Pam Rosenthal - The Slightest Provocation

“But even before it appears in print, every reform-minded man in the region will have heard the news-through the grapevine, you know, word of mouth. The provocateur is exposed already. The kingdom is safe, I believe, for the nonce.”

“Ahem.” Anna’s voice rang clear and distinct across the tea cart.

“My dear?”

“Mrs. Morrice?”

“Is anyone going to enlighten me as to these wondrous happenings?”

“I shall,” Mary said, “at least to the extent that I’ve followed the conversation. Quite remarkable…” Her voice trailed off, her gaze softening at the sight of Richard and Kit bound together in their endeavor to understand the truth of a matter that meant quite different things to each of them. And-as gentlemen-to keep the discussion all on the plane of the hypothetical.

But it was rather stretching things to ask them to rehearse the broad outlines of the story, when what they really wanted to do was to work away over the fine points, and not around a tea table.

“Go find a public house,” Anna told them. “Hash it out over a couple of pints of ale. Mary will explain it to me in your absence. We shall be entirely capable of digesting the information and amusing ourselves in the bargain, until dinnertime at least.

“For you two will come to dinner, won’t you? I believe you remember the Misses Raddiford, Kit… I may call you Kit, mayn’t I? Their cook sets a plain table, but a very good one. And the ladies have sorely missed Richard’s friend all these long years. ‘The bright-eyed little boy,’ they called you this morning at breakfast, ‘with the lovely manners when he remembered to use them.’ ”

Their tea had grown quite tepid when Mary had finished recounting what she knew of the Oliver affair.

“Remarkable.” Anna sighed. “And not a little bit frightening, an official of Lord Liverpool’s government sending a provocateur among the people. Well, that is what we’re saying, isn’t it? That Lord Sidmouth sent this man on a tour of the Midlands, to stir up insurrection?”

“It does seem to be the case,” Mary said, “as with that other man earlier this year.”

“Indeed, a Mr. Castle played a large role in instigating the riot at Spa Fields. Luckily, it all came out in court. But this could have been so much worse, implicating men from the whole region. Well, we’re fortunate that Oliver was unmasked. And that now that the word is being circulated, no one will venture out and get hurt. But do you suppose that this Oliver fellow might have gone rather beyond what the Home Office expected of him?”

“It does seem possible,” Mary said. “And I’d almost like to think so, having recently developed a certain tolerance for Kit and his… loyalties. Still, leaving aside all prejudice, the evidence does mount up, and not in Lord Sidmouth’s favor. The government does seem to want to stir up anger among the people, turn reformers into insurrectionists for the purpose ofmaking the rest of us fearful.”

The ladies were silent for a time until Anna spoke again. “He’s well worth tolerating, Mary.

“And how fascinating finally to meet him,” she continued. “After all these years he’d become a figure of legend to me, rather like the angel Lucifer, if not so tall as one imagines Lucifer to be. Richard didn’t speak of him often, but occasionally he’d retreat into a horrid little melancholy over the rupture of their friendship.”

“They were awfully close.” Mary sighed, paused, and then smiled at a new thought. “And they may become so again, in the course of protecting each other from calamity out in the countryside tomorrow. Those outdoor bare-knuckle matches can get rather raucous. I used to beg to be taken along-disguised as a boy, you know-but Kit wouldn’t hear of it.”

“Is pugilism really so interesting?” Anna asked.

“Actually, it is-there’s something to all that twaddle you were entertaining him with. For myself, I could dispense with the gentlemanly self-congratulation it inevitably evokes, about English pluck and bottom, our native honest virtues, and so forth. But the strategic elements are worth following. While as to the boxers themselves, the muscularity…”

“Ah, there is that. I wonder that more ladies don’t…”

“We’re allowed to watch the gloved exhibitions in London. There’s a fives court near Leicester Square; one can sit in an enclosed area. Perhaps, when… well, perhaps if …”

She’d been drifting into a pretty fancy, about London, about the future, about Kit. A fancy only, she told herself sternly.

“Today’s discoveries are a great confusion to him,” she told Anna now. “He’d hoped for a position in the Home Office, you see.”

“I do see,” Anna said, and covered Mary’s hand with her own.

Nor had Anna been speaking twaddle about the Misses Raddiford. Kit had been a favorite, as Richard’s aunts reminded him several times over an excellent dinner, the reminiscences of his eyes and manners being served up once more to accompany the dessert course.

Fortunately, it was necessary to make a brief night of it. Kit and Richard wanted to get an early start tomorrow morning, to join the throngs at the boxing match, while Anna would spend the day at the old ladies’ hearthside. The oldest Miss Raddiford had bought a great many skeins of wool, very cheap for the quality, that needed to be rolled up and then to be worked into several dozen shawls for the parish poor for the winter months; of course, the work would go much faster if Lady Christopher would consider joining them.

“Most assuredly, Miss Raddiford. I shall be delighted.”

Thank you. Anna shaped the words silently from across the table.

“I shall think of you,” Kit said, “your hands quite immobilized, held captive by Miss Sophy Raddiford as she winds an endless ball of wool.”

They’d come to the top of the narrow staircase at the inn.

“In fact”-he shut the bedchamber door behind them-“I’m thinking of you that way at this moment. And quite an appealing picture you make, too.”

They didn’t speak of Mr. Oliver that night; in truth, they didn’t speak very much at all until the following morning.

“Belcher,” Mary said, “will be scandalized by the condition of that neckcloth.”

“Yes, I expect so.” His eyes had grown distant again, even with his body so warm and his arms tight about her.

“Come on,” she said. “Time to pull ourselves out of bed. You and Richard will want to be at the front of the crowd. And at least his aunts will give us a decent breakfast.”

In fact, they didn’t speak at all of Oliver until two days later-and then very briefly, in the carriage, their arms about each other, watching the afternoon skies darken and the clouds pile up high above the moors and then the meadows. The air was cool and tremulous, the leaves quivering as though in nervous anticipation of the impending rain, as Mr. Frayne drove them south through Derbyshire again.

She expected that Kit had continued to discuss the Oliver business with Richard, before or after the boxing match (which, both gentlemen had agreed, was a splendid exhibition of native English pluck) or perhaps while walking on the moors the following day. They’d discussed a great many things, Kit said, in the course of rebuilding their friendship.