The morning of the mask ball, there was excitement in the air. There were fancy dresses planned, and elaborate masks, both made and from the theater. They were beautifully crafted, and Lola made sure that those who needed their faces fully covered would have them covered. Aaron had a full black mask, allowing only his striking blue eyes to come through.
“This is a risk,” Harold said that morning, even as Aaron was tormenting Wesley with his mask. “I just want you to know.”
“I think we know,” Aaron grinned at him. “But you also think that eating runny eggs is a risk.”
“I---” Harold rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, Lord Bamber.”
“As you wish, Lord Bamber,” Aaron echoed as Wesley growled at him. “Did you have childhood trauma with a mask or something? Why are you terrified?”
“I like to see the whites of a man's eyes,” Wesley answered, backing away.
“You can still see the whites of my eyes,” Aaron said, just as they heard a ring at the door. He turned his head towards the door as the footman approached it to answer it. One glance through the peephole made the footman indicate that his secretive master should hide. Aaron briefly considered putting the mask over his face, but decided instead to go see how his daughter was getting along with her costume.
“Letter for Lord Bamber,” said the military officer at the door, handing it over to the footman. “To be placed in his hands only.”
“I'm here,” Harold said, approaching to take the letter. “Thank you.”
“The Admiral requests a reply within twenty four hours,” the officer said.
“He will have one,” Harold said, making sure that the letter was firmly in his pocket. “Thank you.”
“A pleasure, sir,” he said, and saluted, before heading off. Harold wondered how many other urgent letters he would have to deliver today.
As soon as the door was closed, he found himself surrounded by his former colleagues. Wesley and Aaron both stood over his shoulders, sensing the seriousness of the situation.
“Um,” he started, and then decided there was no point in arguing with them. He broke the seal, unfolding the letter from the Admiral.
His eyes widened as he read it, scanning the reports of the Spanish numbers and their alliance with the French, in official words.
Recruitment needed in mass numbers, to bring us even with them.
8 British Frigates overcome this past week. Estimated 800 deaths. Prisoners of war in mass numbers.
Harold felt his heart sink as he saw the names of the ships destroyed. These were men that they all knew; had worked with; Captains they had brushed elbows with. Dead, and gone.
“God speed,” Aaron said, closing his eyes. “This is dire, Harold.”
“I know,” Harold said. “The admiral can't possibly think that we can recruit that quickly.”
“Even if we held another recruitment camp?” Aaron said.
“It wouldn't be fast enough and that's not what they are asking,” Wesley said, indicating the bottom of the letter.
By order of the King, all private armies and guards are called into service. Privateer and reservists will be activated.
“That's not going to be enough,” Wesley was quick at the math, and he knew it would not be anywhere near enough to activate against the newly formed alliance. “You'd still be fighting at a 66% strength compared to them. And if the Admiral mobilizes them anyways...there will be a lot more than 800 deaths on his hands.”
“What you need to do is tell him that,” Harold glanced at him. “Because you know the Admiral. He will not accept that the British military could be defeated, even if the odds are 10 to 1.”
“I remember. He'll rush in with brute strength and not consider tactics,” Wesley said. “But I no longer have a rank in the military. He won't listen to me.”
“Wesley, you were the best mind in the British Navy,” Aaron said. “He'll listen to you, he will.”
“Which would mean reassuring my rank, reassuring my title in an official captivity, and then they'll start to ask questions. Where have I been, who have I been sailing with? They will check this to make sure I haven't been consorting with the enemy. And when they look deep enough, I have no doubt what or who they will find.” As usual, Wesley saw things several steps ahead. “If I go in to the Admiral, the risk to the safety of this net we have built is astronomical. Everyone here will be under scrutiny. Your children, their place in the world, my wife, everything. Not to mention us, and what we've done. Could our families survive without us, if we were to hang?”
“No,” Harold knew that answer. “None of them would be in a good place.”
“We would do our best, sir,” Matheson appeared, having clearly been listening in. Corrigan, as always, was at his side. “To take care of them. But no doubt Corrigan and I would swing from the noose not soon after.”
“You weren't---” Harold started, but Matheson held up his hand.
“We were just as involved as the rest of you. At least, we would claim to be,” Matheson gave him a wary smile, loyal to the end.
“You don't happen to have a huge navy in your back pocket, do you, Matheson?”
“Anything you need, sir, Corrigan and I can find,” Matheson said. “Except, of course, for that.”
“When did he need an answer for an impossible situation?” Aaron asked Harold, who shook his head.
“24 hours. I'm not exactly sure what he expects me to come up with.”
“Well, we do have some time then,” Aaron said, putting a hand on his back. “Don't think about it today. Tonight is the ball, and when we come back, we can put our heads together.”
“That seems irresponsible,” Harold said, and Aaron shrugged, meeting his eyes.
“You've already come up with the answer,” Aaron said, softly. “It's not in your hands now.”
He wanted to give Wesley time to think, to weigh the options. Hopefully, to give him more time to come up with a less dangerous option.
“Right,” Harold said, folding the letter and placing it in his back pocket. “I suppose that's it then.”
In the garden, Lola was unaware of the panic that was happening in the house. She was having her cup of tea against the sunflowers, listening to the birds chirping. She thought she was alone, but she heard the familiar sound of hard soled shoes against the dirt.
Turning around, she was surprised to find Morgan.
“Hello,” she said. “I expected you to be having breakfast in the house.”
“And as a married lady, shouldn't you be having breakfast in bed?” he asked. She smiled.
“I'm surprised you know that. Most people who grow up ...not noble don't know that.”
“I've had a lot of experience in many different things,” he said.
“In noble houses?”
His face changed.
“For a time,” he replied. “No work today?”
“Understudy has it,” she said. “I couldn't turn up the chance to attend the King's birthday with my actual husband on my arm. He's home so rarely.”
“You must miss him very much,” Morgan said. “It's rare. Most wives can't wait to get rid of their husbands.”
“We aren't together often,” Lola said. “Most of the time it's alright...but sometimes, yes, I miss him. What about you? Do you have a wife?”
Again, she saw the flash in Morgan's face.
“No,” he said.
Lola held his gaze, feeling that there was something wrong.
“Was there one in the past?”
“Yes,” he said. “Not a subject I feel like revisiting, if you don't mind.”
“Of course, I understand,” Lola answered. “That's fine. Tell me about Aaron, how is he as a Captain?”
That changed Morgan's mood, and he smiled.
“A riot,” he said. “Most days, he has us all in stitches.”
“That sounds like the Aaron I grew up with,” she said. “I always thought he would make a fantastic actor, if being a Lord didn't work out for him.”
“Being a Lord hasn't exactly worked out for him, has it?” Morgan asked. “I don't mean to be rude; it's just the truth of the situation.”
“He's told you everything then?” Lola asked.
“Most,” Morgan said. “There's some things that need to remain unsaid. He respects my secrets and I respect his.”
“That is fair,” Lola answered, finishing her tea. “What will you do when we are gone?”
“Oh, I imagine Matheson and Corrigan will show me the town,” Morgan said. “I wasn't often in the big city before, so I'm open to their suggestions.”
“Before?” Lola asked, and Morgan shook his head.
“Another time, Miss Lola, another life.”
“Mm, don't I know that story,” she said, watching the sun rise a bit higher in the sky. “I feel like I've lived several lifetimes already.”
He met her eyes, and they connected across the grass, sending a shiver down Lola's spine. She felt like he understood, more than most. However, she could also tell that he really didn't want to tell his story, and so she stood up, brushing a stray hair out of her eyes.
“I should go inside and see how they are getting on,” she said. “I'll see you later, perhaps?”
“Not as if I have anywhere else to go,” he said. “No grand palace throne to sit on. Your husband, though, he's got that to look out for.”
“What do you mean?” Lola asked, confused.
“Well, the Rippon line is fairly close to the throne,” Morgan said, as if everyone knew. “And the Prince George does only have one child, a daughter. Should he inherit---when he inherits--- you'll all likely take up residence in the palace.”
“Sorry?” This was all complete news to Lola.
“You didn't know that? Rippon is usually a chief adviser to the King. His father's gone, so...”
“I didn't know that,” she said. “I thought, being an Irish title, it wouldn't be that close to the throne. How do you know that?”
“Oh, I know things,” he said with a shrug. “It's a sought after title, never been stable. But if anyone can hold it, I'm sure it's the two of you.”
“Thank you?” she said, raising an eyebrow. Morgan didn't offer anything more, and so she went inside, baffled by the exchange.
It was there that she found the men standing around a letter, looking grave.
“Is everything alright?” she asked. Harold put the letter away then, as if he hadn't even heard her.
“Lola,” he said. “Are you intended to be there early tonight?”
“No,” she said, confused. “Is all well?”
“Yes,” Harold said, although she didn't believe him.
“Alright then,” she gave Wesley a look. “Can you attend to me?”
“You're in trouble,” Aaron socked Wesley in the shoulder, and he rolled his eyes at him.
Wesley gave him a look, but followed his wife up the grand staircase. Lola had their costumes laid out on the bed, but she didn't appear to want to discuss costuming.
“The pirate you brought home, Morgan? He just told me something interesting out in the garden.”
“I'll kill him,” Wesley said, tensing. He didn't know what he said, but he was assuming that it that wasn't anything pleasant. “Did he touch you?”
“No,” Lola replied, leaning against the bed. “But he did tell me that the Rippon line is traditionally adviser to the King,” she said. “And that we should be spending a lot more time in the palace.”
Wesley turned pale.
“Well, that---” he stuttered. She raised an eyebrow.
“I'm not angry at the news. I'm angry that I didn't know. And I'm confused why he knows.”
“I don't know why he knows, aside from the fact that he tends to know several things that he shouldn't,” Wesley said.
“So when were you going to let me know that is part of our duties?”
“Because there's no way you could uphold those parts of duty,” he answered. “It's a man's job.”
“Wesley,” she ran a hand through her hair. “Am I supposed to be a lady in waiting to the Queen?”
“Yes,” he answered. “But obviously that would mean giving up your career.”
“Oh, no,” she said. “So this is going to be odd tonight.”
“No, we'll be wearing masks,” he answered and she rolled her eyes.
“Let's just get ready for tonight,” she said. “There's not much we can do.”