Her shoulders ached, and she tried to relax, flexing her fingers and swinging her arms as they made their way toward their destination. She was unsure how Bertie had come across what was supposed to be a secret location, but she had ceased to be amazed at his knowledge. Between Uncle Bertie and the Duke of Haverly, she wondered if anything happened in London of which they were unaware.

Like ants returning to the nest, lines of men trickled in the same direction. No one spoke, barely looking at one another. Juliette kept her eye out for other women, hoping she wouldn’t be the only one. What they were doing was illegal, this massing together to foment reform … or outright rebellion, depending upon whom you asked. If the authorities got wind of the rally, they would scatter the participants and arrest whomever they could.

Their meeting place, a warehouse that abutted the river, stank of mold and mud and rotting wood. Wool, unwashed humans, and the dankness of the nearby Thames clogged Juliette’s nose. She withdrew her handkerchief from her sleeve and held it to her face, inhaling the scent of the rose-petal sachets Agatha had given her as a graduation gift.

She jerked and squashed the linen square into her palm. If someone noticed its quality, they would realize it was out of keeping with the rest of her attire. It was even monogrammed with her initials. She should have replaced the lacy accessory with one of a more plebian origin, but she’d forgotten. Such a lapse would draw Bertie’s attention if he happened to see it. Grimacing at stench she could no longer mask with roses, she jammed the handkerchief back up her sleeve.

The crowd grew, and as they passed deeper into the interior of the warehouse, torches were lit and placed in holders around the walls. Juliette kept her head lowered, but she peered through her lashes at the faces near her. Some streaked with dirt, some lined with age, some fresh and eager. Breath misted in the cold night air. Bertie found a place near one of the side walls, close to a door that appeared about to fall off its hinges, and she slipped in beside him.

He bent his head. “You will be tempted to watch the speaker, but I want you to watch the faces in the crowd. Notice who is with whom, who seems particularly interested. Notice if someone is acting strangely. Do not be obtrusive, for I suspect there are others here who will be watching too.” Bertie kept his face close to hers. “Mr. Swann will be about somewhere. If you should meet, you do not know each other, understood?”