Rebel Mechanics (14 page)

He patted me on the shoulder. “Easy, Verity. Come, you should sit down.” He got me settled on the nearest bench and sat next to me, holding my hand. With a grin, he said, “That's intelligence, not news. My dearest Verity, you've just become the most valuable spy in our organization.”

“A spy?” I squeaked, startled enough by what he said that I barely noticed him holding my hand. “I'm not a spy. I was just warning you so you'd know to stay out of their way.”

“You've brought us intelligence from within the enemy camp. That makes you a spy.”

If someone had told me when I left New Haven that I would become a rebel spy, I would have found the idea preposterous. But it had come about in such small steps—accepting the ride, helping Nat, being rescued by Alec, becoming friends with Lizzie, going to the rebel party, escaping from the police, writing the article, and now reporting what I'd heard from the governor. Each step had seemed so easy and had led to the next, larger step. That was the way my pastor said sin worked, but I didn't think this was a sin. It couldn't be wrong to protect people I cared about.

“I'm not spying, not really,” I whispered, but whether I was talking to myself or to Alec, I wasn't sure.

He grasped my hand and placed his other hand on top of it. “Verity, listen to me,” he said. “I would never ask you to do anything dangerous, but your position gives you access to important people, and that means you may overhear things that could help us or keep us out of trouble. You haven't been sworn to secrecy, have you?”

“No,” I admitted.

“Then it's their fault if they talk in front of you as though you weren't there.”

I nodded, feeling increasingly aware of his hands clasping mine. He stood and pulled me to my feet. “And now, I believe you are a governess with a free hour. Shall we take a stroll in the park? We can discuss my plans for a steam-powered brick-throwing machine. I would hate to disappoint the governor.” He tucked my hand into the crook of his elbow, and we set off down the park path, laughing as we came up with ideas for silly machines he could invent. By the time I returned home, I'd nearly forgotten that I'd unwittingly become a rebel spy.

The next afternoon, Mr. Chastain, the butler, brought me a letter that had come in the post. It was from Lizzie. She made no reference to the information I'd given Alec or the fact that I hadn't written an article about the governor's lavish lifestyle. She merely invited me to come along on an outing the Mechanics were planning that Sunday and to spend Saturday night with her so we could get an early start. They were going to use the steam engine to take poor children from the slums to the park on the Battery for a picnic and a demonstration of some machines.

That was the day and place the general had planned to begin the show of military force.

 

IN WHICH I ATTEMPT PERSUASION

I rushed to the park to look for Lizzie or Alec the moment I was free on Friday afternoon, but they were nowhere to be found. I went to the coffee shop where Lizzie and I had met, and the proprietor acted as though he'd never heard of her. I thought the Mechanics were mad to taunt the British with their outing, and they were putting children's lives at risk, but I had no way to reach them. My only hope was to meet Lizzie at the appointed time and try to make them see reason then.

After dinner that evening, I played the piano in the schoolroom in an attempt to quiet the turmoil in my brain. I played as though it was a dexterity drill, my fingers precisely plinking out the notes. I was so focused on the music and on the arguments swirling around in my head that I didn't notice I had an audience until I glanced up and saw Lord Henry leaning against the piano. All ten of my fingers simultaneously hit their respective keys, sounding a dissonant chord.

“Perhaps we don't need the music teacher, after all,” he said cheerfully. “I had no idea you were so talented, Miss Newton.”

“I wouldn't presume to teach Flora,” I said, leaning back from the keyboard and placing my hands in my lap. “She could probably teach me. I play notes. I don't make music.”

“I thought it sounded wonderful, very fiery. Is something troubling you, Miss Newton?”

“Troubling me?” Although I tried to sound innocent, I feared my quavering voice gave me away. “Whatever gave you that impression?”

He nodded toward the piano. “I recognize the habit. I had music lessons as a boy, but now the only time I ever play is when I'm troubled. Occupying one's hands and one's concentration frees the mind to truly think.”

I looked up at him, studying his guileless face and the innocent blue eyes behind the scholarly glasses, trying to read what he might really be saying. Did he know something about my activities, or was he merely being perspicacious? “Yes, that's it exactly,” I said, trying to match his guilelessness. “In this case, however, the trouble is not mine. A friend has asked my advice, and I wanted to think before I spoke to her.”

His brow furrowed. “Is your friend in trouble?”

Not yet,
I thought. Out loud, I said, “Her dilemma involves the attentions of a young man.” I thought that would keep someone like Lord Henry from prying further.

It appeared to work. “Oh, yes, I see,” he said. “I'm sure you'll give very wise advice.” Still, though, he kept his focus on me in a way that indicated he wasn't sure he'd heard the whole story—or the truth.

“Incidentally,” I said before he could formulate another question, “are you opposed to my being away from the house overnight? My friend has asked me to stay with her Saturday. We're working on a charity project Sunday morning, and we need an early start.” I gave him a conspiratorial smile and added, “And I think she wants to talk about her young man before she sees him again.”

“What sort of charity project is it?”

“She works with children in the tenements. She and some friends are preparing a Sunday lunch for them.”

“What an excellent endeavor!” I feared for a moment that he would ask if he could come along, but he merely said, “Of course you may go. Your time is yours outside the usual school hours and any other events where your presence is required.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said, returning my hands to the keyboard in what I hoped he would take as a signal that I still needed to think.

He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a wallet, and took out several bills. “My contribution to your charity,” he said, placing them on top of the piano.

“That's very generous of you, sir,” I said, so touched that I felt guilty for not telling him the complete truth about the project.

He blushed a little as he glanced downward and said, “Get the children a good lunch and some treats,” before leaving.

*   *   *

Saturday afternoon, I packed some overnight things in my bag, hiding Lizzie's notebook and the Mechanics' insignia at the bottom.

As she'd promised in her letter, Lizzie was waiting for me at the nearest bus stop. “What's wrong?” she asked when she saw me.

I hadn't realized my emotions were so evident. “I'm worried,” I admitted. “I can't believe you're planning to do something so mad.”

“Did you come to help us or to talk us out of it?”

“To be honest? Talk you out of it, if I can.”

“Oh, Verity, there's nothing to worry about. We know what we're doing.” That didn't reassure me much, but I didn't turn back.

We took the bus to the same part of town where we'd gone the night of the party. Lizzie led me through the bustling streets to a narrow redbrick town house that was a relic of the time when this neighborhood was fashionable. Now the paint on the black shutters and the white front door was peeling, and posters with the Rebel Mechanics' symbol were pasted to the brick walls. She opened the front door, and we entered a foyer with a scuffed wooden floor. I got a glimpse of a shabbily genteel parlor before Lizzie led me up the stairs.

“I've got a couch in my room that should make a decent bed for you,” she said as she opened a door on the second floor at the rear of the house. The room was slightly larger than mine in the Lyndon house, but without its own bathroom. There was a narrow iron bedstead, a small writing desk, a washstand with ewer and basin, and a couch. Lizzie's clothes hung from hooks on the wall and rag rugs dotted the floor.

I imagined that these were the sort of accommodations I could expect if I had to live on my own, and I thought I might find a boardinghouse like this tolerable. More than tolerable, actually. I'd be totally free, with no one to answer to. “You can put your bag over there on the couch,” Lizzie directed. “And now, we're meeting the boys for dinner.” She gave me a wry smirk. “You can test your persuasive abilities on them.”

“Do you think it will do any good?”

She laughed. “Not a chance, unless you manage to get Alec under your spell.”

“How likely do you think that is?” I asked, my pulse quickening alarmingly.

She took a long time to answer, frowning quizzically at me. “I don't know,” she said eventually. “I haven't seen him like this before. But you'd also have to convince Colin, and although he's a great flirt, the cause is his only true mistress.”

We went back downstairs, where Lizzie stuck her head into the parlor and addressed the young women who sat there. “I'm going out for dinner tonight, so tell Moll not to set a place for me.”

We went to the restaurant where we'd met before the Mechanics' party, but this time Lizzie asked for menus after we sat down. “We may as well order now because I have no idea when they'll arrive,” she said. “Once Alec gets started on something, he'll never leave the lab, and Colin's not reliable enough to serve as timekeeper.”

“And a lovely evening to you all!” a voice boomed from the entrance.

Lizzie smiled and shook her head. “It's just like him to prove me wrong.”

Colin sauntered over to us, waving to everyone else in the establishment. His entrance was so noisy and dramatic that it took me a moment to realize that Alec had followed in his wake. Alec's eyes met mine, and he gave a smile that I felt was meant just for me as he approached our table. “I'm glad you came,” he said when he reached us.

“She's planning to talk us out of it,” Lizzie said.

“Oh, are you, now?” Colin pulled out a chair and folded his lanky body into it. “That'll be a challenge.” He waved the waiter over to our table. “Luigi, a bottle of your finest house red for our table, please.” The waiter left, then returned and poured ruby-red liquid into glasses and distributed them around the table. Colin picked up one, took a sip, and said, “Ah, last week was a very good week for the grapes.” He then raised his glass high in the air. “A toast to our great endeavor.” We all clinked our glasses together, then drank. The wine was sweet and fruity, but left a bitter aftertaste.

After we'd placed our orders, Alec fixed me with a steady gaze and an amused smile. “So, Verity, you're going to talk us out of our plan, are you?”

“Well—I—um,” I stammered, feeling much less confident than when I set out. I broke eye contact with him and pulled myself together. “I'm worried. You didn't hear the way they talked. It's too dangerous for children.”

“You're right, it could be dangerous,” Alec agreed solemnly, “but it's more dangerous without the children. There's already unrest in the colonies. Nobody likes the new taxes or the new laws, but most people don't do anything about it other than complain to each other. If royal troops harmed colonial children, it would be like lighting a powder keg.”

Aghast, I asked, “Is that what you want? For children to be hurt so people will become angry enough to revolt?”

He shook his head as he reached for my hand and gripped it fiercely. “No! Not at all. But they don't want it either, so they won't confront us with children there.”

“You've got to admire the irony,” Colin said, tilting his chair back and stretching his long legs under the table. “They'll be using weapons and uniforms to remind the colonists that they rule them. We'll be using our machines to brighten the lives of poor wee children who so seldom get the slightest breath of fresh air or sliver of sunlight in their dark world. Whose ‘show' will win people's hearts and earn loyalty? They'll have to try some other way when this fails.”

“We'll have to hope Verity can overhear that bit of information, too,” Lizzie said with a grin.

“I hope you're not counting on that!” I said, dismayed. “It was pure chance that I overheard what I did. It's unlikely that I should have another opportunity.”

“Your chances are better than any of ours,” Alec said somberly. Still holding my hand, he rubbed his thumb back and forth across my knuckles, which made it difficult for me to think properly. “And you don't have to worry about the children. We've got plans for any eventuality.”

“If you've got plans for trouble, then that must mean you're expecting it,” I pointed out.

“We're merely being cautious.”

“Don't you know that if you plan for something, it'll never happen?” Colin asked. “We plan for trouble, and we'll have ourselves a pleasant picnic.”

“I only told you about the show of force so you could stay out of the way and be safe,” I said. “If this is what you do with my information, then I'll have to be more careful about what I tell you.”

“Oh, but you wouldn't do that, would you, lass?” Colin said with a grin. “You know how important you are to us.” He refilled his glass and raised it. “To Verity! Our secret weapon, the daring lady spy of magpie land.” They all drank to me, and while it gave me some pleasure to be honored that way—no one had ever drunk to me before—I feared my information was only leading them into danger.