this time the protesters had a champion among the ruling classes, although neither side knew it yet. His fondest hope was that one of the London newspapers to which he had written as Rebecca would find the information intriguing enough to send down a reporter. If a London newspaper would print the truth and combine it with the rather romantic story of Rebecca and her daughters, perhaps public sympathy would be enlisted. And if any of the carefully chosen public figures to whom Rebecca had written decided to ask questions, or even to come down to investigate, then perhaps they too would see the truth.
It was a slim chance. They were just as likely to see the truth from their own standpoint as members of the ruling class. But if the information he gave them as Earl of Wyvern somehow tallied with what they would learn from the people themselves, then perhaps . . .
Certainly he had a better chance this way of attracting enough attention that something would be done. The people alone, even banded together with a Rebecca at their head, were virtually helpless. He alone, as the Earl of Wyvern, was merely an eccentric and annoying gentleman best ignored.
No. He rode toward the agreed meeting place, not in Glynderi, but two miles south of the river, stopping only once among some densely packed trees he had chosen in advance for the purpose to unroll his blanket and don the garb of Rebecca. No, he must not begin to wonder now or to worry about what he might have unleashed. He must go on. And he had to admit that it was exciting to go on. For four days he had lived for this moment.
He wondered if Marged would come tonight. Part of him hoped that she would remain safely at home. Part of him—perhaps a larger part, if he was strictly honest with himself—hoped that she would come.
He stopped when he reached the meeting place, holding both his horse and his person motionless despite the fact that moonlight bathed the bleak and open hillside and he would be in full view of anyone who happened past. But he knew that his followers expected courage and daring and dignity of their Rebecca. Well, then, he would give them what they wanted. Besides, he would be just as visible if he pranced about and ducked and weaved.
Finally they came, large groups from the east and the north, a smaller one from the west. But at least as many men as on Saturday night and perhaps more. It seemed that they had not been scared away by the warnings or the knowledge that there were constables in the area. He felt a wave of pride for his people. His daughters rode up beside him, all of them silent. Apart from Aled, he did not know the identities of any of the others, just as they did not know his. It was better so. Only the members of the committee knew who he was.
And Idris Parry, an inner voice reminded him.
Apart from one sweep of his head from right to left, he kept his head high and his eyes forward. It had been impossible to tell from that one glance if Marged was in the crowd. But he would bet a fortune that she was. It would be a matter of pride with Marged to go wherever the men went. And to strike every possible blow against the Earl of Wyvern.
He raised his arms slowly and waited for all the murmurings to die away. He knew from his education and experience not to yell over the noise, muted as it was, and so lessen the sense of power and authority he sought to project. He waited for total silence.
“My children,” he said, using the voice skills that he knew carried the sound a great distance without the necessity of yelling. “Your mother welcomes you and thanks you for coming to give her your help. There are two gates that disturb me and that must come down this night. You will remove them, my children, when I give the signal.”
There was a murmuring of assent.
“Lead the way, Mother,” Charlotte said.
“We will follow,” another daughter added.
He lowered his arms when the murmuring had died away again, and rode forward, Aled on his right, another of his daughters on his left.
It should have been easier tonight, he thought when they came down to the road and turned left toward the tollgate already visible in