Here appeared to be a small coffeehouse tucked between a shoemaker and a bookbinder. The sign on the plaque read LLOYD’S COFFEEHOUSE. People lounged inside, gathered around the square tables that were crowded into the space. Lively discussions were going on in every corner. Suddenly, a hush fell over the crowd. Sophia grabbed her hand and squeezed, then pulled them inside to stand along the wall.
“There he is,” Sophia whispered. Excited murmuring spread throughout the people gathered there.
“Who?” Arista asked. She had never been to a coffeehouse, though she knew what often took place inside them: discussion, mostly political, mostly among men. There were no class distinctions in many of them, and Lloyd’s appeared to be the same. Arista saw fine tailored suits and threadbare cotton, silk and muslin. She and Sophia were, however, the only women in the establishment.
“Voltaire.” Reverence filled Sophia’s voice.
Even Arista had heard of the man in conversations at the parties she attended. He was part of the Enlightenment movement, and the aristocracy hated his message. They fought to have him silenced, because he spoke of equality and the dissolution of the classes. She had often wondered how one man could cause such resentment and fear in others.
Until he began to speak. His soft, French-accented voice carried over the hushed crowd. He spoke of privilege and wealth and how each person, regardless of the circumstances of their birth, deserved to be treated as an equal to everyone else.
Shouts of agreements rose above them.
Sophia gripped her hand tighter, nodding her head. Her eyes shone with the fervor that filled the room. And Arista? Her skin prickled with excitement as she got caught up in Voltaire’s words. Never had she heard such conviction. Such belief in one’s own words. She found herself nodding, too.
“Sophia, love, I hoped to see you here.”
A new voice came from behind them. Sophia released Arista’s hand and swung around with a happy cry. “Louis!”
He took her hand and bowed low, brushing his lips over her fingers. A blush rose in Sophia’s cheeks. A cocky grin split the handsome young man’s face and he stepped closer, resting a hand on her hip in a familiar way.
“Louis, this is my house guest, Ana.”
Louis’s gaze turned assessing as he looked over Arista. When his eyes finally stopped at her face, he stared at her unapologetically. “You have the look of a gypsy about ya. Do you read fortunes, too?” Arista froze. Nic had only ever called her “gypsy” in jest.
“Louis!” Sophia gasped. She looked between Arista and Louis, clearly embarrassed.
“What? We could use a fortune teller, love.” He laughed, but the emotion didn’t quite make it to his eyes. There was nothing threatening about him; he appeared relaxed enough, and made no indication that he would reach for a weapon. But instinct—a familiar feeling in her gut—told her that he wasn’t all that he appeared. The way he dressed, the threadbare wool trousers that were a little too short, the scuffed boots that looked too big, all spoke of poverty. The kind that Arista had grown up in. What was Sophia doing with someone like him?
The crowd shifted, moving closer as one to hear what the dynamic speaker was saying. Sophia took Arista’s hand so that they would not be separated.
“So, you’re another one for the cause, aye?” Louis leaned around Sophia and addressed Arista. At her questioning stare, Louis tugged Sophia closer. “This one believes that we are all the same, regardless of social standing. I tell her it’s a lost cause, but she refuses to listen. Them with the money won’t ever let people like me into their circles. Not that I want to rub elbows with that stuffy lot.” Sophia elbowed him, and he grunted. “Well, there are a few lovely exceptions, I admit.”
Arista saw the way they looked at each other, and turned away. It was too intimate to watch. Voltaire continued to talk. Arista tuned out the couple and let his words wash over her.
If enough people would rise up and denounce the way things were, he said, if they no longer accepted the boundaries of the classes, it could all begin to change. He made it sound so simple. It could have been five minutes or fifty, she was so caught up in the spell Voltaire had cast.
“Love, I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Louis said to Sophia. It wasn’t his sudden disappearance, but his tone, that piqued Arista’s interest. Resigned—to whatever it was he had to do. He didn’t want to go, that much was clear. She followed his progress as he made his way outside the crowd. Even in the thick mass spilling out of the doors, Arista knew the man that Louis had stopped to talk to.
Wild.
Louis pulled a thick packet from inside his jacket and handed it to the Thief Taker. Wild, in turn, gave Louis a small drawstring bag that he immediately tucked away. Arista wanted to get closer, to hear what they were saying, but she didn’t want Wild to see her. To let him know that he’d been seen.