The Heiress Effect
Page 58
Oliver refused to be distracted by thoughts of a distant woman when so much else was at stake.
The evening before the planned rally, he sat with Minnie and Robert and read report after report—reports of meetings, of inns full to bursting, of courts convened for the sole purpose of commissioning special constables.
Matters were going to be ugly on the morrow.
He slept fitfully and was awoken at dawn by a knock on his door. When he answered it blearily, though, it was not his brother with news of violence already started.
It was a footman with an urgent telegram.
Oliver was still half asleep, and his dreaming mind ran away with him. A strange certainty leapt up in him. It was from Jane. She needed him. He’d go to her. He’d have to marry her after all, to save her from some horrible, unknown fate.
Never mind London. Never mind impossibility. Never mind the wreckage that would make of his life.
He rubbed his eyes, found his spectacles, and focused on the message.
It wasn’t from Jane—of course it wasn’t from Jane. He refused to be disappointed that his life wasn’t in shambles. It was from his mother.
FREE GONE
PLANS TO ATTEND DEMONSTRATION PROTESTING FAILURE TO INCLUDE WOMEN IN VOTING REFORM
FIND HER
His sleepy, half-sexual imaginings vanished, and he reread the telegram once again, this time with dawning horror. Then he called for schedules and cursed. The mail train would have arrived at Euston Station a few hours ago.
Free was already here, alone in London. She was going to an illegal demonstration alongside several hundred thousand angry men, men who would be pitted against half-trained constables who were crazed with fear at the thought of the mob. And—knowing Free—she was going to tell all those men that she wanted the right to vote, and they’d better give it to her.
“Holy mother of God,” Oliver swore.
His sister was going to get herself killed.
Chapter Seventeen
On today of all days, Oliver had expected to see constables on patrol, monitoring every street corner. But when he stepped out onto the street, there was no sign of the special constables that had been so much discussed over the past days. In fact, there was no sign of police presence whatsoever.
Instead, there were hundreds milling about the streets. The crowds grew thicker as he came closer to Hyde Park. It was there that he saw the first constables of the day: A lethargic pair had stationed themselves at the park gates. They made no attempt to stop the throngs from streaming into the park; in fact, one of them was congratulating people as they entered. They appeared to be making a half-hearted effort to stop costermongers from profiting off the event—and even then, as Oliver watched, a pie-seller slipped by, handing over a pasty as silent payment.
How they would have filtered out the elements intent on demonstration, Oliver didn’t know. A group of ladies had come up on horses to watch the festivities; they were seated with gentlemen nearby, with servants pouring wine and passing out little cakes. He’d heard someone say the other night that if there was going to be a clash between the Reform League and the police, they intended to have a front row seat. He’d assumed it had been a joke, but apparently, it had been honestly meant stupidity.
Hyde Park looked more like the scene of a carnival than a pitched battle. There were already thousands of people present. How was he to find Free in this throng?
He wandered around the park in confusion, hoping that nobody would take it amiss if he stared, and then realized that he was one of thousands of gawkers. Nobody cared about him.
He’d feared that matters would get ugly. He knew only too well that a throng this large could turn vicious all too quickly. But thus far, the complete absence of blue-uniformed officers had made the event festive. The promised clash between the event organizers and the government looked unlikely to materialize, and the relief left everyone giddy.
When the members of the Reform League began to appear, they were cheered as if they were heroes returning from battle. They came in groups, waved at the crowds, and led people in chants. As soon as Oliver had a chance, he started asking questions. “Pardon me,” he said. “Have you seen a woman talking about universal suffrage?”
This got him an odd look. “Of course I have,” one man said. “I see one regularly. I’m married to her.”
The next man made a face at the notion of universal suffrage and shook his head, refusing to answer.
By the time he’d talked to the third fellow, he’d perfected his technique. “Is there by chance a group of women advocating universal suffrage here?”
“You’ll want to go over to where Higgins is speaking,” a man said, indicating a distant quadrant of the park.
He made his way over to the indicated place. It was on the other side of the Serpentine, hidden by a cluster of trees, and it took him three-quarters of an hour to make his way through the crowds. Thankfully, he hadn’t been misled. There were shouts here agitating for the vote for all, not just for working men.
When he broke through the crowd, he saw a large group of women. They were clustered thickly together, arms joined. There, right in the middle of them—
For the first time since he’d awoken that morning, Oliver felt a deep sense of relief. He strode forward. “Free!”
Before he could reach her, a wall of women intervened, arms linked. They glared at him. A dark-haired lady of forty narrowed eyes at him and wagged her finger in his direction.
“None of that,” she said sharply. “There’s no men beyond this point.”
“I was just—” He gestured. “I just wanted to talk to her. To Frederica Marshall.”
“Well, you can’t.”
“Free!” Oliver called.
“Stop it, now.” The two women nearest him took a step forward, eyes glinting in menace.
“Free!” he said again, waving more desperately.
“Off with you,” one of them said. “Or must we ask someone to remove you?”
“No, wait, I just—”
It was at that moment that Free turned.
“Wait!” Free called. She dropped the arms of the women next to her and came over. “Don’t send him off,” she said. “He’s my brother.”
“So?” The dark-haired woman looked unimpressed. “You wouldn’t want to know what my brother’s been willing to do.”
“He won’t harm me,” she said. “He’s just being ridiculous and protective. Give me a few moments and I’ll make him stand down.”
The evening before the planned rally, he sat with Minnie and Robert and read report after report—reports of meetings, of inns full to bursting, of courts convened for the sole purpose of commissioning special constables.
Matters were going to be ugly on the morrow.
He slept fitfully and was awoken at dawn by a knock on his door. When he answered it blearily, though, it was not his brother with news of violence already started.
It was a footman with an urgent telegram.
Oliver was still half asleep, and his dreaming mind ran away with him. A strange certainty leapt up in him. It was from Jane. She needed him. He’d go to her. He’d have to marry her after all, to save her from some horrible, unknown fate.
Never mind London. Never mind impossibility. Never mind the wreckage that would make of his life.
He rubbed his eyes, found his spectacles, and focused on the message.
It wasn’t from Jane—of course it wasn’t from Jane. He refused to be disappointed that his life wasn’t in shambles. It was from his mother.
FREE GONE
PLANS TO ATTEND DEMONSTRATION PROTESTING FAILURE TO INCLUDE WOMEN IN VOTING REFORM
FIND HER
His sleepy, half-sexual imaginings vanished, and he reread the telegram once again, this time with dawning horror. Then he called for schedules and cursed. The mail train would have arrived at Euston Station a few hours ago.
Free was already here, alone in London. She was going to an illegal demonstration alongside several hundred thousand angry men, men who would be pitted against half-trained constables who were crazed with fear at the thought of the mob. And—knowing Free—she was going to tell all those men that she wanted the right to vote, and they’d better give it to her.
“Holy mother of God,” Oliver swore.
His sister was going to get herself killed.
Chapter Seventeen
On today of all days, Oliver had expected to see constables on patrol, monitoring every street corner. But when he stepped out onto the street, there was no sign of the special constables that had been so much discussed over the past days. In fact, there was no sign of police presence whatsoever.
Instead, there were hundreds milling about the streets. The crowds grew thicker as he came closer to Hyde Park. It was there that he saw the first constables of the day: A lethargic pair had stationed themselves at the park gates. They made no attempt to stop the throngs from streaming into the park; in fact, one of them was congratulating people as they entered. They appeared to be making a half-hearted effort to stop costermongers from profiting off the event—and even then, as Oliver watched, a pie-seller slipped by, handing over a pasty as silent payment.
How they would have filtered out the elements intent on demonstration, Oliver didn’t know. A group of ladies had come up on horses to watch the festivities; they were seated with gentlemen nearby, with servants pouring wine and passing out little cakes. He’d heard someone say the other night that if there was going to be a clash between the Reform League and the police, they intended to have a front row seat. He’d assumed it had been a joke, but apparently, it had been honestly meant stupidity.
Hyde Park looked more like the scene of a carnival than a pitched battle. There were already thousands of people present. How was he to find Free in this throng?
He wandered around the park in confusion, hoping that nobody would take it amiss if he stared, and then realized that he was one of thousands of gawkers. Nobody cared about him.
He’d feared that matters would get ugly. He knew only too well that a throng this large could turn vicious all too quickly. But thus far, the complete absence of blue-uniformed officers had made the event festive. The promised clash between the event organizers and the government looked unlikely to materialize, and the relief left everyone giddy.
When the members of the Reform League began to appear, they were cheered as if they were heroes returning from battle. They came in groups, waved at the crowds, and led people in chants. As soon as Oliver had a chance, he started asking questions. “Pardon me,” he said. “Have you seen a woman talking about universal suffrage?”
This got him an odd look. “Of course I have,” one man said. “I see one regularly. I’m married to her.”
The next man made a face at the notion of universal suffrage and shook his head, refusing to answer.
By the time he’d talked to the third fellow, he’d perfected his technique. “Is there by chance a group of women advocating universal suffrage here?”
“You’ll want to go over to where Higgins is speaking,” a man said, indicating a distant quadrant of the park.
He made his way over to the indicated place. It was on the other side of the Serpentine, hidden by a cluster of trees, and it took him three-quarters of an hour to make his way through the crowds. Thankfully, he hadn’t been misled. There were shouts here agitating for the vote for all, not just for working men.
When he broke through the crowd, he saw a large group of women. They were clustered thickly together, arms joined. There, right in the middle of them—
For the first time since he’d awoken that morning, Oliver felt a deep sense of relief. He strode forward. “Free!”
Before he could reach her, a wall of women intervened, arms linked. They glared at him. A dark-haired lady of forty narrowed eyes at him and wagged her finger in his direction.
“None of that,” she said sharply. “There’s no men beyond this point.”
“I was just—” He gestured. “I just wanted to talk to her. To Frederica Marshall.”
“Well, you can’t.”
“Free!” Oliver called.
“Stop it, now.” The two women nearest him took a step forward, eyes glinting in menace.
“Free!” he said again, waving more desperately.
“Off with you,” one of them said. “Or must we ask someone to remove you?”
“No, wait, I just—”
It was at that moment that Free turned.
“Wait!” Free called. She dropped the arms of the women next to her and came over. “Don’t send him off,” she said. “He’s my brother.”
“So?” The dark-haired woman looked unimpressed. “You wouldn’t want to know what my brother’s been willing to do.”
“He won’t harm me,” she said. “He’s just being ridiculous and protective. Give me a few moments and I’ll make him stand down.”
