by Regan Walker
He seemed to accept her explanation. Then, focusing on the sketch of Oliver he added, “It’s an interesting face, this one. From what I’ve learned, the man is a kind of Lucifer whose distinguishing characteristic is first to tempt and then to destroy.”
Kit couldn’t agree more. She’d heard the man encouraging the villagers to rise against the government.
“That would match all we have heard,” announced Martin. “He led good villagers astray, and created a zealot in his protégé Jeremiah Brandreth.”
“Ah…the Nottingham Captain,” said Baines, setting down the sketch of Oliver. “It’s certain that one will hang. Do you have any drawings of him, my lady?”
Kit had not brought all her work to show the editor, but she had the one of Brandreth’s face that reflected his zeal for the rebel cause and offered it to Baines. He studied it for a long moment before saying, “The eyes…you’ve captured something there, I think. Perhaps a bit of fanaticism, no?”
“I could not say, sir,” Kit admitted. “But I did see something unusual—a passion perhaps—and tried to draw it as well as I could.”
Baines handed back the sketches. “My evidence suggests that the government was deeply involved in this uprising, perhaps even to the point of encouraging it. There have been allegations by several of my sources that Oliver, who came up from London, was a government man inciting others to illegal acts!”
“Would that be the focus of your article, Mr. Baines?” Martin asked.
“I intend to follow the thread and unravel this ball of twine. Should the allegation of Oliver being a government spy prove to be true, I will bring it to light.” He focused his next statement on Kit. “Your sketches, my lady, will be a welcome accompaniment to my piece if you will allow me to use them.”
“Our understanding from His Grace,” said Martin, “is that you will not disclose the source of the drawings should you use any. And for my wife’s safety, I’d ask you not to use any that would put her in the scene, such as the meeting she happened to observe. Just the ones of the faces you need.”
“I can do that, certainly. I’ve no desire to render your lady the focus of public attention. No, I will be quite careful. I’ve many a source to protect with this story. Not all want to be revealed. She will not be the only one.”
They agreed upon the few sketches the editor could take with him, and he left a pleased man. Once he was gone, Kit turned and said, “I’m curious, Martin. Why did you agree to our meeting with him?”
“Well, it seemed only right we should help the duke’s friend after Hart’s hospitality, but I was also interested to learn if Baines had uncovered Sidmouth’s scheme. Seems he has. I believe in accountability, Kit. Sidmouth and Castlereagh should not be free from scrutiny, nor their spy Oliver.”
“You said nothing of your own role, my love,” she reminded him.
“No, I’ll be saying nothing of my role. That is the Crown’s secret.”
* * *
The next day, Kit, Martin and John bade the duke goodbye and returned to London. The trip home was uneventful and the weather remained fair for the most part. After the quiet of the country, Town was a jarring assault on Kit’s senses. The noise, the smells and the huge buildings were a decided change from the small white cottages of Pentridge. Even the majesty of Chatsworth had been softened by green slopes dotted with wooly sheep, chirping birds and sweet-smelling country air.
She stepped out of a shop with Mary at her side and let out a sigh as they walked toward the waiting carriage.
“What’s wrong, Kit?”
“Oh, nothing really. It’s just that I did not miss the noise of London and its many foul smells. Derbyshire was so quiet. Even in the midst of a plot to overthrow the government, it was peaceful.”
“I daresay it will take you a while to become accustomed to Town once again,” her companion offered.
“It would be pleasant to have some time with Martin before he is swept into matters of business,” Kit said wistfully.
“Knowing what I do of your husband, Kit, and how very much in love with you he is, I expect you will see much of him despite the Powell family’s tug upon his time.”
“I do hope you are right,” Kit said. “We’ve grown so close.”
* * *
Ormond handed a glass of brandy to Martin and John as they sat conversing in the marquess’s London study. “Mary and I are eager to have you and your bride stay with us for a while, Martin. Can you not spare a week or two?”
Seeing the hope of a positive response on his friend’s face, Martin was reluctant to decline the invitation. “We’ll not be here that long, Ormond. I’ve planned a wedding trip that I’m anxious to begin.” Truth be told, though they had returned only a day ago he was anxious to leave immediately. He wanted his kitten all to himself.
“I do suppose that should come first,” Ormond replied grudgingly. “At least your business for Prinny is done. By the by, how did your meeting with him go today?”
“My wife will be pleased,” said Martin. “The Prince Regent agreed to commute Weightman’s sentence to transportation if he’s convicted, as he is sure to be after it is known he led the rebels halfway to Nottingham.”
“I expect the trial in Derby will be nothing more than the government’s scripted play,” Ormond said from where he perched on the edge of his desk.
“Some of the Derbyshire men will certainly hang, Brandreth foremost among them,” Martin acknowledged with a frown. “Particularly after his slaying of the Widow Hepworth’s servant. The government is intent on assuring there will be no more revolutions in England.”
“A sorry way they went about it,” Ormond muttered.
Martin nodded and took another sip of his brandy, happy to have left the alehouses of Derbyshire behind him. “A sad chapter in our history, indeed.”
“By the by,” said Ormond, “Hart sends his regards and says he is planning a trip to London. Are you certain I cannot persuade you and Lady Powell to linger for his visit?”
“No, though perhaps when we return—”
“My wife will be most anxious to know just where it is you are sweeping her friend. I trust you will disclose that bit of information, won’t you?”
“No, I don’t think I shall,” Martin said with a smile. “Only that it involves a ship.”
“A ship?” said John, face agleam.
“Neither of you are to say one word to my wife until I’ve told her of my plans.”
The two others nodded.
“So, John, you are interested in going to sea?” asked Martin.
“Aye. I am, sir.”
“Well, then. I believe I can arrange for you to crew on one of the Powell ships—say, mine perhaps?”
“’Tis certain I would like that, sir.”
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Ormond interjected with a sigh. “Hart said in his letter he’s seen the Leeds Mercury article on the Pentridge affair. Apparently it’s a rather scathing indictment of Oliver, whom he asserts plainly was a government spy. He cites a printer named Willan as saying Oliver tried to recruit him to the cause. Now that I think of it, with that article published, perhaps it would be best after all if you were not in London. Questions might arise as to the Frenchman Donet.”
Martin perked up. “Save that article for our return, if you will. I am certain Kit and I will want to read it. Some of her drawings may even be featured, though Baines assured me there would be no attribution.”
A knock sounded on the door, followed by Lady Ormond poking in her head. “If you gentlemen can be pried from your brandy, dinner is about to be served and Kit and I are starving!”
“The mother of my child calls,” said Ormond, setting down his glass and walking toward his wife. “We were just about to join you, sweetheart.”
Over dinner, Lady Ormond excitedly told them of her day shopping with Kit. Martin was pleased his wife could spend time with her friend before they left London, and he was delighted to see her again wearing gowns
that befitted her station after the simpler clothing she’d worn in the Midlands. The emerald silk she wore tonight with the amber and pearl necklace he’d given her made her auburn hair sparkle in the candlelight.
“Kit has told me all that happened in the Midlands, Martin,” said Lady Ormond. “Well, most of it. I was not surprised to hear you’d kept your work for the Crown to yourself. You spies are all alike,” she said, giving her husband a side glance. “And that highway attack…it must have been frightening!”
“Actually,” Martin said, smiling at Kit who, he was pleased to see, had the cabochon ruby ring back on her finger, “my wife was very calm through that episode. Told me I was amazing, as I recall.” He grinned mischievously at Kit across the table. Inwardly he’d been proud of her in return. Most females would have whimpered and swooned at the pistol-fire and blood.
“It’s clear to me, husband, that you love the adventure of this business you’re about,” Kit said. Then her gaze settled on Ormond and John sitting next to him and she added, “All of you, I expect. Scoundrels every one.”
“Hear, hear,” said Ormond. At that moment he looked at his wife and said, “But a love of adventure is not limited to us men. As I recall, my own dear wife makes a rather convincing spy.”
“Hmm,” murmured the blonde beauty.
“Our time in the Midlands was an adventure to be sure,” offered John, “though marching all night through the mud with a madman is not something I would soon repeat.”
“I feel sorry for all the families of the men involved,” said Kit. “Some will be hard-pressed to eat if their men are taken from them in punishment.”
“Hart will do what he can to help the people of Pentridge,” said Ormond, now serious, “but there is no doubt the men most involved will face hanging or transportation—or perhaps a further stay in prison. Of course, it is possible at trial they could somehow be found innocent…though that seems unlikely.”
“I would do something for their families,” said Kit, darting a glance at Martin. He could see she was worried and thought she might be considering using the funds that had recently come to her.
“We can work with the curate in Pentridge to assist those families in need, Kit, if it would make you happy.”
Her brilliant smile was aimed at him. “Oh, yes!”
He loved pleasing her, and seeing those blue eyes sparkle at the chance to show kindness warmed his heart. How fortunate he was to have her as his wife.
When the evening was at an end, they bid their friends goodnight and Martin took his wife’s hand and led her to their chamber, the same room in which they’d spent their chaste wedding night. “I’m of a mind to rectify that first night of our marriage, my love, when we shared this same bed but with little…activity.”
Kit began to take the pins from her hair, letting her long auburn tresses cascade down her back. “Whatever do you mean?”
Shedding his coat and waistcoat, he wondered if the vixen knew how alluring she was. In the few months he’d known her he had come to love the way she could toss her beautiful mane of auburn hair and look up at him so innocently as she was doing now. From that first night at Willow House, he’d been enthralled, captivated. Tonight was no different.
“You know well my purpose here, Kitten. I intend to give you a new memory of our time in this room.”
Then he took her into his arms and kissed her soundly, slipping her gown from her shoulders. With knowing fingers, he turned her and unlaced her corset. Once divested of that garment, she turned and ran her hands over his shirt, sending ripples of desire through him. Between playful kisses, they removed the remainder of their garments. Naked and laughing, they raced together for the bed.
* * *
The next morning was a sunny one. Kit had been told nothing of their errand. Martin was being quite mysterious. After a brief ride to the waterfront, the carriage stopped, and through the window Kit watched as the footman hurried to open the door. Martin stepped down then assisted her, asking the coachman to wait.
Kit took his hand, held her skirt with the other hand, and looked up to see a long line of ships lying at anchor in the river.
“Oh, no, ma chère, not yet,” said Martin with a chuckle. “I must cover your eyes until I am ready for you to see my surprise.” And with that he drew a black scarf from his coat pocket and loosely tied it around her eyes. “Ormond lent me his scarf.”
She felt him wrap his arm around her waist, and then he led her along beside him. She was anxious to see the surprise. Martin had rarely shown this much excitement for anything save the night they consummated their marriage…well, and last night. The thought warmed her.
So, this must be something special. Slowly he guided her along the quay. Gulls shrieked in the background.
Soon he stopped, turned her toward the water and removed the scarf. “All right, Kitten. Open your eyes.”
Kit slowly opened her eyes and blinked. In front of her was a beautiful sleek schooner, its sails furled. The hull was dark blue and, from what she could see, the wood of the two masts was polished and new. Martin stood behind her, wrapped his arms about her waist and drew her in to his chest. Her gaze drifted over the ship.
She could feel the tension in his body and wondered what she was supposed to see. Was his surprise a ship? And then she saw. The name on the bow.
The Sea Kitten.
It must have been the stillness of her stance that made him ask, “Do you like it?”
His voice was eager yet unsure, and Kit smiled to herself, emotion welling up in her throat. She was more like her mother than she realized. When she’d had the power to choose that day Martin asked her to marry him, without knowing it she had chosen love, and she had chosen a man more like her father than she’d have guessed. Both this man and her father would risk all to have the woman they loved by their side. But, unlike Kit’s father, Martin understood her. His love for her was perfect and accepting.
Yes, she was pleased. Very pleased. And at that moment she sensed Anne would be happy for her. Kit would live the dream they both wanted, a man to love them and bring them children. If they had a daughter, she would name the child after Anne.
Turning in his arms, she stared into her husband’s indigo eyes. “Yes, I do. I like it very much. When…when did you do this?”
“Ah. That morning after we were married, recall I disappeared for a while? Just long enough to make certain my schooner under construction was…modified. The captain’s cabin now has a larger shelf bed. And the name, of course. Did you see the figurehead?”
Kit gazed again at the ship and saw the carved wooden figure of a woman’s head. It was not an exact picture of her; still, the auburn hair that flared out behind the carved figure in wild abandon and the blue eyes were hers. Yet the body—the body was that of a red tabby.
She turned back to Martin. “The cat?”
He chuckled. “Why do you think I call you Kitten?”
She laughed. “I see.”
“I only wanted to hint at your beauty, Kit, and capture your fire. I think the tribute is fitting. The ship is for you. For us.”
“Oh, Martin,” she said with a sigh, turning back to view the schooner and leaning against his chest. “She’s beautiful. I think I have even grown fond of that name you call me.”
He drew her against him and wrapped his arms around her. “Ah, mon chaton,” he whispered into her ear, “come away with me, my love.” He nuzzled her neck, sending shivers down her spine. “I will show you white sand beaches and blue lagoons. We’ll make love in the warm tropical waters of another land.”
She glanced again at the ship and then turned away from the gift and back to the giver. Martin’s handsome face now wore his usual grin. Raising her gaze to his eyes, she wanted him to see all the love she had in her heart. Reaching up, she brushed aside the stray lock that had blown across his forehead and said, “I want those days with you, my love, my knight—all of them.”
His grin became a tender smile
. “Then you shall have them, Kitten.” And he kissed her for all the world to see.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
After the war with France ended in 1814, England suffered from great social, economic and political problems. Many of the major issues were a direct result of the war, but others were the necessary product of changes occurring throughout society, some of which had begun earlier. The discontent that this change brought, and the distress in the lives of the working people, culminated in the series of events that occurred during 1811-1819, including the attack on the Prince Regent’s carriage, the March of the Blanketeers and the Pentrich Rebellion in 1817. (Pentridge is the old name for Pentrich.) Dubbed “The Last Revolution in England,” the Pentrich Rebellion was just what the leaders of the British government needed to justify sending a strong signal to the masses that no uprising would be tolerated in England such as occurred in France.
Lord Sidmouth, the Home Secretary, did send spies throughout England, including the Midlands. Among them was William Richards, better known as William Oliver or Oliver the spy, who became an agent provocateur inciting open rebellion where there might have been only discontent. Thus the men who rose that day in June 1817 did indeed fight against the wind—the power of the Crown. They stood not a chance. But for Oliver’s lies, they might have realized that truth.
Years after the events, in a letter written in 1831, Lord Melbourne, a former Home Secretary, recalled that there was “much reason to suspect that the rising in Derbyshire…was stimulated, if not produced, by the artifices of Oliver, a spy employed by the Government of that day.”
Notwithstanding the circumstances of the uprising and the involvement of the British government, the powers in London decided to make an example of the rebels. Forty-five men were tried for high treason by Special Commission. Three were hanged, including Jeremiah Brandreth, Isaac Ludlam and William Turner, all characters in my story. Fourteen were sentenced to transportation to Australia, including George Weightman, who lived to the ripe old age of 73. Several others were imprisoned.