Necropolis (Royal Sorceress Book 3) (48 page)

“However, I have confidence that we will survive a challenge,” Lord Mycroft continued, complacently. “The Government is assured of a firm block of supporting votes, particularly with the build-up to war. We should remain in place until after the war is concluded.”

Gwen gave him a sharp look. “Why didn’t you tell me about Romulus?”

She paused. “And why was he even
there
?”

“Lord Standish ... has an aristocrat’s view of the world,” Lord Mycroft said. “He believes that gentlemen are always gentlemen, no matter where they are born. It is an attitude that is only workable when the rest of the world’s aristocracy are also gentlemen. He would approach a Turkish aristocrat, secure in the delusion that the Turk views the world in the same way he does. But the word of an English gentleman cannot be compared to the word of a Turkish gentleman.”

“I see,” Gwen said, carefully.

“Lord Standish might have weakened us, in a belief that the foreigners would never take advantage of such a weakness,” Lord Mycroft added. “It was deemed ... a wise precaution to keep an eye on him. Romulus was inserted into his household as one set of eyes.”

“And Sir Sidney was there to override him if necessary,” Gwen added. She frowned. “But why send him at all?”

“The Russians like high-ranking negotiators,” Lord Mycroft said. “They believe it shows that we are taking them seriously. But I have always preferred to use less ... flashy ambassadors for the truly important talks.”

Gwen remembered Sir Travis and nodded.

“But I didn’t tell you about Romulus because it was important you reacted normally to him,” Lord Mycroft added. “He had to know about you ... if you made a serious mistake, he could cover you against Lady Standish.”

“She wanted him to beat me,” Gwen recalled. “I think we have to do something about that.”

“She’s in a madhouse,” Lord Mycroft said. “One of the decent ones. What else do you want to do to her?”

“Not that,” Gwen said, shaking her head. “About the way servants are treated in London.”

Lord Mycroft lifted one eyebrow, then waited.

“I worked as a maid for ... around three weeks,” Gwen said. It felt as if she’d been a servant for much longer. “If Lady Raechel hadn’t seen through my disguise, I would have found it completely unbearable before too long. I might well have lost control and seriously hurt Lady Standish.”

“You would hardly be the only person forced to work hard,” Lord Mycroft observed.

“I had something to use as a weapon, if necessary,” Gwen said. She would have been a laughing stock if she’d taken the case to court, but she wouldn’t have needed to do anything of the sort to extract revenge. A few words in the right ears would have forced Lady Standish into exile, either in the countryside or in France. “How many other maids have that sort of power?”

She pushed on before he could answer. “The Swing changed some things for the better,” she admitted. “But other things have gone on as before, without any change at all.”

“It takes time for change to percolate through society,” Lord Mycroft pointed out, evenly.

“If Janet had gone to court to complain about Lady Standish, she would have lost her job and all prospects of getting another one,” Gwen snapped. “I don’t think the police would have taken seriously any charges levelled against Lady Standish, even if she had Janet beaten to within an inch of her life. And even the best-trained servants can be treated like slaves, if their employer has enough political clout. Something has to be done.”

Lord Mycroft frowned. “We cannot afford a major political struggle, not now,” he said. “And it will take such a struggle to change the law and actually make it
work
.”

“Then, after the war,” Gwen said, unwilling to give up. “If nothing else, this is a major crack in our defences.”

She met his eyes, willing him to understand. “Howell used dissatisfied and vengeful servants as his sources,” she said. “What’s to stop the French or Russians doing the same?”

“Point,” Lord Mycroft agreed. He’d done the same himself. “But we still need to wait until after the war.”

“I won’t let this go,” Gwen warned, flatly. “My experiences were hardly the worst anyone ever experienced, My Lord. The abuse of servants has to stop.”

Lord Mycroft smiled at her. “And how much of your feeling comes from having to act as a servant yourself?”

Gwen felt her skin heat, but kept her voice under control. “I should have realised that servants were mistreated,” she said. She’d certainly known her mother hadn’t been the kindest of mistresses to her servants. “And I should have done it before I had to play the role of a servant myself. But it doesn’t matter, in the end, where I had the insight. All that matters is that something has to be done before this situation blows up in our face.”

“True,” Lord Mycroft agreed. He took a long breath. “After the war, you may seek political support for a reform bill. I dare say there are other issues that could be tackled at the same time. Slavery, for example. The growth of cotton farming in the Southern Colonies is going to pose a major challenge, sooner rather than later, as is the treatment of all who are not lily-white. The French will take advantage of that, I fear.”

Gwen nodded. The Franco-Spanish Empire had managed to become more racially integrated than the British Empire, a reflection of the simple fact that large parts of their Latin and South American populations were hardly
white
. They’d even banned outright slavery and offered negroes citizenship, which had ensured that Mexico became the preferred destination for runaway slaves. It would be easy for the French to stir up slave revolts across the American South, tying down local militia and redcoats while the French were crossing the Rio Grande and mounting an invasion of British-ruled territory.

Lord Mycroft sighed. “But any reform bill will meet considerable opposition,” he added. “The war may cripple some of it, but it will strengthen others.”

“Yes, My Lord,” Gwen said. “But it has to be done.”

“You’re as idealistic as Lord Standish,” Lord Mycroft said, dryly. “In your own way, of course.”

“Thank you,” Gwen said, equally dryly. “And Raechel?”

“Will be offered the chance to train,” Lord Mycroft assured her. “And even if she doesn’t make it through the course, she will be emancipated from the terms of her father’s will. I believe that is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Gwen said. Raechel would be pleased. And also no longer likely to use violence to break free of her aunt and uncle. “I think she will serve the Crown well.”

“Good,” Lord Mycroft said. “And now ...”

There was a sharp tap at the door, which opened to reveal a young clerk. “My Lord,” he snapped, “urgent message from the Admiralty. There was an encounter between one of our squadrons and a French fleet!”

Gwen felt her blood run cold. A shooting engagement meant only one thing.

The long-dreaded war had finally begun.

The End

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