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Daniel nodded.
“A man may disagree with certain laws,” Macklin continued. “Ido. But one of my correspondents said that Pendleton seemed more interested in spewing outrage and destroying his opponents’ reputations than in real reform.”
Daniel wondered how such a man could be related to Miss Pendleton. He sounded completely unlike her. “Perhaps he was misunderstood.”
“He commissioned a broadside listing all the Prince Regent’s mistresses and debts, going back to his youth, and arguing that it was past time to abolish the monarchy.”
“Ah.”
“It included a caricature of the king suffering a fit of madness.”
“Prinny must have been livid. I’m surprised Pendleton wasn’t arrested.”
“His sponsorship wasn’t proven until after the Manchester incident.” Macklin shook his head. “The man seems to have been a political idiot. If I listed all the ways one could antagonize the government, he would tick every box. Without anything to offer to replace them but ranting.”
“Reform is brewing, I think.” Daniel had never delved too deeply into politics, but he knew that much.
“And I’m behind it,” replied Macklin. “Change is necessary, and inevitable. But I dislike stupidity. And it doesn’t do to tear everything down all at once. We saw where that leads in France. Do we want another Terror?”
“Obviously not.”
“I don’t think Philip Pendleton would have agreed. He seemed intent on mayhem. The ‘Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war’ sort of thing. I wonder if he was a bit unbalanced?”
“Can Miss Pendleton know all this?” Daniel still had trouble reconciling these two radically different people. Scurrilous broadsides and fiery rhetoric just didn’t fit with the young woman who’d sat by his side organizing documents. And kissed him so sweetly that his spirits still reeled.
“I expect she does, by this time.”
“This time?”
“She was questioned after he was killed. They would have shown her their evidence at some point, trying to get more information.”
“She told me about the investigation,” Daniel said.
“About being locked up?”
“What?”
“The aftermath of the shooting was chaotic. Miss Pendleton was taken from her home and…secured in Manchester for a while.”
“Secured! They imprisoned her?”
“More of a house arrest. Or hotel arrest.” Macklin shrugged. “Her brother was thought to be one of the ringleaders. Because of his rank, I suppose. Some imagined he was the head of a network of revolutionaries, and that his house would be a treasure trove of information. They wanted free rein to search the place. As it turned out, they found nothing. She was soon released, but forbidden to leave Manchester until the inquiries—which is to say interrogations—ended.”
Daniel was horrified. When she’d spoken of an investigation he’d imagined something like the local magistrate’s court, over which he presided. Stern, but courteous; just, but kindly. Now he saw her hemmed in by frowning men shoving broadsides into her face and demanding facts she didn’t possess. “My God.”
“It must have been very difficult for her,” said Macklin.
“Difficult!” Daniel’s hands curled into fists. It was all he could do to sit still. He wanted to go to her and comfort her and assure her of…what?
“You’re right, worse than difficult. A friend of mine who is familiar with the case was shocked and outraged by the way she was treated. He said some of Sidmouth’s men went much too far in the aftermath of Peterloo. It was soon clear that Miss Pendleton had nothing to do with her brother’s activities.”
“As she told them!”
“In their defense, they may have really believed that a revolt was imminent.”
“By the daughters of baronets? I wonder she doesn’t lay an action against them in court.”
“She may wish to forget the whole matter, insofar as she can.”
