Sons of Liberty by Christopher G. Nuttall Page A

hadn't had magic, she was several rungs higher up the social ladder than him. “Is there anything else I should know?”

    “ Anything you want washed can be put outside your cabin, where it will be cleaned by the crew,” Jackson said. “You didn't bring a maid?”

    “ No,” Gwen said. Martha had been reluctant to risk setting foot onboard ship, so Gwen hadn't pushed the matter. It wasn't as if she needed assistance to get dressed during the voyage. Besides, space was limited on the vessel. “I don’t need one.”

    “ Lady Olivier has two maids with her,” Jackson said. “I’m sure she would let you borrow one, if you changed your mind.”

    Gwen shrugged. “Who else is onboard ship?”

    “ So far? Forty-odd passengers, ranging from you to a handful of traders heading to the Americas,” Jackson said. “The remainder should be onboard before the tide.”

    “ One would hope so,” Gwen said. She looked at the bed, meaningfully. “I’ll get a nap now, if you don’t mind. I’d like to be awake when we leave harbour.”

    “ I’ll knock on your door to wake you,” Jackson assured her. “Until then, goodbye.”

    He bowed, then hurried out the door. Gwen smiled ruefully to herself - she had a feeling she was going to be seeing a great deal of Jackson, even before they reached New York - and then turned to her trunk. The lock had been carefully designed to be impossible to open without magic; carefully, she unlocked the trunk and opened it. A handful of files rested on top of a mound of books and clothes. She couldn't help thinking that, by the end of the voyage, she and the other passengers were going to be very smelly.

    Maybe I should have brought a maid after all, she thought. It had really been nothing but stubborn pride that had kept her from ordering Martha to accompany her or simply finding another maid. Officers might have batmen, servants who attended to their needs on campaign ... there was no reason why she couldn't have a maid. But it would have added yet another complication to my life.

    Sighing, she took one of the files, sat down on the bed and began to read it. Lord Mycroft’s agent, whoever he was, had done his best to unpick the complex relationships that made up the Viceregal Court, despite a social scene that made London look simple. America was clearly a very odd place. Some of the most powerful men and women in the colonies wouldn’t be considered high on the social ladder in London, even though some of them possessed more land than any Duke in Britain. The networks of patronage, she was starting to suspect, worked differently. Matters weren't helped by a number of American aristocrats giving themselves titles they had no right to have.

    It felt like hours before a dull quiver ran through the ship. Jackson banged on the door seconds later, although he didn't come into her cabin. Gwen wished, suddenly, that she could go up on deck, but Captain Bligh’s word was law when his ship was at sea. Putting down the file, she lay on the bed and felt the sensations running through the ship, trying to understand just what was happening. Distant voices shouted out unintelligible commands, followed by more odd movements. A steady thumping noise echoed through the ship. The vessel was clearly leaving harbour.

    “ Lady Gwen,” Jackson called, tapping the door again. “Do you want to come up to the deck?”

    Gwen sat upright, swung her legs over the bed and walked to the door. The deck felt odd under her feet, but she didn’t feel sick. Jackson was waiting on the other side of the door, beaming from ear to ear. It struck her, suddenly, that he’d been nervous that someone higher-ranking would be appointed to the convoy. He’d have lost his first chance at an independent command.

    “ Keep one hand on the railing until you have your sea legs,” Jackson advised. “The motions will get worse when we get out into the open sea.”

    “ Thank you,” Gwen said. She could fly, if