“In the gel’s apron pocket, yes. Lady Lydia didn’t confront the woman. She admits she may be seeing trouble where there is none, but the fact that she’s reading your relative’s fiery pamphlets at the moment did set some frightening ideas to percolating in her head.”
“He’s not my relative,” Lucas said offhandedly. “But I can see where Lady Lydia might connect the two in her mind. That broadsheet is speaking sedition, Fletcher. Do you know what that means?”
“Necks will be stretched?” Fletcher offered, shrugging. “When we find out who wrote such nonsense, that is. Citizens for Justice? Citizens for Mischief is more like it. I told Lady Lydia not to worry, but I don’t think she believed me. What do you say about this? You’re the one who warned of just this sort of possibility not more than a few days ago, after all.”
“What do I say about it?” Lucas repeated, subsiding into the leather chair behind his desk in the large private study in Park Lane. He answered carefully. “I think there are no names associated with this nonsense. There’s a call to arms, but no mention of when or where the angry populace is to gather, or what they are to do when they do come together. Where do they go? Whom do they attack?”
Fletcher scratched at his cheek. “Well, I…Stap me, Lucas, I don’t know. Do you suppose there’s a code hidden in there somewhere?”
Lucas smiled. “No, I don’t suppose so. No more than I suppose that more than one in fifty of the persons this broadsheet is directed at can even read the King’s English, let alone decipher hidden codes. So, what is the purpose of this broadsheet, hmm?”
Fletcher screwed up his features, clearly deep in thought. Then he shook his head. “Since we’re the only ones who can be counted on to read it, I imagine I don’t know.”
“But you do know, Fletcher. You just said it. This wasn’t directed at the people of London, or wherever-all the thing has been distributed. It was aimed at the people who could read it. Us.”
“No, sorry, I don’t understand.”
Lucas wished he didn’t understand, either. But thanks to Lord Nigel Frayne, he was sadly sure that he did. It was only Fletcher who believed that Lucas was seeing this particular broadsheet for the first time.
“Think about what you told me the other day. You told me you’d overheard that some in our government believe they’ve found a way to bring Parliament, Tories and Whigs both, around to the idea of stricter laws and taxes meant to beat down English citizens, correct?”
“I don’t believe I said beat down. But yes, that was about it.”
“All right. And what better way to assure success than to have the populace threatening to rise up against the government? Against us, the rich and powerful and, sadly, uncaring.”
Fletcher’s eyes went wide. “Are you saying—No. That’s ridiculous. Why would anyone want that to happen? Riots? Marching in the streets of Mayfair? They throw rocks, Lucas. They rip up cobblestones and use them as weapons. I’ve heard the stories of what happened not that many years ago. I can’t afford to replace all the windows in my townhome, for pity’s sake.”
“Your glazier’s possible bill to one side, we can none of us afford civil unrest. Calling out the Guard on our own citizens? And I may have actually helped Sidmouth and the others with my impulsive tirade at White’s, warning of just such an occurrence if we don’t help those among us who are suffering most at the moment. I was unwittingly making their case for them, the exact opposite of my intention.”
It also hadn’t been his intention to have Lord Frayne approach him. But he had.
Fletcher picked up his wineglass and stared into it, deep in thought. “Let me see if I follow this, all right? You’re saying that someone—for the sake of argument, Sidmouth, or some of his ilk—would deliberately goad citizens to rise up against their government? So that the laws that are already oppressive to them can be made more oppressive?”
“Exactly, yes.” And, God help him, Lucas knew that he, against all his principles and arguments, was about to become a large part of that effort.
“I’d like you to be wrong. I hope you don’t mind. The glazier bills, you understand. Very well, as I see you’re set on this—this whatever it is you’ve clearly decided to do. How can I be of help to you?”
Could he lie to his friend? To clear his father’s name, yes. Yes, he could. Especially if confiding in Fletcher could end with the man in trouble. After all, a man didn’t do what Lucas was contemplating doing without bending a few of the King’s laws. “I don’t want to involve you.”
“Christ’s teeth, it’s a little late for that, isn’t it? I’m your friend. If you’re planning something, I should be a part of it. You’d do the same for me. Now, what do you want me to do?”
“Would it be a hardship for you to continue to pay court to Lady Lydia Daughtry?”
Fletcher sat forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees. “Ah! In case she finds more broadsheets, you mean?”
“No,” Lucas said, shaking his head. “I’m sure we can find more of those on our own all over Piccadilly, if we just look.”
“Then why?”
It was too late now for the truth.
“That’s fairly simple. After, as you call it, making so much of a cake of myself at White’s, I don’t wish for some people to believe I’ve taken up the cause of people such as those who supposedly wrote that broadsheet. I need to fade into the background, hoping everyone forgets my…outburst. To help me, Lady Nicole has agreed that I might be allowed to show the world that I’m actively pursuing her, and therefore much too besotted to think about anything as serious as the possibility of civil unrest.”
“The devil you say. So you do already have some sort of plan in the works, some way to keep the cobblestones in the streets as it were? Without consulting me, but enlisting Lady Nicole instead? I’m hurt, Lucas. Truly. And she agreed to this, I imagine? Why?”
Why indeed? Lucas had spent the time since his and Nicole’s shared afternoon wondering about exactly that, telling himself that she had a real interest in him, and then alternately deciding that her interest was more in the adventure of the thing. The first thought flattered him, the second disturbed him.
He gave a dismissing wave of his hand. “Something to do with curricles and gallops, and probably more I don’t want to consider too closely. But never mind that. And I’ve got no real plan.”
“Not yet, you mean, beyond getting people to forget that dreadful speech you made at White’s—no offense meant. Again, tell me what I can do to help.”
“All right. You could help me by keeping the sister occupied, the two of you acting as chaperones of sorts. Lady Lydia is very protective of her sister and, you’ll admit, quite intelligent.”
“She is that,” Fletcher agreed. “Talks rings around me most of the time, but I don’t mind. I think she considers me as harmless as you want whomever you want to think you harmless. Now give me at least a small hint of what you believe you’ll be doing that isn’t quite so harmless, because I am honest enough to not understand what you could do.”
“Another time, or we’ll be late in getting to Grosvenor Square to squire the ladies to the theater. For now, answer me this. Do you know if Lady Lydia showed that broadsheet to Lady Nicole?”
Fletcher nodded. “Yes, I do know that. She showed it to her. She thinks that’s why Lady Nicole read some of Thomas Paine’s pamphlet. You remember? The Rights of Man? Lady Lydia confided that she’d never been so surprised as when she heard that her sister had read the thing. It’s nothing like her, you understand. She believes Lady Nicole has somehow decided that she needs to take more interest in the world beyond her own enjoyments, or some such thing.