Pam Rosenthal - The Slightest Provocation

Regrettably, though, it would have to be tea in the George’s parlor, at least for Kit and the ladies. For a fellow in what appeared to be a state of extreme agitation had just now approached Richard and expressed an urgent need to speak to him.

“You all won’t mind, will you,” Richard said, “if I have a word with Mr. Dickenson here for a moment before I join you inside?”

Dickenson, who appeared to be some sort of trades-man, nodded apologetically to the group. Anna Morrice returned his greeting with great cordiality.

“A moment only,” Richard said.

“Of course.”

I need only follow Anna’s lead, Mary thought, to negotiate this fascinating reunion. What a marvel she is, getting Kit to talk of pugilism, of all things. Poor dear, he looks so distracted, so very emotional-I can’t imagine how he’d be able to keep hold of himself if she hadn’t chosen his favorite subject.

It seems there’s to be a mill tomorrow, somewhere out in the countryside; Richard’s quite looking forward to it. And although Anna must confess to Lord Christopher that she herself has never seen the attraction of such sport, she affords herself willing to believe that, as Richard says, it’s more scientific than brutal, and very much an exhibition of character.

And Kit is charmed. Richard is quite correct, he tells her; scientific is precisely the word for it. He’s charmed and he’s clearly also hoping that Richard will invite him along tomorrow to see the fighting. Oh yes, he’s telling Anna, it’s a great national institution, pugilism, too easily misunderstood by foreigners and even by some ladies. But if one takes the time to read the principles of the sport, particularly as delineated by the great Mendoza…

Allowing me to take the time to cajole our landlord into getting us a decent tea: cheese (sorry, my lady, no chutney) and sandwiches. I almost ordered scones (but caught a tiny warning signal from Anna; the scones must be dreadful here). So we’ve got sweet buns and (at the landlord’s prompting) a bit more of his splendid Devonshire cream.

But here’s Richard, looking as though he’s been considering something, very seriously and in extremely short order. The same look of resolution Kit adopts from time to time, which usually means there’s consternation ahead.

How intensely Kit is staring at him.

“A most fascinating conversation I’ve been having,” Richard began now. “With Dickenson. Known him for years, a Dewsbury linen draper and a faithful reader of the Review. And”-he paused for emphasis-“a long-time and stalwart friend of liberty.”

Thank heaven, Kit thought, that we’re going to be speaking of something real.

And don’t worry, Mary, I shall be fine.

For Mary, and Mrs. Morrice as well, had clearly found Richard’s opening words to be tactless at the very least-Mrs. Morrice showing her annoyance in the curtness with which she handed Richard his dish of tea. Richard shrugged as he took it from her.

“Yes, thanks. Ah, well, as I was saying. You see, Mr. Dickenson has just informed me that he’s witnessed a most curious occurrence. A man extremely well known, and up until recently held in the highest esteem, by those involved in the great struggle…”

Though he could use a lighter hand, Kit thought, with the rhetoric.

“That same man,” Richard continued, “within just this past half hour, has been unmasked as an agent of government repression, when Dickenson, and some others, saw General Byng’s servant doffing his hat to him.”

Still, it was good that things were finally making sense. No matter how shocking the facts of the matter seemed to be.

He turned to Richard. “And I take it there could be no mistake as to whose servant the man was?”

“None. Dickenson made sure of it.”

“Or to the identity of the highly esteemed man?”

“None there either. Dickenson has already made Oliver’s acquaintance, though he didn’t like to tell me exactly how.”

“It’s all right,” Kit said, “I can guess at that part. Wat’s a magistrate, you know, and I’ve been doing his business for him during his illness. It’s turned a bit complicated of late, though-difficult to get to the larger truths.”

“And you have an interest in the larger truths after all.”

“Rather, yes. And I’ve been lucky to see some interesting events. For I’ve seen Mr. Oliver before, in the company of a Home Office functionary-a man doing rather the sort of work I’d aspired to. Of course, I didn’t know who Oliver was at the time. And then I promptly forgot about it until my recent charming conversation with Mrs. Morrice. They were together at the fives court in London, you see. Of course, it might have been quite innocent; the appeal of pugilism being so widespread among Britons, much as I was telling Mrs. Morrice.”

He paused. “I have no proof of any connection between Oliver and the Home Office. All quite circumstantial. Still…”

The two men were silent for a long moment.

“Magistrate’s business, eh? And Home Office business as well. Gives one quite a breadth of perspective,” Richard said. “Well, I shouldn’t want to ask you to betray any commitments you’ve made, no more than you’d inquire any further about my friend Mr. Dickenson.

“But as to Mr. Oliver’s connections. Well, in fact, he did show up at some meetings last spring, in the company of a Mr. Mitchell, who was arrested soon afterward. People have been inquiring about such things, you see, because there have been more arrests, a number of them this week; just this morning General Byng and his militia broke up a meeting-took a number of men into custody, all but Oliver, don’t you know, who somehow managed to escape. Dickenson knows some fellows who are in an uproar about it.”

Kit nodded. “No doubt the London delegate, as he calls himself, has got another meeting to address tonight at Leeds. Couldn’t have him missing it.”

“It does seem that Byng was protecting him, perhaps under orders. Of course, we can only guess whom Byng is taking his orders from.”

Kit nodded. “It’s a knotty set of problems. Perhaps if either of us had been more of a scholar when we’d had the opportunity… well, why should the government be sending a man out to this part of the country, to try to foment revolution among its angry workingmen? For it is beginning to look that way.”

“Or a certain part of the government. The Home Office perhaps?”

“If you like. Hypothetically speaking.”

“Of course,” Richard said, “hypothetically speaking. Well, you know it wouldn’t be easy to ask Englishmen to give up certain liberties. Right of assembly, no imprisonment without due process of law. Unless there were a threat so large-well, it would have to be something more frightening than petitions for reform, or propertyless men passing Paine and Cobbett from hand to hand…”

“The threat of an uprising.”

Richard shrugged. “A smallish one, I should think, called for a specific date, with soldiers waiting to make arrests. And since no one else was calling for such a thing, I expect it might have had to fall to the government to do so. Hypothetically speaking.”

Kit chewed the last bite of his sandwich rather meditatively. “It would take a great deal of organization. A lot of magistrates to keep in line. Communications always a problem with this sort of thing-it’s a small office, you see.”

Richard laughed. “Well, it won’t fly,” he said. “Dickenson’s on his way to speak to a newspaper editor. The Leeds Mercury, splendid little organ of reform in this part of the country-one might expect a public scandal. And then, of course, my own publication will take it up, from rather a longer focus. Need a good writer, of course, but that’ll come.