asked plaintively.
“In two weeks, just as he promised. He’s never broken a promise before, has he?”
“Only that one time.”
“He had to stay in London then, silly. It was Official Business, with the government and all. I thought you understood.”
Elspeth merely sniffed. “You understood. I never said I did.” A tear slid down her grubby cheek. Another followed.
With a low sound, her brother circled her trembling shoulders. For a long time they sat that way, black hair against gold, Elspeth’s grubby rag doll crushed between them. The sharp pain of their memories was almost beyond bearing.
Finally the little girl began to squirm. Still sniffling, she pulled away and inched over to the ladder. “I w-want to go home.”
“Be careful on those rungs,” her brother cautioned, hovering above her as she inched down to safety.
But Jeremy took his time gathering the last of his stones into a battered canvas satchel. By then, his face carried tear tracks of its own.
~ ~ ~
The afternoon sun sank slowly, crimson and gold above the slender spires of St. Paul’s.
Seated in a deep wing chair before a sunny window, the Duke of Wellington stared at the two men opposite him.
“Damned bad business. Sometimes I think the whole country’s going to rack and ruin. Riots and disorder. Disrespect of the grossest sort.” The duke sighed. “The country’s changing, and something tells me I am not going to like the new country it becomes half so much. And then there’s this whole bloody business with China.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a heavy parchment sheet, which he waved heatedly. “Have you seen this?”
Morland shook his head.
“It’s a letter from the Celestial Son of Heaven himself, written direct to King George III. I’ve just been shown the thing today.”
Scowling, Wellington hunched forward and began to read, his outrage growing with every word: “ The Celestial Kingdom possesses all things. The Son of Heaven has no use for your odd or ingenious devices. Nor do we have any desire for your country’s products. ”
Wellington’s eyes hardened. “And then the emperor adds this: Obedience is demanded. Only complete submission will ensure the harmony and prosperity you desire.” Wellington slowly crushed the paper to a tight ball. “Has the fool any idea to whom he is speaking?”
Morland decided prudence lay in silence.
What good would it do to remind Wellington that the Chinese had ruled a vast, civilized empire centuries before the first Romans came to England and found themselves greeted by savages in blue paint? That Chinese armies had once controlled half of the world, while Chinese fleets had cruised the ocean all the way to Africa?
But Morland said none of those things.
He only waited.
The duke raised his glass in a toast. “Here’s to your hair-raising scheme, Tony. Let us pray that it works. We’ve lost too many fine men already in Spain and Portugal. I don’t care to lose any more.”
The duke frowned down at his half-filled glass. “England is changing, I fear. All these infernal machines belch smoke and noise, turning out things people don’t need for prices they can’t pay. Northern nabobs, civil unrest. Damned if I know what to make of it. And more trouble yet to come, I fear.”
The three men were silent, each recalling the horrors of war. And now, though the war had ended, the turmoil continued.
Admiral Blessington finished his drink and sat back. “What’s to be done next?”
Morland stared at the cut-crystal decanter beside Wellington’s fingers. It reminded him of cold passes and frigid Spanish dawns. Of promises made but not kept.
More memories. Each more bitter than the last…
When Morland looked up, his eyes were as clear and sharp as the crystal. “There are one or two points I did not mention to the others. You should hear them now. Even if I can get the book—and to you I must make it clear that it is very much an if —we will have