Rebel Magisters (Rebel Mechanics #2)(58)

My first step was to disguise it, so it wouldn’t be obvious at first glance. I found an envelope in the drawer of my desk and slid the letter into it. On the outside of the envelope, I wrote my name in my best impression of masculine handwriting. As an afterthought, I added, “To my dearest” above my name. I sealed the envelope, waited about a minute, then eased it open.

Now that it looked like a love note that had been read, I hoped that no one who wasn’t prying into my life would take a closer look. I stuck it between the pages of my Bible, as that was one book no one was likely to need to borrow from me, and with any luck, that would add a dash of guilt to anyone tempted to read my letter.

It wasn’t until I’d settled that matter that I realized the window was still open. It was warm enough outside that the room hadn’t become badly chilled, but it still felt very damp, which made me shiver now that I wasn’t active. I made a quick check to ensure that no blood was evident in the room or on the windowsill and that no one was likely to suspect I’d had a midnight visitor, then crawled into bed and tried unsuccessfully to quiet my mind enough to get some rest.





Chapter Fifteen


In Which

I Must Maintain

Appearances




After a night of tossing and turning and startling at every sound within the house, I got out of bed at the crack of dawn. In the daylight, I couldn’t find any traces of Henry’s visit, which relieved me a great deal. I made my own bed and tidied after dressing so that the housemaid would have no reason to linger in my room.

I was alarmed to find the governor already at breakfast when I went down. I felt as though every word I said to him amounted to a lie when I was hiding such a huge secret from him. Of course, I’d been hiding things as long as I’d known him. I’d been spying on him the first time I visited his home. But this felt greater, somehow.

The governor greeted me with a gruff, “G’morning,” as I entered the room, but he didn’t look up from his newspaper. He was always gruff, and even more so at breakfast, so I couldn’t tell from his manner if he yet knew that his dispatch had been stolen. I was immensely relieved when Olive joined us soon after I sat at the table. Her chatter kept an uncomfortable silence from forming. Rollo joined us not long afterward, and he had his own way of steering a conversation.

“Have you heard that there’s a ship that travels under water, and they think it’s in this harbor?” he said, his eyes shining with excitement.

“Where did you hear that?” I asked. He’d had no opportunity I was aware of to talk to anyone local.

“One of the footmen is as interested in engineering as I am, and we were talking about it. I told him all about the airship, and he told me about this underwater boat.”

“I doubt such a thing exists,” the governor said from behind his newspaper.

Rollo’s eyes went wide. “If you don’t know about it, Grandfather, then that means it must be something invented by the Rebel Mechanics.”

The governor lowered the newspaper and looked at Rollo over the top of it. “The Rebel Mechanics are nothing more than red ribbons and bold talk. Have they ever actually made anything? Has anyone seen one of their miraculous devices?”

I focused on my toast and hoped that my invisibility as governess would count in my favor because it was hard not to react when I was well aware of exactly what the Mechanics had created.

“They made a steam engine,” Rollo protested. “It was in the newspaper.”

“It was in an unauthorized scandal sheet,” the governor corrected. “That is not a reliable source.” I knew he was not only incorrect but was actually lying to his grandson because I knew he’d sent soldiers to seize the machines, and British soldiers, including the governor’s friend General Montgomery, had seen the slum children fleeing an altercation in omnibuses pulled by a steam engine.

Rollo set his jaw defiantly in a way that for a moment made him look remarkably like his uncle, but he wisely said nothing more, even as his eyes said, “I know it’s true!”

Clearly changing the subject, the governor asked, “Where’s Lyndon? He should be down by now. Rollo, go check on your uncle. He’s usually more punctual than this.”

Rollo got up and ran off. He returned a few minutes later, frowning. “He’s not feeling well. He’s all pale and sweaty.”

I was rather surprised that the governor actually looked concerned. Henry was convinced that the governor didn’t approve of him, especially not as guardian of the children, but it looked to me like the governor didn’t wish him ill. “I should send for a doctor.”

“He says he just has the flu and said he wants some tea and to be left alone,” Rollo said.

“I will go read him a story,” Olive declared.

“You’ll leave him alone, as he asked.” The governor turned to the footman who was in charge of the breakfast room. “Have some tea sent up to Lord Henry. And get someone to check in on him every so often to see if he needs anything.”

I tried to convey the right degree of concern, something appropriate for an employer who had the flu rather than for a good friend who’d been grievously wounded. I had to settle for a mild, “Oh dear, I hope he feels better soon,” even though I wanted nothing more than to stay by his side and soothe his fevered brow.