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Chapter Six
Baldwin rubbed his tired eyes as he rode in his coach to the House of Lords. He had spent nearly the entire night before at the Queen’s Gambling Hall, and he was exhausted. He had identified a few schoolboys that were quite vocal about their radical beliefs, but they were just deep into their cups. He doubted any of them had any real conviction.
Bringing him back to no leads. Sadly, he was no closer to identifying the radical group than he had been when he first started looking.
He intended to go back to Floyd’s Coffeehouse tonight and watch for the group of men the serving woman had informed him about. Perhaps that would yield a clue.
Baldwin clenched his fists as his thoughts turned to Miss Dowding. Why had he agreed to help her find her friend? Don’t I already have enough to worry about at the moment, he thought. But when she had revealed her plight, he found his heart softening towards her, which was so unlike him. Emotions were burdens that needed to be suppressed at all costs. They could get a man killed.
The coach came to a stop in front of Westminster. He exited the coach and entered the building by way of two large wooden doors. As he stepped into the White Hall, he could feel everyone’s eyes on him, but he didn’t let it affect him.
Baldwin walked over to where the Tories were gathered and sat down in the back row.
His friend, Lord Brinton, approached him with an obnoxious smile on his face. “As I live and breathe, is that Lord Hawthorne, gracing us with his presence from on high?” he greeted.
“What is it that you want?”
Lord Brinton sat down on the seat next to him. “I am relieved that I finally have a friend in Parliament,” he said.
Baldwin gave him a skeptical look. “You didn’t have one before?”
“No,” Lord Brinton replied. “For some reason, people find me too charming.”
With a shake of his head, Baldwin remarked in an amused tone, “I see that you have not changed, Percy.”
Percy turned in his seat to face him, lowering his voice. “May I ask where you have been these past three years?”
“Here and there,” Baldwin replied. “But mostly I spent my time at our Scottish estate.”
“I see,” Percy said. “The last time I saw you was at your father’s funeral.”
“I believe it was.”
Shifting in his seat, Percy faced the center of the room. “You are in luck, because Lord Desmond will have the floor today and will be arguing for his new bill.”
“How is it being received?”
“Very well,” Percy replied, “at least by the Whigs.”
“Not the Tories?”
Percy shrugged. “He has some votes amongst us, but not many.”
“Do you think it will pass?”
“Who can say?” Percy replied. “But there is always a chance.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because Lord Desmond is rallying the people behind it,” Percy explained.
“Are you for the bill?”
Percy shook his head. “Heavens, no,” he said. “I believe we are in need of more workhouses, but I don’t believe the Home Office should oversee them. It is the parishes’ job to administer to the needs of the poor.”
Baldwin frowned as he saw the thickset Lord Desmond walk into the room with a satchel over his right shoulder and take a seat in the front row on the opposite side of the room. His long, bushy sideburns drew attention to the sagging skin under his neck.
“I hate Whigs,” Baldwin muttered.
