is faring?”
“Tender,” he remarked. “I apologize for calling upon you at such an early hour, but I’m afraid my presence is required at Parliament this afternoon.”
Madalene smiled at him. “I am so pleased that you did,” she replied. “It is no imposition, as I am typically an early riser.”
“You are?”
She nodded. “I prefer riding in the morning, just as the sun comes up. It is peaceful and gives me time to reflect on what I truly want most out of life.”
“Which is?”
“I suppose I want what most people want,” she said, “to find happiness in my life.”
Lord Hawthorne visibly stiffened. “Not everyone is entitled to happiness,” he remarked, his voice gruff.
“I don’t believe that to be true.”
“Then you are incredibly naïve.”
“Perhaps, but I choose to be.”
“There are bad people in this world,” Lord Hawthorne said with a shake of his head, “people that rejoice in others’ misery. Do you suppose they are entitled to happiness?”
“I’m afraid I haven’t had a chance to consider that,” she admitted truthfully.
Lord Hawthorne gestured towards her townhouse and remarked dryly, “You live in a gilded cage, one that keeps you safe from the horrible atrocities of the world. But you have no idea the level of corruption, death, and hatred that spews from every corner of this earth. It is everywhere, and you don’t even have to seek it to find it.”
Hearing the undeniable pain in his words, Madalene asked, “Have you seen this hatred in the world?”
“I have,” he admitted softly. “I have been in the midst of it, and I have seen the devastating effects of it.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Madalene murmured, taking a step closer to him.
Lord Hawthorne watched her with anguish in his eyes, but then he blinked, and his emotions retreated.
He reached behind his back and retrieved a small pistol. “I want to give you this muff pistol,” he said.
Madalene eagerly put her hand out to accept it, but Lord Hawthorne didn’t place it in her hand as she had expected. “There are a few things we need to discuss before you can handle a pistol,” he remarked instead.
“Which are?” she asked, dropping her hand to her side.
“You never point a pistol at anyone unless you have no other option,” Lord Hawthorne stated. “Taking someone�
�s life is not something you should regard lightly.”
“I understand.”
“I don’t think you do,” Lord Hawthorne responded, a solemn look on his face. “Watching the life draining out of a person’s body will forever remain with you. It will haunt you every time you close your eyes.”
Madalene looked at him curiously and was a bit fearful. Lord Hawthorne spoke with such conviction that she had no doubt he had experienced this firsthand.
An image of her mother came to her mind, and Madalene grew solemn. “I understand more than you can possibly know,” she breathed.
Lord Hawthorne gave her a look that implied he didn’t believe her but, thankfully, he didn’t press her. He glanced over at the townhouse and remarked, “I see that Mrs. Foster is watching us rather dutifully.”
Following his gaze, she saw Mrs. Foster standing by the window with her arms crossed over her chest.
“She is rather intense for a companion, is she not?” he continued.
Madalene smiled and waved at Mrs. Foster. “She may be, but she is all that I have left.”
“Oh?”
“Mrs. Foster and my mother grew up in the same village and were dear friends,” Madalene explained. “After her husband died, Mrs. Foster came to live with us and became a second mother to me. Sadly, after a few years, my mother grew sick, and she made Mrs. Foster promise to look after me.”
“That must have been nice, to have someone who could help you navigate through your grief,” Lord Hawthorne remarked.
“It was,” she admitted, “but not a day goes by that I don’t miss my mother.”
“That is to be expected.”
Madalene pressed her lips together as she tried to quell her suddenly raging emotions. She let out a shaky breath before saying, “It has only been six months since my mother died, but I can still remember watching her take her last breath. Her breathing started to become more labored, and then it… stopped.” She blinked back her tears. “And just like that, my mother was gone.”
“You do understand, then,” Lord Hawthorne remarked compassionately.
She offered him a sad smile. “I do, and I hope to never watch another person pass away. It was nearly too much for me to handle.”
