started when he slid onto the bench.
“Easy there, Bates,” he advised with a grin. “It’s just me.”
“I don’ like meetin’ in public like this!” Bates leaned forward, his straggly brown hair brushing past his shoulders. “Don’ you know the government’s got spies everywhere?”
The reformer laughed and swiped Bates’s untouched tankard, taking a long drink. “They have not, you hen-hearted fool. Why do you think it’s going to be so easy to bring them down? They think nothing of us!” When a serving girl passed by he snatched another ale, setting it in front of Bates. His friend drank half of it and, as usual, was better fortified for it.
“They wouldn’t have suspended habeas corpus or passed the Seditious Meetin’ Act if they weren’t afeard of us.”
“Right you are, Bates.” He didn’t believe the same himself, but he had best support whatever thoughts gave Bates courage and use them to his advantage. How many times had he wished for a partner of stouter spirit? He sighed, then, and acknowledged the truth. When it came down to it, Bates was brave; he’d seen proof of it on the battlefield. But when it came to thinking, his fellow soldier did too much, often until he was nearly pissing in his breeches.
“They are afraid of us, and rightly so. But by the time they realize, the prime minister will be dead.”
Bates’s skittish hazel eyes darted around the room, as if he were looking for a spy. “Shhh! Sometimes you ain’t got much more sense than a pig with a full trough.” He shook his head. “I don’ even know why you’re still a member of the Hampden Club, what with the title and all. You don’ need parliamentary reform.”
“The title was happenstance. It doesn’t change the fact that the privileged few are running this country into the ground. We—you, me, my brothers, and every other soldier—did not triumph over the Frogs in order to better the lives of the aristocracy. We fought to better the lives of all Englishmen. I am set on my course.”
His companion seemed bolstered by this avowal, nodding in affirmation, but was still impatient to be gone from the crowded tavern. “What did you want? I can’t be comin’ up to Town every few days if you want me gettin’ stuff ready. May ain’t that far off.”
The reformer grasped Bates’s arm, garnering his full attention. “I’m changing the plan.”
“What?” Bates squeaked.
Leaning forward, the reformer whispered, “April twenty-third.”
Panic in the form of a sheen of sweat swept over Bates like a red-hot fever. “No! No, we can’t move it up. I can’t be ready! We still need more help. We—”
“Calm down!” the reformer whispered harshly. “I don’t doubt for a minute you’ll be ready. We’ll recruit all the help we need at the next meeting. It’ll be best if we already have our plan in place when we ask for assistance. The less time there is for someone to let slip our plot, the better. I’ve told you before, Bates, I— we —will not be caught. It’s not even a consideration.”
Bates’s jaw dropped. “The twenty-third is less than two weeks away. Why?”
The reformer ignored the desperation in his coconspirator’s voice. Bates would rise to the occasion. “Because Liverpool will be attending a production of Macbeth that night, along with Sidmouth.”
Leaning back, he waited for Bates’s reaction, and Bates did not disappoint him. “Together? But that would be… If we got them both… Oh my God!”
“Exactly.” He couldn’t help grinning. “You see why the date must be changed.”
“Do I! To be rid of that tyrant along with Liverpool? There won’t be anybody to replace them with but reformers!”
The reformer finished off his ale. Pulling a purse from his pocket, he slipped the serving girl a coin and then withdrew a few others, sliding them across the table to Bates. “This should help you be ready sooner. Do you need anything else?”
Bates shook his head.
“Easy there, Bates,” he advised with a grin. “It’s just me.”
“I don’ like meetin’ in public like this!” Bates leaned forward, his straggly brown hair brushing past his shoulders. “Don’ you know the government’s got spies everywhere?”
The reformer laughed and swiped Bates’s untouched tankard, taking a long drink. “They have not, you hen-hearted fool. Why do you think it’s going to be so easy to bring them down? They think nothing of us!” When a serving girl passed by he snatched another ale, setting it in front of Bates. His friend drank half of it and, as usual, was better fortified for it.
“They wouldn’t have suspended habeas corpus or passed the Seditious Meetin’ Act if they weren’t afeard of us.”
“Right you are, Bates.” He didn’t believe the same himself, but he had best support whatever thoughts gave Bates courage and use them to his advantage. How many times had he wished for a partner of stouter spirit? He sighed, then, and acknowledged the truth. When it came down to it, Bates was brave; he’d seen proof of it on the battlefield. But when it came to thinking, his fellow soldier did too much, often until he was nearly pissing in his breeches.
“They are afraid of us, and rightly so. But by the time they realize, the prime minister will be dead.”
Bates’s skittish hazel eyes darted around the room, as if he were looking for a spy. “Shhh! Sometimes you ain’t got much more sense than a pig with a full trough.” He shook his head. “I don’ even know why you’re still a member of the Hampden Club, what with the title and all. You don’ need parliamentary reform.”
“The title was happenstance. It doesn’t change the fact that the privileged few are running this country into the ground. We—you, me, my brothers, and every other soldier—did not triumph over the Frogs in order to better the lives of the aristocracy. We fought to better the lives of all Englishmen. I am set on my course.”
His companion seemed bolstered by this avowal, nodding in affirmation, but was still impatient to be gone from the crowded tavern. “What did you want? I can’t be comin’ up to Town every few days if you want me gettin’ stuff ready. May ain’t that far off.”
The reformer grasped Bates’s arm, garnering his full attention. “I’m changing the plan.”
“What?” Bates squeaked.
Leaning forward, the reformer whispered, “April twenty-third.”
Panic in the form of a sheen of sweat swept over Bates like a red-hot fever. “No! No, we can’t move it up. I can’t be ready! We still need more help. We—”
“Calm down!” the reformer whispered harshly. “I don’t doubt for a minute you’ll be ready. We’ll recruit all the help we need at the next meeting. It’ll be best if we already have our plan in place when we ask for assistance. The less time there is for someone to let slip our plot, the better. I’ve told you before, Bates, I— we —will not be caught. It’s not even a consideration.”
Bates’s jaw dropped. “The twenty-third is less than two weeks away. Why?”
The reformer ignored the desperation in his coconspirator’s voice. Bates would rise to the occasion. “Because Liverpool will be attending a production of Macbeth that night, along with Sidmouth.”
Leaning back, he waited for Bates’s reaction, and Bates did not disappoint him. “Together? But that would be… If we got them both… Oh my God!”
“Exactly.” He couldn’t help grinning. “You see why the date must be changed.”
“Do I! To be rid of that tyrant along with Liverpool? There won’t be anybody to replace them with but reformers!”
The reformer finished off his ale. Pulling a purse from his pocket, he slipped the serving girl a coin and then withdrew a few others, sliding them across the table to Bates. “This should help you be ready sooner. Do you need anything else?”
Bates shook his head.
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