Sons of Liberty

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  Raechel glanced at him. “Is that normal?”

  “I spent two years in the West Indies, once I was commissioned,” Fredrick said. “There weren't any steamships on station, not back then. We sailed around the Caribbean, chasing pirates and smugglers while keeping a sharp eye on the French. One of my commanding officers even insisted on surveying the waters around Cuba, in preparation for the war.”

  “That must have been grim,” Raechel said.

  “It was,” Fredrick said. “The weather was hot and moist, disease spread rapidly ... going on shore leave was a good way to wind up on medical leave. And most of the planters wouldn’t give us the time of day. I think they were deeply involved with the smuggling trade.”

  Raechel frowned, unsure how to proceed. “What do you think will happen in New York?”

  Fredrick smiled. “I don’t know for sure,” he said. He wrapped an arm around her, very gently. “We could die tomorrow, you know.”

  “I hope not,” Raechel said. She leaned into his arm as cold air blew across the water. “What do you think will happen?”

  “The real problem with moving troops and supplies around America is the sheer size of the territory,” Fredrick said. “There’s a railway between New York and Amherst, but it isn’t large enough to cope with military supplies. I think we’ll be moving the troopships south, after we’ve had a chance to rest and exercise the horses. Amherst isn’t the closest place to the French, but it has the best seaport.”

  He paused, his arm tightening slightly. “Unless Colonel Jackson wants to try to land near New Orleans,” he added. “The French must have similar problems of their own.”

  “I see,” Raechel said.

  She looked up at him and found him looking back at her. He was learning forward, very slightly ... it would have been easy to draw back, but instead she allowed him to bring his lips to hers and kiss her. Irene had been right, she realised, as the kiss deepened. Once she’d grown used to male company, it was easy to let herself kiss other men. His breathing quickened, deep in his throat, as he pulled her into a tight embrace, his hands running down her back. He was inexperienced, part of her mind noted. His touch was rougher than it needed to be.

  And how far, she asked herself, does he expect to go?

  She felt ... cold. There was none of the thrill of doing something she knew would horrify her aunt, there was none of the delight of doing something that would upset society ... even the prospect of being caught by a wandering sailor didn't excite her. She could feel his excitement, pressed against her body, but ...

  Fredrick let go of her and jumped backwards. “My Lady ...”

  Raechel turned sharply, then felt a wave of Déjà Vu. Gwen was standing there, looking ... shocked.

  “Return to your duties,” Gwen ordered, coolly. It wasn't her job to issue orders onboard ship, but Fredrick didn't look as though he wanted to dispute it with her. “Raechel, come with me.”

  Chapter Nine

  Gwen fought hard to keep her anger under control, but it was difficult. She’d expected better, somehow, after Raechel had matured in Russia. She wasn't the girl Gwen had plucked from the arms of Captain Parker, her dress around her waist and his hands on her breasts, not any longer. And yet, Gwen had caught her with the First Mate! Didn’t Raechel have a lick of sense?

  “Tell me,” she said, once they were in her cabin with the door firmly closed. “What were you thinking?”

  Raechel met her eyes. “I was thinking that I was doing as I was told!”

  Gwen blinked. “By Irene?”

  “Yes,” Raechel said. “She wanted me to see what I could coax Fredrick into telling me.”

  “I see,” Gwen said, finally. Unfortunately, she believed Raechel. Seducing someone to learn his secrets was precisely what Irene did, among other things. “And did she tell you the dangers?”

  “I’m not going to get pregnant,” Raechel protested. “You warned me about that, didn't you?”

  “Your reputation will also be dented,” Gwen pointed out. “And that could harm you in the future.”

  Raechel glared at her. “And what if I decide I don’t care?”

  “You do not have the luxury of putting your reputation aside,” Gwen said. She could do it, if she had any ladylike reputation left after dressing as a man and doing a man’s job. Raechel, without magic and the ward of a powerful family, had far less freedom. “And what would it do to him?”

  She sighed, feeling her head start to pound. “What will you say to him when he asks you to marry him? Or when his family goes to your uncle and asks for your hand in marriage?”

  “I will say no,” Raechel said. “Does it matter what we do together?”

  “It might,” Gwen said. “What happens if he tells everyone what you did together?”

  She ground her teeth in irritation. A man could have a dozen lovers, if he wished; he could go to a brothel, lure the maid into bed or even keep a mistress. No one would care, even if he had a whole secret family of bastard children. But a woman? A woman had to guard her chastity - and then her virtue - with care, knowing that one slip would mean disgrace and utter ruination. Fredrick Hauser would be believed, she was sure, because Lord Standish’s enemies would want to believe him. And Raechel’s life would come to an end.

  “I don’t think he would,” Raechel said.

  “Men have done stupid things before,” Gwen pointed out. How many problems had she had to solve, as Royal Sorceress, that started with one of her magicians doing something stupid that involved a woman? “If he wound up so angry, so hurt, he might lash out at you without thinking about the consequences to himself.”

  If indeed there were any consequences, she added, silently.

  “Captain Parker understood,” Raechel said, sullenly.

  “Captain Parker was at least a decade older than you,” Gwen said, remembering the airship captain. She had no idea what had happened to him, after they returned from Russia. “I don’t think the First Mate is more than a year or two older than you.”

  She shook her head. “It’s madness.”

  “Irene told me to do it,” Raechel said. “And I did learn something useful ...”

  Gwen snorted. “Useful to whom?”

  Raechel glared. “And you have been talking to Colonel Jackson!”

  It took all of the mental discipline Gwen had mastered, over a year of dealing with men who thought she was too young or too female for her job, to keep from slapping Raechel as hard as she could. How dare she? She liked talking to Jackson, but she wasn't inclined to see him as a potential husband.

  “Colonel Jackson and I,” she said with icy calm, “have not been alone together. I have not been to his cabin and he has not been to mine. We have never put ourselves in a compromising position. You, on the other hand, were seen leaving with Fredrick by everyone at the dinner table! They will believe, I am sure, that you and he did compromise yourselves.”

  “I’m going to have a word with Irene,” she added, before Raechel could think of a cutting response. “And you are going to stay here until I do.”

  Raechel nodded, shortly. Gwen eyed her for a long moment, hoping that Raechel would have the common sense to do as she was told, then turned and stalked out of the cabin. It wasn't a long walk to the cabin Irene and Raechel shared, but she dawdled, deliberately, to get her temper under control. Irene could probably sense her anger from the other side of the ship, if she happened to be letting her talent run wild. She’d probably want to keep an eye on Raechel and Fredrick from a distance.

  She tapped sharply on the door, then opened it. Irene was sitting at her desk, reading one of the innumerable files Gwen had passed to her. She looked up as Gwen entered, her eyebrows rising in silent inquiry. Gwen felt a touch on the outskirts of her mental defences, a questing tendril trying to sneak into her mind. She pushed back, tightening her defences, as she closed the door. Irene should know better than to try to read her mind.

 
“She was kissing Fredrick when I found her,” she said, without preamble. Irene would know what she was talking about. “Did you put her up to it?”

  “She needed to practice,” Irene said, flatly. There was no hint of guilt in her voice. “Did you have a few words with the young man?”

  “I told him to go back to his duties,” Gwen said. She kept her anger firmly under control, knowing that it would damage her shields if she allowed it to run free. “What were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking that Raechel needed to practice,” Irene said. She rose, slowly. “Or did you imagine that she would be able to remain ... unsoiled by the gritty realities of the job?”

  Gwen glared at her. “And her reputation?”

  “Doomed,” Irene said. “I imagine it won’t be long before her reputation is tainted, no matter what happens. She can either marry and live a blameless life or work for the Crown. If the latter, people will start to question her sooner rather than later.”

  “You were tainted from the start,” Gwen snapped. It wasn't fair, but she was past caring. “I don’t think she’s tainted ...”

  “She surrendered her virginity two years ago, shortly after she entered the care of her aunt and uncle,” Irene said, coolly. “Since then, she has had sex with five other men, all members of her outlandish club. She has also gone very close to crossing the line with a number of other men and two women. Her reputation has only survived, I suspect, because of her uncle’s power. Very few people would dare to whisper about his family without real proof.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Or do you feel that lower-class women are tainted from birth?”

  Gwen recoiled, honestly shocked. She’d known that Raechel had a taste for male company - it had been obvious from the first day they’d met - but she hadn’t realised just how far Raechel had gone. She had to have been mad. A pregnancy would have been utterly disastrous, proof that she’d jumped well over the line. Even if she’d been raped, after being beaten into submission, she would have been blamed. Far too many men believed it was impossible to rape a virtuous woman.

  “I didn't know,” she stammered, finally.

  “Of course not,” Irene said. “You didn't want to know.”

  She cleared her throat. “I repeat my earlier question,” she said. “Do you feel that lower-class women are tainted from birth?”

  “No,” Gwen said. She wasn't entirely sure where Irene came from, but she rather doubted Irene had been born an aristocrat. Singing on the stage was a profession that was firmly closed to anyone above the middle classes. “But Raechel ...”

  “Needs to understand just what she’s getting into before it’s too late,” Irene said, firmly. “Or what’s getting into her, for that matter.”

  Gwen blushed. “You are not to order her to have sex with anyone. Or to use her wiles to manipulate people.”

  Irene quirked her eyebrows. “You mean, not to do what women have been doing since time out of mind?”

  “Explain,” Gwen ordered.

  “You know as well as I do that men have all the power in the family,” Irene said. She shrugged, meaningfully. “What little power women have is only theirs as long as the men are prepared to allow it. There are very few legal protections for women - and if they don’t have powerful families who are prepared to back them up, they’re in trouble. Women have been learning to manipulate men since Adam and Eve. It’s the only way to protect themselves.”

  “Perhaps, if women weren't so vindictive to their fellow women, they would find it easier,” Gwen snarled.

  “But a woman who stands outside convention is a threat to her fellow women,” Irene said, tartly. Her face shadowed for a long moment. “You know what happened in Bohemia, Lady Gwen.”

  “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.”