Sons of Liberty (3 page)

“
We will need to work on that,” the Talker said. “Tell me about yourself.”

“
I have a better idea,” Raechel said, sullenly. The damned woman could at least have told Raechel her name. “Why don’t you tell me about myself?”

“
As you wish,” the Talker said. “My name is Irene, by the way.”

She paused, closing her eyes thoughtfully. “Your name is Raechel Slater, or so you think of yourself. Officially, as the ward of Lord Standish, you are Raechel Slater-Standish. You are eighteen pushing eighty” - her lips curved into a thin smile - “and have been rebelling against your aunt for the last two years, mainly by going to dubious parties and having sexual relationships with junior scions of the aristocracy. The danger of finding yourself pregnant never really occurred to you, as your paramours promised to pull out before it was too late and they lost control. Which, incidentally, is not a reliable method of birth control.”

Raechel blushed, furiously. Memories rose unbidden to the forefront of her mind. Young men, handsome enough to make her heart flutter, rakish enough that she knew her aunt would never approve of them ... some good at giving her pleasure, some only interested in themselves. And Irene, if that was her real name, had seen everything in her mind ...

She cringed in embarrassment, but Irene went on.

“
You went to Russia because your guardians feared to leave you in London alone,” she continued. “There you met the Royal Sorceress, who was posing as your maid at the time; Lady Gwen set you straight and convinced you that you could be something more than just another brainless beauty. You requested a post at the Royal College. Lady Gwen promised to ensure an introduction, instead, to the covert branch of British Intelligence. After a brief interview, you were given an address and told to come here. To me.”

Raechel nodded, shortly.

“
You are impulsive,” Irene concluded. “There is no doubt that you are smart, but you are often driven forward by your emotions rather than common sense. You are very lucky indeed not to wind up pregnant, which would have been hard to explain to your guardians, not least because you wouldn't be sure just who fathered the brat. Lady Gwen was capable of playing your maid long enough to get to Russia and carry out her mission. Can you do the same?”

“Yes,” Raechel said.

Irene gave her a long look. “Very well,” she said, finally. “You will be trained. I will train you. If at any moment you want to leave you may do so, but there will be no second chance to shine. You can stay in London with your money and look for a suitable husband.”

“I’d rather die,” Raechel said, surprising herself.

“
That may be an option,” Irene warned. “Covert work is never played by the rules. An agent who gets into deep trouble may wind up dead, or worse. And very few people will know how you died and why.”

“I understand,” Raechel said.

Irene nodded. “You will do everything, and I mean everything, I tell you to do,” she added, sternly. “Again, if you want to leave you may leave ...”

“
But there will be no second chance,” Raechel said, irritated. She was no maid who needed the same orders repeated time and time again before she understood, no rake who needed to be told no twice before he backed off. “I understand.”

“
Good,” Irene said. She reached around the back of her neck and undid her dress. It fell to the ground, pooling around her feet. “Undress.”

“What?”

“
Undress,” Irene repeated. There was no give in her voice. “Undress or leave.”

Raechel hesitated. She had never been naked in front of anyone, save for her maids, since she was a very young girl. Even her liaisons at the club had involved nothing more than hauling up her dress to allow her paramours entry. To be naked in front of someone on the same social level as herself was wrong, against everything she’d been taught. Even her husband shouldn't be allowed to look at her naked body. And yet ...

Gritting her teeth, she unbuttoned the dress and allowed it to fall to the ground. The undershirt followed, allowing her breasts to bobble free. They were larger than Irene’s, she noted with a flicker of vindictive glee. The older women who talked about thinness clearly hadn't realised just how much men enjoyed large breasts, although that was wanton behaviour and not ladylike. She hesitated before removing her drawers, but Irene was relentless. Slowly, she pushed the underclothes down to her feet and stepped out of them, leaving her clothes on the floor. She found it hard to repress a giggle. She was naked!

Irene studied her carefully, her eyes examining every trace of Raechel’s body. Raechel looked back, noting with some amusement that Irene shaved everywhere. It was a sign of wanton behaviour, she recalled being told by one of the maids. Only lower-class women shaved everywhere. And yet, she’d considered doing it for herself in pursuit of pleasure. If she hadn't been sure the maids would have told her aunt ...

“Men like it that way,” Irene said, shortly.

Raechel coloured, again. “Stop reading my mind.”

“
Learn how to keep me out,” Irene repeated. “You think I’m the only mind-reader you’re likely to encounter?”

“
No,” Raechel said. Gwen had been worried about a French Talker, hadn't she? “But it’s hard ...”

“
Try being an opera singer sometime,” Irene said. “You’ll find it much harder than you think.”

“
I can't sing to save my life,” Raechel said. Was Irene an opera singer? It would make excellent cover for her activities, wouldn't it? “Do I have to learn?”

“
If you have the talent, you might as well make use of it,” Irene pointed out. She reached out and poked at Raechel’s arms, then gently turned her around. “Do you know how to fire a gun? Fight to defend yourself?”

Raechel snorted. “I fought in Russia,” she said, “but no one ever taught me how to fight.”

“
I will,” Irene said. “Come with me.”

She turned and walked out of the door. Raechel followed, feeling cool air drifting against her naked skin. Downwards, deeper into the house, a man was standing, watching both women with cold eyes. Raechel yelped and covered herself hastily, stumbling backwards in shock and horror. No man had entered her bedchamber, not even her father or the butler. The thought of them seeing her naked ...

“
Come on,” Irene said. She seemed unbothered by the man’s presence. “And keep your hands by your side.”

Raechel glared at her, seriously considering simply recovering her dress and running for her life. To expose herself so blatantly to a man’s gaze ... it just wasn't done. And yet, Irene seemed completely unconcerned. Had she exposed herself - or worse - in the course of her duties? She might well have done ...

Stubbornly, Raechel forced her legs to move and follow Irene down the corridor, even though the man was staring at her. Irene gave her a mischievous smile as they reached another door, then led the way inside. Raechel sagged in relief as soon as the door was closed behind her. She was shaking, either in embarrassment or rage. Angrily, she banished the feeling and looked around. The room was crammed with wardrobes, just like the ones she used at home.

“
You’ll go through worse,” Irene said, bluntly. “Trust me on this. The sooner you abandon society’s conventions, the better.”

“
Oh,” Raechel said. She found it hard not to snap at the older woman. “And have you done that yourself?”

“
The rules are different, depending on where you go and what role you play,” Irene said, wryly. Her lips crinkled with amusement. “A French noblewoman, for example, has far more freedom than a British noblewoman. She will often have affairs with other noblemen, although she will be careful not to fall pregnant. Her husband, of course, will feel the same way. But a British noblewoman who is caught having an affair will be disgraced and banished to the country, if she’s lucky. You have heard of the marriage of Lady Seymour Dorothy Fleming and Sir Richard Worsley?”

“
Yes,” Raechel said. Her aunt had been a young girl during the whole affair and spoke of it often, normally when rebuking Raechel for not being perfectly ladylike. “It’s one of the great cautionary tales.”

“
And so it is,” Irene said. She cleared her throat. “The average British nobleman will have no hesitation in setting up a mistress, but he will react badly to any thought his wife is enjoying the same liberty. Learn the rules of any given place before you break them.”

Raechel swallowed. Did her uncle have a mistress? She found it hard to imagine her stuffed shirt of an uncle doing anything of the sort, but she had to admit it was possible? And her aunt wouldn't say a word, even if she knew ... she’d probably be glad that her husband was slaking his lusts somewhere else. A proper woman was not supposed to admit the existence of sexual pleasure, let alone feel it for herself ...

“Quite right,” Irene agreed.

I’m going to learn how to block you if it’s the last damned thing I do, Raechel thought, grimly.

“
Good,” Irene said. “Work on it. You’ll have plenty of time to practice.”

She opened a large wardrobe, revealing dozens of different outfits. Raechel stared; there was a dress that wouldn't be out of place in the palace, a milkmaid’s outfit, a working class dress that had been patched several times ... and, beyond them, a handful of masculine outfits ranging from a military uniform to an elegant suit and jacket.

“
Tell me,” Irene said. “Why did I order you to undress?”

Raechel felt her cheeks burning, yet again. “To show me what I would have to do.”

“
Partly,” Irene said. She tapped her finger on her chest, between her breasts. “And partly to strip you of your identity. What you wear” - she waved a hand at the outfits - “will give you a new identity. Wearing a disguise is not just about putting on a silly outfit, but assuming a whole new identity. You must not act out of character or you will be discovered.”

She produced a maid’s outfit and held it up. “A maid is always respectful to her employers,” she added. “She is never cheeky, never rude; whatever happens, she never raises her eyes or fights back. A maid may be slapped - or worse - by her mistress and she has to take it. She cannot fight back.”

Raechel swallowed. She was no stranger to her aunt’s hand, but the thought of allowing someone else to strike her ...

“
Precisely,” Irene said. “You have to play the role convincingly, if you want to succeed.”

She smiled. “Still want to play?”

Raechel hesitated, then nodded.

Chapter Three

“What I would like to know,” Lord Mycroft said coolly, “is just what happened to Major Shaw.”

Gwen groaned, inwardly. It felt like only bare hours had passed since the French offensive had been broken, since the French had been forced back to enclaves surrounding Dover and Brighton, since she had been recalled to London. At least Sir James could handle matters, if the RSC needed to get involved. The vast majority of the French magicians had been killed in the Battle of Dorking.

“
He got a number of good men killed,” she said. Her tired mind hadn't quite processed why she’d been called to the Diogenes Club, rather than Lord Mycroft’s office. Clearly, she was in trouble for something. “I told him to sit down and shut up.”

“
You broke him,” Lord Mycroft said. “Rumours are already spreading.”

His voice hardened. “I ask again, Lady Gwen,” he said. “What did you do to him?”

Gwen gritted her teeth as she turned to stare out of the window, towards the spires of the Britannic School. It was hard, so hard, to keep her temper in check. Lord Mycroft had been one of her strongest supporters, right from the start. He didn't deserve to have her screaming at him, as if he was in the wrong. And yet, the nasty part of her mind wondered if he was in the wrong.

“
I have a report here from the doctors,” Lord Mycroft added. “Major Shaw has been crying and shaking uncontrollably for the last five hours. The entire command staff saw him blubbering like a little boy. I dare say that rumours have already reached his family, having grown vastly out of proportion. It will not be long before they start demanding punishment.”

“
I am no daughter to be slapped, nor wife to be rebuked,” Gwen snarled. She fought hard to control herself. Life would be so much simpler if she’d been born a man. “That ... disobedient oaf disobeyed orders in the middle of a battle and got a great many good men killed!”

“
You are a servant of the Crown,” Lord Mycroft said, sternly. “And I ask again, for the final time, what did you do to him?”

Gwen sagged. “I discovered that I could ... influence ... someone if I combined Charm and Talking,” she said, slowly. Master Thomas had controlled her, back during the Swing. The memory of no longer being in control of her own body was terrifying. “I didn't realise just how bad an effect it would have on Major Shaw.”

Lord Mycroft looked up. “And you were going to mention this when?”

“
I first managed to get it to work in Russia,” Gwen said. “There was a Russian soldier I managed to ... to redirect. I was going to discuss it privately with you when I had the opportunity.”

And that, she knew, was a lie. She’d left quite a few details out of her report, fearing what would happen if the truth emerged. Charmers were already feared and hated for their power, yet a strong-minded man could avoid being Charmed. Her power - her new power - was much harder to defeat. If people were scared of Charm, what would they make of a power that could control someone? And a power possessed by only one person.