"Castlereagh actually said in his introduction to the legislation, that ‘every meeting for radical reform is an overt act of treasonable conspiracy against the King and his government.’
"And Sidmouth declared in the House of Lords that ‘a conspiracy existed for the subversion of the constitution in church and state, and of the rights of property...’"
"So anyone who says one word against the government is a traitor?"
"To their reactionary way of thinking, yes."
"I can't believe England has come to such a pass."
"Believe it. And now that Prinny is king, I fear it will only get worse. There have been few enough checks and balances in the past few years. Now old King George is really dead, not merely incapacitated for a time, they have it all, and mean to keep it."
"So I see. And are committing worse violations to the rights of the common people than Napoleon ever did, all in the name of keeping this country safe," she said with a rueful shake of her head.
Alistair nodded, and gripped her hand hard. "You can see why I’m so worried about my friends now. The Rakehells have always been Radicals and men of principle. Randall Avenel, the Earl of Hazelmere, has never crossed the floor. He started out as a Whig like his father before him, but has maintained his independence even in the face of strong pressure. Randall could potentially sway a lot of other in the Lords to vote as their conscience dictates, not as their party does.
"As for Thomas, he’s been a Radical since he was in knee breeches. He fought against Bonaparte for three years in Portugal and Spain, until he was injured and discharged. He’s a real hero to many."
"All the more reason for the Tories to hate him," she pointed out, before taking another sip of tea.
"Aye. And like Randall, Thomas is totally incorruptible. Now something else occurs to me as well. Randall’s brother Michael should have been Earl. He’s still alive and is one of the heroes of Toulouse, where he was badly wounded. And he's always been an ardent Radical. It isn’t too far-fetched to be worried about him too.
"Finally, we have Jonathan Deveril and his brother-in-law Alexander Davenport. Jonathan is a Radical vicar who vocally denounced the practices of the recruting officers in his area right when the war against the French was at its height."
"Oh my."
"Alexander is a French emigre with a rather murky background whom we went to Oxford with. He was blind and injured when he turned up back in England. With both his older brothers dead, his remaining relatives were all trying to kill him to get hold of his estates in Dorset and Somerset."
"How dreadful."
"Even worse, he has a two-year gap in his memory which to my knowledge has never been satisfactorily filled. He would be a prime candidate for accusations of treason if ever there was one."
"A French sympathiser, eh?"
"So they would say when they went after him."
"As bad as a Radical barrister with a social conscience," she pointed out quietly.
"I know," he admitted with a sigh.
"And then there's Thomas’s cousin the Duke of Clancar over in Ireland. He doesn’t sit in the House too often, but he too has powerful friends and is a Radical. He's also a former Army man, also with some shady dealings in his past."
"Oh?"
"His lands were nearly invaded by the French not long ago. His and Thomas’, actually."
Viola put down her fork, all pretence of eating at an end. "Well, we might all have, er, shady backgrounds, as you put it, if people are looking for something to accuse people of."
"That's just what I'm worried about," he admitted, stroking the backs of her fingers. "I'm afraid this goes way beyond Gribbens and your brother. The plain fact is, if the Foreign or Home Office wants to find a few scapegoats to round up, they could decimate the entire Rakehell set in one fell swoop."
"Then we need to warn them," Viola said firmly.
"How? They’ll be watching everyone, if only to be sure I’m dead. You’ll be as good as if they catch you."
"Lawrence can help, and my plan—"
"Will get us killed!" he said, pushing back from the table in exasperation. "And sooner than we think. They must be on to us if Castle was there."
"Not necessarily," she said with a shake of her head. "It could just have been a coincidence."
He plowed on as if he hadn’t heard her. "And while no one will make a fuss in my case, I hate to think what will happen to my friends."
"Don’t you think I do as well?" Viola asked angrily. "To your friends, and to this whole country? This is dreadful. We have to do something."
"I want you to run like hell and not look back."
"I can't! Even if I wanted to, which I don't. I'm not leaving you and Sebastian and George or the rest of your friends in this, this cesspool these reactionary old fools are digging for us all."
"So what do you suggest?"
"Look, I know your worried, but we mustn't let our fears, your nightmare, get the better of you."
He blushed.
"We need to hold our nerve, darling. So far my plan has worked better than I could have hoped. If they knew it was you, not Alan Goodwood, why not just grab you outside chambers? Why send us to that meeting place?"
"True, but still—"
"So please, Alistair, I know you're worried, but let's not do anything hasty. Let's just stay calm, and hold steady. I know it’s hard, but Castle and the men he's working for have to be stopped."
"From doing what?"
Viola shook her head. "I have no idea! But we’re going to swill gin, and find out before it’s too late."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
When they had finished their meal, Viola asked the question which had preoccupied her for some time.
"So where are the Spencean Philanthropists now?"
Alistair gave a sweep of his hand, then sat back in his seat with a sigh. "Out there somewhere, no doubt wanting to seek vengeance for what happened at Peterloo is my best guess. With Castle lurking, I can only think they’re being tricked again in some way."
"Surely they wouldn’t have anything to do with him after—"
He shook his head. "No, but his presence means that others have infiltrated the organisation. They wouldn’t have given up. Who knows how many police and Home Office spies are all mixed up with this.
"All I know is they’ve tried to wipe my existence from the face of the earth and have made me a wanted man. And they could very easily do the same thing again, incite the group to act foolishly."
"But do they really pose so much of a threat?" Viola asked incredulously.
Alistair shrugged in resignation. "Things are very uncertain with the King so recently dead. It was one thing when Prinny was Regent. Then his excesses didn’t seem to matter so much.
"But they hated him enough to try to assassinate him back at the end of January 1817. They mobbed his carriage after the State opening of Parliament. The windows were smashed either by stones or pellets from an air-gun, and the government believed that a revolution was imminent.
"They suspended Habeas Corpus, prohibited so-called seditious meetings, and Sidmouth ordered the Lords Lieutenant to apprehend all printers, writers and teachers responsible for ostensibly seditious and blasphemous material."
"So then there were more protests?" she guessed.
He put his arm around her and held her close for a brief moment. "In Manchester. The March of the Blanketeers that March. The weather was bad so everything fizzled out, but they arrested the leaders."
"Blanketeers?" she asked, her cup poised to her lips.
Alistair longed to kiss her senseless, but replied steadily, "They were cotton workers from the factories and brought a blanket each to sleep in."
"I see."
"I know of one more example of the spies stirring up discontent on purpose. There was also the Pentrich Rising in June 1817. I got word afterwards that a man called Oliver went to Pentrich up north disguised as an unemployed worker, found discontent, and so in
cited the villagers to rebellion. He made arrangements for an armed march for them to air their discontents, then informed the local militia of an ‘armed rising’.
"Arrests were made of the men under the pretext that a supposed ‘revolution in the making’ had been discovered. Six men were hanged. Then Oliver went on to Leeds to try to do exactly the same thing."
"My God, the fiend!"
"Fortunately he didn’t succeed a second time. Edward Baines, the proprietor of the Leeds Mercury followed the spy’s activities, and luckily for the town of Leeds, exposed him. The government was embarrassed, and Oliver disappeared. It wouldn’t be at all surprised if he’s involved in this too somehow."
"But why encourage people to rebel if the government is so afraid of it?" Viola asked in confusion.
"To get rid of the leaders. To show they are in control. And also to provide a salutory reminder of what happens if people dare try to commit treason.
"Then there is filthy lucre as well. The spies are paid on results, the number of arrests, the number of dangerous men gotten rid of one way or the other."
Her delicate brows shot up. "You mean they’re sending these men to their deaths in order to get a bigger wage packet?" she said in horror. "This really is too much. They have to be stopped."
He nodded. "They shall be, if I can help in any way. Because there’s one thing they forgot when they dismantled my life and stripped me of everything.
"What's that?" she asked with a shiver.
"If I’m dead, I can’t go on trial. Since everything I once valued is gone, I have nothing to lose. Add to that them having murdered Philip and his family, and I not only have nothing to lose, I have a burning desire for revenge."
"But you're not really dead, darling—"
He kissed her hand. "I’ve always tried to uphold the law, Viola. It’s been my life’s work. Now I have no qualms about breaking it if it means justice for all the innocents they killed."
Viola’s eyes widened. "Talk like that will get you killed."
"I can’t just sit by and do nothing."
"We won’t. But I’m not going to let you throw your life away," she hissed, taking his hand once more and squeezing it hard. "I’ll gladly help. We’ll find out where the Spenceans are, what they’re planning. Warn them they’ve been compromised yet again."
"The only trouble is that Thistlewood is such a hot head," he grumbled.
"Then we need to try to get him to see reason, or enlist the aid of the others. Watson, wasn’t it? He was the notional leader in the beginning, correct?"
Alistair nodded.
"What’s he like?"
Alistair thought for a moment as he sipped his tea.
At length he said, "He was born in Scotland in about 1770, and trained as a doctor in Edinburgh. As a young man Watson moved to London where he worked as a apothecary. He was always steady, reliable.
"Once he got to London, Watson developed Radical political views and became a follower of Thomas Spence. After Spence’s death in 1814 Watson and Thistlewood helped form the Society. I’ve told you about Spa Fields and how Castle duped him."
"Yes."
"Last I heard, he was splitting from Thistlewood because he was too extreme, and proposing a plan to develop a parliament for non-represented people. He’s been writing pamphlets about his ideas, which are being distributed for free throughout the industrial areas of Britain."
"I see. It's a noble vision."
Alistair nodded. "In these tracts he urges the formation of Unions of Non-Represented People. So far as I know, there are some groups set up in the large towns. But they’re not supposed to be revolutionary, simply working within the confines of the parliamentary system."
"Have they any hope of succeeding, do you think, if all you've told me about Sidmouth is true?"
He shrugged one shoulder, and helped himself to another hot buttered muffin. "At the very least they might succeed in widening the franchise so as to gain universal male suffrage. I don’t think he’s armed and dangerous. Though the government might claim he was, of course. Planting or supposedly discovering a cache of weapons is easily done.
"Truthfully, I think he actually has more realistic problems than that. He can only avoid the tax on his pamphlets if he distributes them for free. At the end of 1818 Watson was imprisoned for debt. He’s probably still in Queer Street one way or the other. I know he’s become more popular after Peterloo."
"Do you think we could find him, warn him?"
"We can ask around vaguely."
"And would he speak to you?" she wondered aloud.
Alistair nodded. "Oh, yes. We got along fine. He has no reason to mistrust me, and I respect him for trying to gain his goals peacefully."
"All right, we have a plan," Viola said with obvious eagerness. "We go on the pub crawl, find out where Thistlewood and Watson are. We approach Watson with our theory he is being played with like a mouse by a fierce tabby with huge claws, and try to get them to see reason."
"I like your image, my dear. Yes, there’s something ruthlessly feline about these ministers. It does rather remind me of all the old dowagers and fearsome Mamas flanking either side of the room at a ball."
Viola smiled wistfully. "I haven’t been to one of those in years."
"I promise you, love, when all of this is over, you’re going to dance until you drop from exhaustion."
Viola sighed and shook her head. "I don’t care about our loss of place in society so much any more. And now that you’ve told me all the vile things that have been going on in this country, I don’t wish to go back to that vain, empty-headed life of the Ton, full of affectation and utterly lacking in morality or scruples. Watson is right. Until every adult in the land is allowed to vote, and get a fair trial, we will never have peace."
Alistair smiled warmly. "My God, another Rakehell."
"I’m the wrong gender."
"Well, their wives are also pretty active in social causes," he pointed out, his brows knitting.
She took his hand once more. "You really are worried, aren’t you?" she asked softly.
"I am. Philip and his wife are dead because I simply turned up at the wrong place at the wrong time. Those poor children."
"Or you could say it was the right place. That only you can stop this."
"Stop it? Look at all they've done already! The attempt on my life? My chambers being burnt to a cinder, my home too? These men will stop at nothing."
"All the more reason to stand up to them."
He sighed heavily. "I don't know if I can. Something died inside me that night. I don’t think I could stand losing Thomas or any of the others. Or you."
"You won't! I'm right here, darling." She leaned forward to kiss him.
He cupped her cheek tenderly. "So you promise me, Viola, at the least sign of trouble tonight, you run like hell. You have money for a cab, you go to The Three Bells, or to Lawrence, or to the clinic in Bethnal Green if you’re injured. Explain who you are and ask them to help you."
"But if they’re after all the Rakehells, nowhere is safe."
"What, you mean they think the clinic for prostitutes is a hot bed of intrigue?" Alistair laughed.
Viola lifted her chin. "It could be. Women want a better world for their children, don’t they? And those women have every reason to be discontent. And it’s funded with Rakehell money, after all."
"But it’s not political!"
"But they meet there. Lots of women. And you’ve mentioned reading lessons to me."
"Oh, good God. You have me seeing threats everywhere now," he groaned.
"Do you want me to go warn them?" she suggested, biting her lower lip.
"You? Why you?"
Viola rolled her eyes. "Because I make a better quean than you do. No one will think much of a frowsy whore going in there, but a towering giant of a man like you? We can’t run the risk of them wondering about Mr. Goodwood."
Alistair considered her words carefully for a moment, then said,
"There’s a back way in through the boiler room. It might be safer telling them than trying to see Lawrence Howard. As you know, I most certainly don’t trust George to warn them.
"But this could kill two birds with one stone. Antony Herriot can contact all the Rakehells, tell them to stay close to home and not trust anyone they don’t personally know, no matter how important a personage they might seem."
The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 5 Page 86