think of much better things than anger,” one man dared to joke.
Her master silenced him with a look. “Now, if you are ready to discuss what matters . . .”
“We are, Mr. Garland,” the man called Thistlewood said. “Please, speak.”
Her master smiled coldly. “Until now, you’ve all stayed just out of reach of the noose. That is commendable, but at this pace, you will never achieve any results. That is where I should like to assist you. Sending your little rebellious letters to Whitehall is foolish. I want that to cease immediately. The best revolutionaries do not need to feed their sense of self-importance. They leave that for the rhetoricians who rally allies to the public front of their movement. But where sedition and treason are necessary, it must be carried out in the dark.”
“What are you suggesting we do, then? Don’t we need public support?” another man asked. “Rally the people and such? Otherwise, whatever we do won’t matter. It would be like killing the king. Another would simply take his place.”
Her master held a hand to his lips to call for silence. “The French successfully removed their dynasty.”
The man arguing with her master shook his head. “But a loyalist king took the throne after Bonaparte died.”
“And that man no longer has the Sun God status the French once believed their royalty held. He is mortal—he can be deposed or killed, his family and heirs wiped out by Madame Guillotine. The French people know they have the power now, not some man upon a false throne.”
Amidst all this,Camille was not focused on her master. She had a job to do, which was to listen to all that was said and remember the faces of every man present.
“What you need to do is remove the king and the system that keeps him in place.”
“How does one do that?” someone asked. “I am not against the idea, merely inquiring how one can achieve it effectively.”
“By doing it all at once.”
“All at once?” Thistlewood stroked his chin, his eyes thoughtful. “How could you ensure that?”
Her master leaned back in his chair. “The House of Lords. Parliament itself.”
The suggestion was met with silence, but judging by their faces, the rebels didn’t seem bothered by it. Rather they were contemplative, trying to see how this one stone could kill two birds.
Camille’s master smiled again. “The king intends to make a speech to Parliament, you see, and when he does, we shall be ready.”
“How do you propose to destroy Parliament? It’s not as though we could march up to it with pistols in our hands. If I recall, Guy Fawkes tried this and failed.”
“He did, but he didn’t have the access to places and people that I do. When it is time, I shall tell you how we will make Whitehall fall.”
Thistlewood glanced around at his fellow rebels. “Very well then. We shall wait for your signal. But we will not wait for long.”
“You will not have to.”
There were murmurs of assent, and Camille, still in the shadows, studied each face, searching for any hint of falsehood to betray a deceiver in their midst. One man seemed more pensive than the others. He sat close to Thistlewood, not speaking as the others, who were now resolved on their course of action and had dissolved into small talk. It could be nerves, of course, but it could be something else . . .
“I will send a summons when we are ready to set the plan in motion,” her master said.
One by one, the men slipped from the room until it was empty except for her master and herself.
“Well, my pet, what did you see tonight?”
She sipped a glass of wine and stole a bit of chicken from the plate her master had left out from his meal before she replied.
“Thistlewood and his men are loyal . . . though one concerns me.”
“Which one?” her master asked.
“The one who never spoke. He sat next to Thistlewood, perhaps to establish an outward show of his commitment. But he said not a word, even when his eyes would sometimes flash at what you said.”
“Well observed—even I missed that.” Her master handed her his glass of wine, and she drank before offering him a smile.
“You are pleased with me?”
“Very pleased,” he assured her. “Are you ready for your next assignment?”
“Yes.”
“You are to find Lord Pembroke’s sister.”
At this, Camille suddenly brightened. “Oh, monsieur, I forgot to tell you.” She rushed into the adjoining chamber and returned with a newspaper that she’d