Fairbairn huffed. “How quickly the ideals of freedom turn to money.”
“Does it matter if I make a little profit while Scotland works its way to independence?”
Fairbairn dropped his gaze under the heat of Sin’s. “Nae.” He pushed his plate away. “But it isn’t money we need. It doesnae cost much to run a weekly pamphlet. It’s nerve. We’ve become complacent under English rule. Soft. If ye could rally the other Scottish peers to the cause, that would be a worthy contribution.”
“People aren’t so soft now,” Sin said in a low voice. “Riots in the streets, assassination attempts. The populace is showing their teeth.”
Fairbairn gripped the back of his neck. “Those incidents were awful. That’s nae what the movement is about.”
“No?” Idly, Sin scratched at a mark on the table. “Rebellion is rarely accomplished using peaceful means.”
“I’m nae naïve. I know there might have to be some battles.” Fairbairn pressed his palms to the table and sat up straight. “But shooting at someone on the street is the act o’ a coward. Starting fights that can get innocent women and bairns hurt is no better. There has to be a better way.”
Sin realized he was gaping and snapped his mouth shut. That hadn’t been the attitude he’d been expecting. The man’s sincerity almost made Sin want to invest in earnest.
But the editor was but one man. Others in the movement might feel differently about tactics. “Since your pamphlet doesn’t need investors, can you think of anyone else connected to the cause who might? I want to help my country in any way I can.”
Fairbairn rubbed his cheeks, and blew out a long breath. “Nae. Your MacConnell brings me columns to print, some written by him, some by his friends. But he doesnae tell me names, to protect those involved.” He snorted. “At least, he didnae use to.”
Sin stood. He removed a card from his inside pocket and tossed it on the table. “If you need anything, show this and you’ll be allowed into any of my homes.” He hoped Fairbairn didn’t get caught up in any arrests. He seemed like a decent man, one who loved Scotland and only wanted what was best for it. Who was to say that Sin’s vision for his country was any better than Fairbairn’s?
With a final nod, he turned on his heel and strode from the tavern. He climbed into the gig knowing Sutton would follow.
The conveyance creaked as Sutton climbed aboard, licking his fingers.
Sin glowered at him. “You couldn’t save me one?”
“You could have eaten with Fairbairn.” Sutton picked up the reins and urged the horse into motion. “What did he say?”
Slouching back onto the seat, Sin watched Glasgow roll by. The tall obelisk of Nelson’s monument turned into view. “He confirmed MacConnell is involved, but says he doesn’t know any other names. He also doesn’t know anything about the populace being stirred up, at least not more so than his pamphlet would induce. That infraction rests squarely on MacConnell’s shoulders, I’ll wager.”
“You want him to be responsible.”
Sin didn’t deny that.
“The rioting could still be happening naturally, with no direction behind it.” Sutton pushed his hat back on the crown of his head. “Perhaps we’re chasing ghosts.”
“No.” Instinct told Sin otherwise. The attacks were too directed. Too purposeful. “MacConnell could be another unwitting lackwit,” Sin conceded.
They reached an intersection. “Where to now?” Sutton asked.
Pulling out his pocket watch, Sin pointed left. “To the university. Winnifred should be finished speaking with her professor soon.” She had a landau at her disposal, but Sin wanted to see her. At Kenmore, he knew with a 40,000 square foot accuracy where she was. He felt unsettled with her roaming all of Glasgow without him by her side.
“If instigators are being used, someone has to pay them.” Sutton rubbed his jaw.
“And if this comes to civil war, someone has to arm them,” Sin finished grimly. Operations like this took money.
The gig turned on High Street and pulled even with the university’s clocktower. Sin hopped down. The landau he’d hired for Winnifred idled across the street. “If you’d like to return to our apartments, I’ll drive back with my wife.”
Sutton set the brake and climbed down. “I’ll wait. Besides, last time I was here there was a lovely little pastrycook shop just around the corner. I might pop in to see what sort of tarts they have today.”
“You just ate!” Sin’s stomach grumbled. “And you ate my meat pie, too, you gluttonous bastard.”
Sutton stretched his back cracking. “Now, now, be nice or I want give you your surprise.”
Sin’s gaze homed in on the tall figure emerging from the pavilion. Winnifred’s sandy brown hair and shapely form clad in a lavender gown made her easy to distinguish among the black-robed students.
He lifted a hand to grab her attention. “What surprise would that be?”
