“I wasn't expecting to fool you for long,” Irene said, as she sat back on the sofa. “But you wouldn't have looked twice at us if you’d met us on the streets.”
“Probably not,” Gwen conceded. She knew better than to dismiss civil servants as unimportant, but they were still very much part of the background. “How is Raechel coming along?”
“I’m right here,” Raechel said.
“She is doing better than I expected when playing a female role,” Irene said, ignoring her in favour of Gwen. “She’s still having some problems playing a male role, I’m afraid. That generally takes longer to learn.”
Gwen nodded. It had taken her time to learn to walk and act like a man, even though too many people knew she was a woman for her to try to pretend otherwise. But then, men did tend to react better to people they thought were other men. The more masculine she looked, the better the reception.
“She’s also quite intelligent, if unfocused and untrained,” Irene added. “She definitely has the right attitude for this sort of work, although she might have done better if she’d been raised in a lower-class household. Her tolerance for the simple brutalities of life is alarmingly low.”
“Noted,” Gwen said. She would have to sit down with Raechel, once they were on the ship, and talk about her progress. Right now, there were other matters to worry about. “Do you have her covered?”
Irene nodded. “Officially, Lady Standish is still in a madhouse,” she said. “Russia certainly did a great deal of damage to her mind, I’m afraid. Raechel Slater-Standish will therefore have the distant honour of accompanying Lady Irene Darlington” - she waved a lazy hand at her chest - “to the Americas. Lady Irene will serve as chaperone during this long affair, as she is a distant relation of Lady Standish.”
“Very good,” Gwen said. “And Lord Standish?”
“Has given his approval,” Irene said. “He does not want the burden of a young ward when there is no shortage of work in the Foreign Office.”
Gwen smiled in approval. If a young lady could not be chaperoned by her mother, for whatever reason, it was not uncommon for a more distant female relative to take on the burden of escorting and protecting the girl. She had no doubt there was a Lady Irene Darlington somewhere in the tangled web of families that made up polite society, although she might be surprised by what was being done in her name. Lord Mycroft had quite a few false identities floating around, just waiting for the moment to use them.
“I could just have stayed in London,” Raechel pointed out. “It’s going to look as though I’m in trouble, isn't it?”
“Hardly anyone in America will care,” Irene assured her. “And besides, who could possibly blame Lord Standish for wanting to keep you out of danger?”
“He took me to Russia,” Raechel snapped.
“It wasn't meant to be dangerous,” Gwen reminded her. In truth, she doubted Lord Standish had been offered a choice. “Still, if you don’t want to go ...”
“I do,” Raechel said.
“Then meet us at the ship, as planned,” Gwen ordered. “And make sure you have enough to occupy yourself for three weeks. It’s going to be a long voyage.”
“Don’t worry,” Irene said. She smiled, rather unpleasantly. “I’ll keep her occupied.”
Chapter Seven
“I hope you have a pleasant voyage, Lady Gwen,” Lord Mycroft said, as the carriage rolled to a halt. “And that you reach New York safely.”
Gwen nodded, unable to keep from feeling a little nervous. She’d been on boats before, but she’d never sailed on the ocean. An airship would have been nicer, she was sure, yet she understood why they couldn't take the risk. The chances of surviving an accident at sea were far greater than surviving an airship crash.
“I won’t let you down,” she promised him. “And thank you for driving me down to the docks.”
Lord Mycroft gave her a flicker of a smile. “I can't stay,” he said. He held out a hand, which she shook firmly. “But I do wish you every success.”
Gwen reached out and drew back the curtains. The driver had taken them through the two checkpoints, right up to the docks themselves. HMS Duke of India rose up in front of her, her masts towering up towards the sky. Steam rose from her rear, reminding Gwen that the ship was both a sailing ship and a steamship. Beyond her, four other troopships floated, the troops having been loaded aboard last night. She shuddered, thinking of the cramped conditions the common soldiers would have to endure. Their horses wouldn’t have a good time of it either.
“Thank you,” she said, as she opened the door. “I’ll see you soon.”
She dropped neatly to the ground and walked towards the gangplank. The docks were far up the river, just in case the French tried a repeat of the Dutch raid on the Medway, but the ship was rising up and down slowly anyway. She nodded to the soldier on guard at the bottom of the gangplank, then forced herself to walk up onto the ship. It felt odd beneath her feet, even though she was used to flying through the air. She hoped, desperately, that she wouldn’t fall seasick. The last thing she wanted was to spend the voyage in her cabin, praying desperately for calm seas.
“Lady Gwen, I believe,” a voice said, as she reached the top of the gangplank. “I am Captain Bligh. Welcome aboard.”
Gwen nodded. She’d read his file. Captain Archibald Bligh had a reputation for being a harsh taskmaster - his hard face, scarred and pitted by years in the service, certainly supported it - but there were few seamen more competent. No wonder the Royal Navy had given him command of one of the largest hybrid vessels in the fleet. Behind him, a pair of men stood, both wearing army uniforms. She couldn't help thinking that they could easily have passed for Major Shaw’s twins, although the leader was supposed to be more experienced and competent. She’d read his file too.
“Thank you, Captain,” she said. “It’s a pleasure to be here.”
“We will be sailing with the evening tide,” Bligh informed her. “Colonel Jackson will escort you to your cabin, if you don’t mind. Once we are underway, I will be hosting a small dinner in my cabin. I trust you will be attending?”
“Of course,” Gwen said. She might find herself seasick, but she could wait to make her excuses until she knew she was unable to attend. “Where do you want me?”
“I would prefer that you stayed in your cabin until we were firmly underway, My Lady,” Captain Bligh said. He sounded firm, but there was a faint undercurrent of concern in his words. “The crew have much work to do.”
“I understand,” Gwen said. She doubted she’d be happy with a handful of inexperienced landlubbers running around too. “I’ll wait until I’m called.”
Captain Bligh looked relieved. “Your luggage has already been stowed away,” he informed her. “Colonel?”
Gwen studied Colonel Jackson as he stepped forward, his comrade saluting sharply and then strolling away. Up close, she had to admit that Jackson didn't look that much like Major Shaw, although they did have some features in common. Jackson definitely had more experience, she noted, judging from the campaign ribbons on his chest. And he wouldn’t have been put in command of the reinforcements if there had been doubts about his competence.
“It’s a great pleasure to meet you, My Lady,” Colonel Jackson said. He didn't offer to shake hands, but Gwen wasn’t surprised or offended. Men weren't supposed to shake hands with women, after all. “I was hoping to hear about your time in Russia personally.”
“It was an adventure,” Gwen agreed. She wasn't sure she wanted to talk about it, but she doubted she had a choice. Jackson hadn't been in London during the Swing. If he encountered the undead, he was likely to underestimate them badly. “The Tsar went mad.”
She allowed Jackson to lead her down a ladder and along a long wooden corridor until they reached her cabin. Inside, there was no light, save for a single oil lantern hanging from the ceiling. Gwen hesitated, then generated a light globe of her own, wondering just how Jackson would respon
d to it. His eyes went wide in surprise, but otherwise he showed no reaction at all. He’d probably seen a great deal of magic during his time in the army.
“It’s one of the largest cabins on the ship,” Jackson said, apologetically. “But I’m afraid there are no portholes ...”
“It doesn't matter,” Gwen assured him. The semi-ironclad’s designers hadn't dared include windows, knowing they would be nothing more than cracks in the ship’s armour. “There’s enough room for me.”
“Captain Bligh says we can probably go up on deck once the ship is underway,” Jackson assured her. “I’d go mad if I had to stay in this pokey cabin for more than a few hours.”
Gwen looked around. The cabin wasn't particularly large, but it was clean, although a faint smell she didn't care to identify hung in the air. A chamberpot hung from one of the bulkheads, beside a bucket of clean water. Bathing was going to be difficult, even though she could use magic to heat the water. One of her trunks sat on the deck, the others - as Captain Bligh had said - would be stowed away in the hold. She hoped she wouldn't need anything from them. Three weeks, perhaps longer ... she could endure. She’d endured worse.
“I should be fine,” she said. She cocked her head, wondering if he was flirting with her. It showed incredible nerve, if he was. Even if she hadn't had magic, she was several rungs higher up the social ladder than him. “Is there anything else I should know?”
“Anything you want washed can be put outside your cabin, where it will be cleaned by the crew,” Jackson said. “You didn't bring a maid?”
“No,” Gwen said. Martha had been reluctant to risk setting foot onboard ship, so Gwen hadn't pushed the matter. It wasn't as if she needed assistance to get dressed during the voyage. Besides, space was limited on the vessel. “I don’t need one.”
“Lady Olivier has two maids with her,” Jackson said. “I’m sure she would let you borrow one, if you changed your mind.”
Gwen shrugged. “Who else is onboard ship?”
“So far? Forty-odd passengers, ranging from you to a handful of traders heading to the Americas,” Jackson said. “The remainder should be onboard before the tide.”
“One would hope so,” Gwen said. She looked at the bed, meaningfully. “I’ll get a nap now, if you don’t mind. I’d like to be awake when we leave harbour.”
“I’ll knock on your door to wake you,” Jackson assured her. “Until then, goodbye.”
He bowed, then hurried out the door. Gwen smiled ruefully to herself - she had a feeling she was going to be seeing a great deal of Jackson, even before they reached New York - and then turned to her trunk. The lock had been carefully designed to be impossible to open without magic; carefully, she unlocked the trunk and opened it. A handful of files rested on top of a mound of books and clothes. She couldn't help thinking that, by the end of the voyage, she and the other passengers were going to be very smelly.
Maybe I should have brought a maid after all, she thought. It had really been nothing but stubborn pride that had kept her from ordering Martha to accompany her or simply finding another maid. Officers might have batmen, servants who attended to their needs on campaign ... there was no reason why she couldn't have a maid. But it would have added yet another complication to my life.
Sighing, she took one of the files, sat down on the bed and began to read it. Lord Mycroft’s agent, whoever he was, had done his best to unpick the complex relationships that made up the Viceregal Court, despite a social scene that made London look simple. America was clearly a very odd place. Some of the most powerful men and women in the colonies wouldn’t be considered high on the social ladder in London, even though some of them possessed more land than any Duke in Britain. The networks of patronage, she was starting to suspect, worked differently. Matters weren't helped by a number of American aristocrats giving themselves titles they had no right to have.
It felt like hours before a dull quiver ran through the ship. Jackson banged on the door seconds later, although he didn't come into her cabin. Gwen wished, suddenly, that she could go up on deck, but Captain Bligh’s word was law when his ship was at sea. Putting down the file, she lay on the bed and felt the sensations running through the ship, trying to understand just what was happening. Distant voices shouted out unintelligible commands, followed by more odd movements. A steady thumping noise echoed through the ship. The vessel was clearly leaving harbour.
“Lady Gwen,” Jackson called, tapping the door again. “Do you want to come up to the deck?”
Gwen sat upright, swung her legs over the bed and walked to the door. The deck felt odd under her feet, but she didn’t feel sick. Jackson was waiting on the other side of the door, beaming from ear to ear. It struck her, suddenly, that he’d been nervous that someone higher-ranking would be appointed to the convoy. He’d have lost his first chance at an independent command.
“Keep one hand on the railing until you have your sea legs,” Jackson advised. “The motions will get worse when we get out into the open sea.”
“Thank you,” Gwen said. She could fly, if necessary, although she knew there was no way she could make it from Britain to America. Getting from Oxford to London during the Swing had almost killed her. “How do we get onto the deck.”
“This way,” Jackson said. “We have to stay out of the way.”
They clambered up a wooden staircase and onto a battlement-like structure. A handful of other passengers were already there - Gwen smiled as she recognised Irene and Raechel - watched by a couple of sailors. They didn't seem happy to be near the passengers, Gwen noted, even though Raechel wasn't the only beautiful girl among them. But then, if she recalled correctly, sailors thought that a woman onboard ship was bad luck. She snorted at the thought - how could colonies be established without women? - and then turned her attention to London. The remainder of the city was slipping into the distance at incredible speed.
“The Duke of India is one of the fastest ships in the fleet,” Jackson commented. He stood next to her, just a little closer than was companionable. “The voyage to America will take place in record time.”
Gwen nodded, unwilling to look away from the city as it shrank in the distance. The deck was beginning to heave under her feet now, the ship rising and falling as she cleaved her way through increasingly choppy water. She turned her attention to the forts lining the river banks - the French would be in for a nasty surprise, if they ever dared to raid the Thames - and smiled coldly as she saw a pair of sorcerers hanging in the air above them. London - and England - would be safe while she was gone.
“Tell me something,” Jackson said. The air was growing colder, even though it was midsummer. A number of passengers were already heading back below decks, as if it would be warmer underneath. “What do you do when you’re not the Royal Sorceress?”
“I’m always the Royal Sorceress,” Gwen said. She’d had no end of invitations to balls of one kind or another, but she’d declined most of them. The only one she’d gone to had been with Sir Charles and that had ended badly. “I don’t get time off.”
Jackson gave her an odd look. “There’s no one you can leave in charge, even for a few short hours?”
Gwen shook her head, wordlessly. A man could take time off without it being held against him, but a woman taking time off was considered a sign of weakness. A holiday? There was no way she could take leave without creating the impression that the Royal Sorcerers Corps could get along just fine without her. Who knew what the departmental heads would get up to, if she wasn't keeping a sharp eye on them? It was hard enough leaving Sir James in command while she headed to America ...
“That’s not right,” Jackson said. “You need time to relax.”
“Duty comes first,” Gwen said. “And magic problems can be disastrous if they’re allowed to blossom out of control.”
“Then take the opportunity to enjoy this voyage and relax,” Jackson said. “That’s what I’m going to do.”
Gwen nodded.
The last report from America had made it clear that Franco-Spanish forces were mustering in New Orleans, their northernmost outpost. It wouldn't be long before the enemy advanced north, into territory dominated by slave plantations ... plantations worked by slaves who would no doubt turn on their masters the moment the French made their appearance. And without magical support, the defenders would be badly hampered. She had very little time to relax ...
... But, at the same time, there was nothing she could do until she reached New York.
“I will,” she said. He’d moved a step or two closer to her while she’d been thinking. “And maybe I’ll find something else to do.”
“Take up chess,” Jackson advised. “It’s good for the mind.”
They stood together until a sailor appeared and informed them that Captain Bligh was waiting for them in the officers mess. Jackson grinned at her, then led the way down to the giant compartment, which was illuminated by dozens of brightly burning lanterns. Irene and Raechel were already there, wearing simple clothes, but quite a few of the other passengers were missing. Seasickness had caught up with them already.
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