“We should have thought through this plan better. Sir.” The last was not exactly grudging, but rather uncertain.
“Uncle Gabriel.” Gabe was settled in a back booth in a pub in Canterbury called the Fox and Seven Stars, which had quite an interesting history, actually. Isobel looked like a suitable sort of niece, with her hair up in a tidy braid around the crown of her head. It made her look younger, certainly, though still an adult. Gabe was in tweeds, relaxed. “There we are.” It was just past two, plenty of time for a casual meeting.
They’d talked through this as much as it was possible to talk through a plan like this. Gabe had found he had to run the thing on instinct, and that was the thing that couldn’t be planned. He couldn’t teach it either, he could just teach Isobel to trust her own intuition, if they were both lucky with it.
The long and short of it was that there were a number of groups making efforts, magically, in the war. Gabe sorted them roughly in his head into magical orders, fraternal orders, witches, eccentric ceremonialists, and downright batty. None of them had done anything terribly dangerous to anyone so far, but none of them had done anything obviously effective, either. Angelic visions aside.
He lifted his hand as the older man turned around, scanning the pub. Right on the first try, there was the single white rosebud in the lapel, matching the one in Gabe’s own. Mistletoe was tricky to get at this time of year, for one thing. As the man came closer, Gabe nodded at the small gold tiepin in the shape of a sickle. “Good evening. Mister North, I presume?” He wore an older suit, made five or six years ago, but well-tended, and a worn wedding band on one hand, a signet of some kind on the other.
The older man nodded, then glanced at Isobel. Gabe offered his hand. “Gabriel Edgarton. I’m down near Maidstone. This is Isobel. I do appreciate your time, sir.”
It got another grunt, then North settled into the other side of the booth, peering at them both. “Not what I expected.” He was gruff, as Gabe judged it, and likely in some modest amount of pain from something like arthritis. It had the clipped sound.
“I hope you didn’t have to come far? The weather gets my mother terribly this time of year. Me too, actually.” It was a risk, but Gabe thought it a reasonable one. North’s face hardened, then softened as Gabe moved his hand to brush the top of the cane resting beside him.
“The War?” North immediately clarified. “The Great War?” There being a current war on, of course.
Gabe shook his head. He wouldn’t lie about it, not if he had any choice. “I turned eighteen in the spring of 1918. An injury then, before I could have enlisted. But it means I can’t go to the fighting now, so I’m looking for a way to be a help.”
“Ah.” North weighed some information. “I asked around about you. Why'd you come up here, if you’re from down Maidstone way? There’s a lodge nearer there, too.”
“I gather you’ve had a more forward approach to mutual aid.” Here was where it got delicate. “Not just the usual sort of fete and games and knitting, though that’s all important too, of course. I can do my bit there, but Isobel and I wanted to do a bit more, and we were given your name as the man to talk to.”
It earned Gabe another grunt, and then he peered at Isobel. “We’re a fraternal order, young man.” To be fair, Gabe was some twenty years younger than North. Maybe more like thirty. And it wasn’t as if Gabe would let that get in the way of his goal.
“I’m very keen, sir. Uncle Gabriel said that you—” She flushed, charmingly. “I mean, everyone has to do their bit, right? And there are the days of prayer, and those letters from London, but I wanted something a bit more direct.” She glanced down at the table, then back up. “My mum’s family is from up in Yorkshire, Granda was a cunning man.”
“Ah.” That got them both a thoughtful sound, a bit more than a grunt. “And you, Edgarton?”
“Well. I do have an eye to Isobel’s safety. She’s something of a niece by marriage. Meeting someone in a pub is one thing, but I’m glad to tag along and see her safely to whatever. I might have a bit of interest myself, though she’s had more time to read up on the thing. But it’s really not a thing you can just read up on, I’m sure.” He kept his accent middle-brow, the sort of thing that a craftsman or businessman might manage. Educated, but not top-rank. “Need to get your hands in the dirt and all that.”
North looked him up and down, but then he nodded once. “I know a man. Do you have anywhere you need to be this evening? A bus to catch?”
Gabe shook his head. “Need to get along for the blackout, but we’re good until six or so.” That was nicely ambiguous.
“Right. Might have someone for you to meet. Let me toddle along and see if he’s got time this afternoon. The darts game is usually decent if you want to join in.”
Gabe nodded, agreeably. He wouldn’t play darts. It was not the best of his skills, but there was enough in common between duelling and darts that his aim would be remarked on, and he didn’t want to be noticed like that. He had learned the lesson about darts long ago in Scotland, though admittedly, he’d stuck out and been notable in Scotland for other reasons as well.
Instead, he and Isobel settled into agreeable conversation, nothing that would be a problem if it were overheard. Gabe had done a check-in at the home farm the day before, and so he could chat about chickens and the crops they were planning to put in. They were in public, so he minded his tongue talking about the pigs. The home farm was under Albion’s guidelines, of course, not the War Ag proper. Magic, the fuel needed to work magic, meant bits of the restrictions ran by different rules. In this case, more support for pigs so they’d have more meat to send along to help support the Temple of Healing and those in magical service.
About an hour later, when Gabe was already well on the way to twitchy, Mister North came back in with a man. They went to the bar, and then North came over to them. “Give us a chance for a drink, then how about a walk outside? Take a right, down to the river, west along the river to Greyfriars Gardens.”
“Sir.” Gabe nodded, agreeably. They finished up their drinks and made their way out without looking rushed. Isobel was twitchy at this point too, and Gabe couldn’t decide if it was on her own account, or because he was. Probably both. Once they were well away from other people, he cleared his throat. “Am I being too much?”
“Uncle.” That had a definitely teasing note. “You were getting a tad obvious, fidgeting.”
Gabe sighed. “It - well.” Isobel knew why he was on edge. They didn’t need to talk about it. And shouldn’t, here, anyway. Rathna had been away for a month and four days. He missed her more every day, and he was sure Avigail did as well. For all he was the one at home, it wasn’t helping.
He saw all the places Rathna should be and wasn’t. No rides together, now the spring was coming in. No times when she was settled in the observation chairs in the salle, watching him duel or run through exercises on his own. No time in their sitting room, or the library, working on their own projects, but together. Certainly no teasing him about the amount of coffee he’d gone through. Absolutely no being there in bed, warm and soft and present.
It was a little tricky, too, socially. He’d escorted his mother, twice, to social events when Papa wasn’t available, and there had been the predictable questions. “On war work, doing her bit,” certainly covered a lot of ground, but people got curious. Gabe couldn’t begrudge the curiosity, but he certainly couldn’t indulge it in anyone else. Far too much risk for Rathna and everyone she was with.
But the work was going well, as much as Rathna had been able to tell so far. It was a faster process, what she was trying, but it was still a matter of weeks, even months, rather than days. They’d got the foundation work solidly established. She was making adjustments for the amount of water in the land. Ferdinand was being quite a help, and the rest of the party were settling into their roles well. They were taking all due care, and they were skilled professionals, but Gabe wasn’t there and he wanted to be. He missed her, even though they’d been apart longer in their marriage before. He hadn’t liked it much then, either.
He’d have gone spare without the journals, where at least they could check in as they could. At least he could wish her happy dreams, or tell her about whatever was on his mind. Often enough there was a flurry of brief notes that led to some brand new idea, and he’d have to come back and explain why he stopped writing.
“Sir?” That was Isobel clearing her throat. “They’re coming.” They’d found a bench in the park in the green in the centre of the Greyfriars Gardens. Gabe had been here, mostly with his father, a few times, when talking to the Thanets on what was more or less neutral ground. The gardens went with an ancient almshouse, for all it was in the centre of Canterbury proper, and the centre of their demesne lands.
Gabe stood as the two men approached. Mister North nodded. “Peter Douglas, Gabriel Edgarton and his niece, Isobel. I’ll leave you to it.” North turned around and made his way back toward the cathedral, more or less.
Douglas nodded once. “Why should I talk to you?” Gabe appreciated the bluntness.
“We’ve both heard a rumour here or there of people doing more direct work, on an esoteric level, to keep Hitler where he ought to be. Well, ideally out of power entirely, but one step at a time.” Gabe was running on pure instinct again. He was reading in a dozen ways he’d never be able to explain - though he’d try later tonight - that this was no time to dance around the topic. Peter Douglas wasn’t of Albion, Gabe would have sworn it, besides the fact he had a decent idea of the local magical community. But he had a touch of something to him. Cunning folk, quite possibly. Interesting.
“Ah.” Peter Douglas settled on the bench they’d been occupying, and Gabe let Isobel have the other seat, as was proper, standing beside the other arm. “Both of you?”
“I promised her parents I’d keep an eye out for her, but Isobel’s quite able to make her own decisions.” This was a delicate line. There were trends in the witchcraft groups they’d heard about, about younger women having more of an entry to the private rituals. Youth and beauty and all that, though not necessarily in a salacious way. Isobel was quite capable of protecting herself, magically and otherwise. She was better with a memory clouding charm than Gabe was, honestly.
“We are planning something for May first. I’d need to discuss, before sharing any details.” He was carefully avoiding using names. That was interesting, but he was focused on Isobel. “Would there be a way to reach you for a meeting, Miss?”
“Certainly.” Isobel pulled out a small card. “I can get letters there, quite promptly.” She’d given the London drop. That would get sent along to their office in Trellech quickly if anything turned up.
“And do you have any experience with such things?” Douglas leaned back.
“My Granda, up in Yorkshire, was a cunning man. Mum picked up a few things, but - well. I’m staying with Uncle Gabriel at the moment.” She was playing it up nicely. “And I do want to do my bit, and...” She glanced down, then back up. “I miss it. The little I knew. I’m eager to learn, sir.”
That earned her a little harrumph but also a nod. Douglas considered. “What do you know then?”
It was tricky. Gabe had talked with Isobel about the options here, about how to play it. “Granda did a fine line in rheumatism cures, sir. Finding lost things. Dancing in a circle, at night.”
Another grunt. “But you’ve not been brought in fully?”
“No, sir. Is that - would that be a problem?”
There was a long pause, as if Douglas was counting up numbers, weighing something. “Not for May. We need the energy, more than anything else.” His gaze flicked over to Gabe. “Energy, yes. You can escort her to the meeting place, sir, if you wish, but no further.”
Gabe nodded once. “And a meeting before?”
Douglas shook his head. “Probably not. I’ll see what my lady says.” A particular term of endearment, perhaps, or a title. “Look for a note next week. Likely Tuesday or Wednesday. You can get to Canterbury easily, even for something at night?”
“Sir. So long as it isn’t terribly often. I can take the day for the first. Or I suppose overnight, from the thirtieth?”
It got her another approving nod. Gabe would be able to escort her that far, probably, but he’d have his own obligations for May Day. Papa could manage the land rites on his own. But they both preferred to ride the bounds fully if at all possible, and that went much faster with both of them.
There was a pause, neither of them speaking. Then, almost grudgingly, Douglas added. “I’ll speak to my lady about you, as well, sir.”
“Appreciated.” Gabe left it at that. That would be even trickier, but if that was on offer, he’d make it work somehow.
“Right. Good to meet you. Look for a letter.” Abruptly, Douglas stood up and offered his hand. They both shook and then watched him turn and walk off.
“Well. Something worked him up a bit in there. I wonder what. Come along, we’ll retreat and find our tea.” Gabe wanted to think about the byplay there a great deal more. And write to Rathna about it, to sort it out in his own head and to get whatever ideas she might have.