Rebel Mechanics (20 page)

“Why didn't they attack us?” Rollo wondered out loud.

“We may never know,” I said. I was about to suggest that we return home for lessons when a glint of white against the dark stones of the park wall caught my eye. The Mechanics' gear symbol had been scrawled there in chalk. At first, I thought it was a signature claiming credit for the riot, but then I noticed a gap in the stones at the middle of the gear where the mortar was missing.

I'd read a novel once in which the spies left secret messages in a gap between stones in a wall. They'd called it a “drop.” Was this my drop? The children were busy arguing about which house on the block was most badly damaged, so I slipped the folded paper out of my glove and tucked it into the niche before saying briskly, “Enough of that, you two. It's time to get to our lessons. Rollo, you may make all your arguments in your essay.”

As we crossed the avenue, I hoped I hadn't misinterpreted the symbol. It would be dangerous for my article to fall into the wrong hands.

*   *   *

It proved to be my busiest day thus far in the Lyndons' home. I not only had to teach Rollo along with Olive, but we also got word shortly before lunch that neither the drawing master nor the music teacher would be coming that day. The police were restricting access to the magisters' district, and only residents were allowed to pass the barriers. While Rollo and Olive worked on their assignments, I concocted lesson plans for the afternoon.

Lord Henry was absent from lunch, and I had my hands full keeping the three children from turning their squabbling to physical violence. I barely caught Rollo before he flung a spoonful of soup onto Flora's skirt. Even Olive, who was usually so obedient, tried to roll peas across the table. “You're behaving like slum hoodlums,” I finally snapped in frustration, startling Rollo and Olive into temporary silence while Flora smirked.

That afternoon, I moved lessons to the family parlor so I could make sure Flora was reading her book. She sighed dramatically a great deal while she read, but she was regularly turning pages. I assigned Rollo some Latin conjugations to do while I supervised Olive's piano practice on the parlor's grand piano.

I had the strangest feeling that I was being watched, and I glanced over my shoulder to see Lord Henry standing in the doorway, a folded newspaper under his arm. He caught my eye, gave me a grim nod, then put on a smile and strode into the room, saying cheerfully, “I think it's time for a break. You may go upstairs and do whatever you like for an hour.”

“But I don't need a break!” Olive protested.

“I suspect Miss Newton does. If you want, you may continue your practice in the schoolroom.”

When the children had gone, he said, “I hope I wasn't being presumptuous, but you appeared to be somewhat frazzled. This is more than is usually expected of you.”

“It's been no trouble at all,” I lied.

“And I wanted to show these to you,” he said, heading to a table where he unfolded his newspaper. “They published extra editions for the afternoon to report on the riots.” He leaned over to read the headlines, then grunted in disgust. “As I expected, the
Herald
has little to say on the matter, other than reporting the extent of the damage—and probably inflating the estimates.” He pulled a second newspaper out from under the first, then glanced at me. “Don't tell anyone you saw me read this.” It was the
World
.

He leaned over to scan the headlines, and then all the color drained from his face. “Oh, dear Lord,” he whispered. “They couldn't!”

Even though I was fairly certain I already knew, I asked, “What is it?”

Still ashen, he shook his head in disbelief and said, “British troops fired on some slum children who were playing in the Battery park. It doesn't appear that they were following orders, but it still says a lot about the way the British regard the colonists.”

As he spoke, he jabbed his finger repeatedly at the article, as though it was the article's fault. I leaned over and saw that the author was “Liberty Jones.” “That's—that's awful,” I stammered, shaken by the thought that he was reading my words.

He moved on to the next article. “Apparently, the people of the slums were so outraged that they rioted uptown in magister districts. The authorities are baffled about the riots. No one knows how the rioters got past the barriers set up after the shootings and came this far without being noticed. When the police finally arrived to break it up, they found no rioters at all. They simply vanished. How can an entire mob appear out of nowhere, and then vanish?”

“That
is
odd,” I murmured as I leaned over to read my article. I wanted to be certain they'd printed only what I wrote, with no lies added to it.

“It is the
World
,” he said. “They can be inflammatory, but I can't imagine them making up something about the rioters coming and going mysteriously.”

I let out a faint relieved sigh when I saw that the article was exactly as I had written it. My friends might not have been totally honest, but they hadn't betrayed my integrity. I looked up at Henry, who was still frowning at the newspaper. His reaction to the shootings and the riots sounded rather revolutionary for a magister—yet another thing about him that didn't fit.

Someone behind us cleared her throat, and both of us whirled guiltily. Mrs. Talbot stood in the doorway. “His Grace the Duke is here to see you, my lord. Are you at home to visitors?”

“Is he here to see me or the children?” Lord Henry asked.

“He specifically asked to speak with you, on a personal matter.”

Lord Henry suddenly seemed very young, like a schoolboy dreading a meeting with his headmaster. “I suppose I have to talk to him. Have Chastain send him up.”

“Up here, my lord? Not to the formal parlor?”

“He is family, isn't he? Yes, send him here.” When she was gone, he said, “I feel so small in the formal parlor, and that's the last thing I need when I face him.”

I remembered the newspapers and hurried to fold them up, the
World
inside the
Herald
. “Oh, good thinking, Ver—Miss Newton,” he said with a gulp. “If he'd seen that…”

“I'll get these out of the way, then,” I said. “I can go see how the children are doing.”

He caught my arm. “No! Don't leave me alone with him!” He sounded desperate. “If there's a witness, he'll have to be careful what he says to me.” With a crooked grin, he added, “Please be my chaperone.”

I glanced down at the newspapers I held, then stuffed them behind a potted palm in the corner. A second later, the governor entered. Lord Henry put on a smile and moved to greet him, stumbling over the edge of the carpet. “Your Grace, what brings you here today?”

“Lyndon,” the governor began, but then he turned as if noticing me for the first time.

“I believe you've already met our governess, Miss Newton,” Lord Henry said. “We were just conferring on her plan for the children's lessons.”

The governor frowned at me, then stared at Henry and waited. Lord Henry looked back at him guilelessly. It took all my self-control to school my face once I realized what was happening. The governor didn't want me there, but it was up to Lord Henry to dismiss his employee. After a long, silent battle between the two men, the governor gave an exasperated huff and said, “I'm sure you're aware of last night's events.”

“Yes, we heard the mob go past the house. It was quite harrowing.”

“Your house seems to have been spared.”

“No doubt because they feared the repercussions of inciting your wrath, Your Grace.” Henry somehow managed to say that with a perfectly straight face.

“I wanted to assure you that nothing like it will happen again. The city is now under martial law, and the queen is sending additional troops from England by airship. That should put an end to talk of rebellion.”

 

IN WHICH I GAIN A NEW PERSPECTIVE ON THE CITY

I was glad the governor wasn't looking at me because my dismay had to be evident on my face. “Oh?” Lord Henry said with the mild interest he usually showed for Flora's talk of clothing. “Then I can tell the servants we don't have to keep an armed watch tonight. Will there be a curfew? I'm studying nocturnal species, and my research will be hampered if I can't go out at night.”

The governor glanced heavenward, as though offering a silent prayer for patience. “The curfew won't apply to magisters, but I'd prefer you remain home with my grandchildren until the crisis has been contained. Or if that will interfere with your studies, I would be happy to send them to England, where I can ensure their safety.”

“Surely that won't be necessary,” Lord Henry said tightly. “I'm confident those highly disciplined and brave British soldiers will be able to maintain the peace and protect us from the dangerous radicals. The children will be fine. Would you care to see them? I can have them come down.”

“Not today, Lyndon. I only came to check on your household and let you know about the restrictions before they're announced. You'll be allowed anywhere, of course, but tradesmen may undergo particular scrutiny, so you'll need to plan accordingly.”

“Just make sure that Flora's music teacher can get here, or she'll drive me quite mad,” Lord Henry said with a smile.

“Consider my offer to send the children to England, Lyndon. Good day. I'll show myself out.” With a brusque nod to me, the governor headed for the doorway. Then he paused and turned back. “Miss Newton, is it? I don't suppose your father is a Professor Newton at Yale?”

“He is, Your Grace.”

He smiled ever so slightly and nodded. “I met your parents once, years ago, when I sponsored an academic symposium of colonial scholars where your father presented an important paper. I trust your parents are well?”

“My father is, but my mother is no longer with us.”

“I am terribly sorry to hear that. My deepest condolences. Your mother was a lovely woman—the only person at that symposium whose conversation I understood.” He looked so sad that I felt his sympathies were more than just a social nicety.

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

The governor shot a glare at Lord Henry, as if daring him to comment, before striding through the doorway.

At the sound of the front door closing, Henry let out a long, slow breath. “That wasn't as bad as I feared,” he said. Grinning, he added, “Thank you for shielding me in battle. I shall have to make use of you again, now that I know my nemesis has a connection with you.”

“It appears to be only a slight connection, but I am happy to oblige whenever you need me, sir.”

“You don't think I should send the children to England, do you? They would be safe—and if there is revolution, it will probably be ugly—but if I let them go, I might lose them forever.”

“Flora might go willingly, but I doubt Rollo or Olive would forgive you for sending them away.”

“I believe the chief struggle of being a parent must be learning to discern between one's own desires and the children's welfare. But I have kept you from your duties long enough, Miss Newton.”

My thoughts churned as I headed to the schoolroom to make sure the children hadn't killed each other while they were unsupervised. I needed to inform the rebels about the new developments. They'd found the article in the park wall niche. I wondered if that would work again.

When all I heard from the schoolroom was Olive playing the piano, with no raised, angry voices, I ducked into my room and scribbled a quick note about the martial law and additional troops. The trick now was to find an excuse to go out and leave it in the wall. It was a pity this household didn't have a dog that needed to be walked.

I got my opportunity late in the day when Mrs. Talbot informed me that Lord Henry wouldn't be at dinner that evening. I gave her a weary smile and said, “In that case, I may take a short walk before dinner to clear my head. I've already spent far too much time alone with all three of them today.”

She smiled sympathetically and patted me on the arm. “I'll have a glass of sherry sent to your room for after your walk. Don't you worry, dear, we'll have the music and drawing teachers here tomorrow if we have to send our carriage for them.”

*   *   *

Life in our household returned to normal the next day. Rollo's school was back in session, Flora didn't come to breakfast, and Lord Henry was his usual absentminded self, spending most of the day in his study. There were few signs of damage remaining between the Lyndon mansion and Rollo's school. The only difference between this morning and any other was the absence of Nat selling newspapers. I suspected the
World
was even more restricted under martial law.

While I knew what the magisters were doing, I'd heard nothing of the Mechanics' plans in response. I didn't receive any letters from them, and I saw no sign of my friends when I walked in the park. The entire world could have been changing sixty blocks away, and I was not only not a part of it, I was entirely unaware of it. Worse, I didn't know where Alec was or if he was in danger. For all I knew, he'd built that brick-throwing machine and had been arrested or killed. Or else Lizzie had told him what I'd said to her, and he was angry or disappointed in me for not supporting his cause wholeheartedly.

Lord Henry was unusually quiet and distracted at dinner, and he snapped at the children's antics. That made me wonder if he and the bandits might have something planned. Attempting to look as innocent as I could, I stopped him on the way out of the dining room. “Are you quite all right, sir? You don't look as though you feel well.”

He gave a groaning sigh. “Was I that awful a grouch? No, I'm sure I was. I'm sorry. You're right. I'm afraid I've got a headache coming on.”