Burdon grunted. ‘It’s a devilish business either way if you’re on the receiving end of it, and no wonder they will take such risks to escape it. Why, I’ve heard of fellows posting themselves to Philadelphia in boxes and crates! But let’s not be too pious, Parson Hackett. After all, we British brought the institution to these shores.’
‘Yes, but at least we’re trying to put it right now, man. You know that Albert himself encourages us to work closely with the Underground Rail Road, even while the government has to turn a blind eye for fear of offending our American cousins. The slave-hunters with their whips and guns actually have the law on their side, of course, and a strong buck like Simon there might be worth a thousand dollars or more. Odd thing for a prince to be involved in, you might think – a secret network of safe houses and transport routes, and communication by nods and winks. But Albert did take great delight when freed slaves promenaded around his Exhibition, causing a few purple faces among the exhibitors from the American South!’ He glanced over his shoulder. ‘Which isn’t to say that, while the assignment we’re taking on is a noble one, it won’t be difficult. You can see how we’re fixed. Poor old Abel will be a burden. Whereas Simon—’
‘Raised above his station,’ Burdon said. ‘He’s going to be too clever by half, all the damn way to Pittsburgh.’
Hackett glared at him, disgusted. ‘And is that how you think of him – even you? Well, thank God that in the free states there is a place even in America where a man like that can never be called “above his station”.’
Now Simon called over, politely enough. ‘Dr Hackett? My grandfather is asking for you. Wonders if Prince Albert has made any new speeches.’
‘At once, at once.’ And Hackett walked off to the tent.
Burdon growled to Luis, ‘Well, I’ll do my duty to Queen, country and my fellow man, and it pleases me to put one across those slave-catchers – though I’m getting deuced sick of Hackett. The man doesn’t have a monopoly on conscience, y’know. But putting that aside, Valienté – what are your plans after this jaunt is done?’
Luis shrugged. ‘Perhaps see more of America. First time I’ve travelled further than France.’
‘How do you fancy making a bit of money? More than a bit, actually.’
Luis frowned. ‘You’re not talking about anything illegal, are you?’
‘Of course not. Just listen. Even you must have heard of the Gold Rush. In the last few years half the population of this benighted young nation has scarpered for the hills of California, shovels in hand, drooling for gold.’
‘And most of them have earned nothing but a ruined back, and poverty.’
‘True enough. But a handful have become rich – very rich.’
Luis shrugged. ‘Good luck to them. What’s it to us? I’m no prospector.’
Burdon rolled his eyes. ‘But I am. Studied rocks at college, remember? And besides, we don’t need to be prospectors. Think about it, man. God! – why are we Waltzers always so blind to the possibilities before us? Suppose we picked one of those prospectors, one of the more successful fellows. We investigate his claim – study his reports, his maps. Even go see the shafts, the mine workings themselves, if we can get close enough. And then—’
Luis saw it in a flash. ‘We step widdershins. And there’s the same mine, the same seam—’
‘As unworked as if America had never been peopled at all, and us with the maps in our hands. Of course there are practical difficulties, the worst being we can’t carry iron-headed spades and picks across. But we can get around that. Why, we could just pick a site where we can pan it from the streams. And we’ll have it all to ourselves, with none of the risks and uncertainties of prospecting, for all that will have been done for us. Now – tell me what’s unethical.’
Luis had to grin. ‘Feels like cheating, somehow.’
‘I know! But it’s not! Isn’t it grand? We’ve spent four years already following Hackett around on these humanitarian chores of his. Don’t you think, for all the risks we run on stunts like this, we deserve something more for ourselves than occasional pats on the head from old sausage-eater Albert? Not to mention the lingering suspicion that always hangs over us …’
Luis knew what he meant. He thought of Radcliffe, the secretive agent who was never far from Albert’s side in their presence, and at their meetings with representatives of the government. While Albert, something of a visionary dreamer, enthused about the strange powers and benevolent deeds of ‘my Knights’, as he called them, others were evidently a good deal more suspicious of a bunch of such elusive characters, with access and influence in such high places. Maybe it was all too good to last; maybe it would end in tears for them, some day, and Luis, nearly thirty years old now, should think about his own future.
‘I’ll consider it,’ he said.
Burdon slapped his own forehead. ‘Ah, man! Don’t consider, do.’