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“No?” Stewart contested. “Should we not be concerned that he has treated his wife in a disrespectful manner?”
“It is not our place to say anything,” Follett contended.
“That is where you are wrong!” Stewart exclaimed, pounding his fist on the table. “The only way to enact change is to speak up. We must make our opinions known.”
“Do you intend for the protest to be peaceful?” Oliver asked.
“That is my intention, but I can’t speak for everyone,” Stewart replied. “We will march from Templeton Square to the palace and remain there until they are forced to acknowledge us.”
Oliver’s brow knotted. “And if they don’t?” he asked.
“They will.”
“How can you be certain?” Oliver pressed.
Stewart’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You are quite the naysayer,” he remarked.
Putting his hand up, Oliver replied, “I don’t want any part of a violent protest.”
“How do you think the Americans enacted change?” Stewart asked, lifting his brow. “Do you think they held peaceful protests until King George finally relented and gave in to their demands?” He shook his head. “No, they fought for their freedom.”
Oliver glanced around the room and acknowledged, “The guards at the palace will hardly consider the few of us a threat.”
“They will underestimate us.”
Before Oliver could respond, the door was opened, and three Bow Street Runners with red waistcoats burst into the room with their pistols drawn.
“You are all under arrest by order of the king,” the tall, brawny Bow Street Runner declared, waving his pistol in front of him.
“Blasted Runners,” Oliver muttered under his breath. “I should have known.” He turned his attention towards Stewart, who was speaking calmly to one of the Bow Street Runners. It was a trap, and they had waltzed right into it.
The Runner turned his pistol towards him. “Did you say something?”
Not wanting to give the man any reason to shoot him, Oliver put his hands up and said, “I was merely commenting that I like your red waistcoats. They are very fashionable.”
“Keep quiet,” the Runner ordered. “I want you to rise slowly and keep your hands where I can see them.”
Oliver rose and followed the Runner out of the back room. He led everyone out the main door and stopped at a wagon. The Runner gestured towards the back of it. “If you are waiting for me to assist you into the wagon, then you are sorely mistaken.”
Oliver stepped into the wagon and sat in the back. Follett and Haskett came to sit down next to him.
“What is happening?” Follett asked.
Haskett scoffed. “Isn’t it obvious?” he questioned. “We are being arrested.”
“But we didn’t do anything,” Follett replied.
Frowning, Oliver revealed, “Just discussing radical views can land you in jail, and Stewart was behind the whole thing.”
Haskett gave him a blank look. “Why would he intentionally want to be arrested?”
“He wouldn’t,” Oliver revealed. “Stewart set us up. He led us here to discuss a radical protest, knowing what we were discussing was treasonous, and for every arrest, he will collect the blood money.”
“Blood money?” Haskett asked.
“That is what it is called when a Bow Street Runner intentionally sets a trap just to collect the reward money. Each one of us carries a value on our head,” Oliver explained.
Follett groaned loudly. “My father is going to kill me for doing something so incredibly foolhardy.”
