Part 23 (2/2)

”My vote is it that you want?” he asked. ”I've heard there are things to be got for a vote.”

”Mr. Hertcomb would be delighted to extend to you his grat.i.tude,” she said.

”Indeed I would,” Hertcomb said.

”I don't give a fig for the grat.i.tude of that scrawny bird,” he said. ”I want a kiss.”

Hertcomb opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Meanwhile, Grace had locked her eyes on the butcher. ”Very well,” she said. ”If you vote for Mr. Hertcomb, I shall most certainly kiss you.”

”Then, let's get to voting,” he said, wiping down his arms with his ap.r.o.n. And so we were off once more to the plaza, where Miss Dogmill once more convinced the tally master to let her man vote without too much waiting. She remained by the butcher until he cast his vote, remaining remarkably cheerful in the presence of so low a man. After he had done his business, the butcher then turned to Miss Dogmill and put his arm around her waist. ”Where's my kiss, then, la.s.s?” he asked. ”And don't skimp on the tongue.”

Right there, before the world, she kissed him upon the lips. He pulled her closer and tried to force her mouth open, and he put one hand upon her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. This gesture brought the crowd, particularly those who carried Mr. Melbury's banners, to a cheer.

Grace attempted to pull away from him, but he would not release his grip. He began to tug at her gown in the most savage fas.h.i.+on, as though he intended to strip her naked in the middle of Covent Garden. A savage cry for Melbury Melbury arose at once from that candidate's supporters, who perhaps imagined that this ruffian was a Tory who chose to abuse a Hertcomb supporter, rather than a rascal who had sold his vote and now believed himself ent.i.tled to a rape in exchange. arose at once from that candidate's supporters, who perhaps imagined that this ruffian was a Tory who chose to abuse a Hertcomb supporter, rather than a rascal who had sold his vote and now believed himself ent.i.tled to a rape in exchange.

Though I had no desire to call attention to myself, I saw I had but little choice, so I rushed forward and pulled Grace away from the brute's clutches. She gasped for breath and staggered backward, righting her gown as she did so. The butcher now took a step toward me and sized me up. He surely had the advantage of size and youth, and I could see that he had every intention of pressing those advantages.

”Nothing like a Whig s.l.u.t. Now, you step aside, grandfather,” he said to me, ”unless you like the taste of your own blood in your mouth.”

Perhaps I ought to have sought a more peaceable resolution, but after my encounter with Dogmill the previous night, I was in no mood to cower before this rough. Instead, I grabbed the fellow by his hair and yanked hard, pulling him to the ground. I pressed one foot hard on his chest until I could feel his ribs straining under the pressure, and then relented, only to stomp at him until he was quite unable to rise again. He grunted and made some valiant efforts to roll from my wrath, so I gave him one more kick for the mere pleasure of it. Then I raised him to his feet and pushed him away. Being a good fellow, he regained his balance and continued to run without looking back.

My performance received a warm cheer, so I bowed to show my appreciation, knowing full well that a refusal to acknowledge goodwill can lead swiftly to ill will. Somehow the fact that Matthew Evans favored the Tory candidate circulated quickly, for the cry for Melbury went out once more. I looked over to Grace, who appeared flushed and confused but not horrified. Mr. Hertcomb, however, was clearly out of sorts, and I knew that our canva.s.sing for the day had come to a conclusion.

I cannot easily describe the frustrations of that day. I only wanted Miss Dogmill to myself that I might hold her or, perhaps, inquire of her what she knew of me and what she intended to do with this knowledge. Instead, hours had pa.s.sed in close quarters with a rival while brutes of all descriptions had pawed at her mercilessly. I therefore breathed a sigh of relief when she informed the driver that as Mr. Hertcomb lived close by, he should be delivered to his home first. This news was hardly welcomed by Hertcomb, but he bore his displeasure silently if not well. After he was disposed of, Miss Dogmill suggested that we visit a chocolate house nearby, and so I held my tongue until we were seated together at a table. cannot easily describe the frustrations of that day. I only wanted Miss Dogmill to myself that I might hold her or, perhaps, inquire of her what she knew of me and what she intended to do with this knowledge. Instead, hours had pa.s.sed in close quarters with a rival while brutes of all descriptions had pawed at her mercilessly. I therefore breathed a sigh of relief when she informed the driver that as Mr. Hertcomb lived close by, he should be delivered to his home first. This news was hardly welcomed by Hertcomb, but he bore his displeasure silently if not well. After he was disposed of, Miss Dogmill suggested that we visit a chocolate house nearby, and so I held my tongue until we were seated together at a table.

”How did you like the canva.s.s?” she asked me, with her eyes cast downward.

”I did not like it much. How can your brother allow you to expose yourself to such brutishness?”

”He is quite good at exposing the world to his own brutishness, though had he been there he should not have treated that butcher with the mercy you demonstrated. I attempt to keep from him some of the more unsavory elements of what a woman faces on the canva.s.s, lest he forbid me partic.i.p.ating. I have, in fact, used a wide variety of deceptions to keep him from learning the truth of how brutal the canva.s.s can be for a woman. You see, it is the only involvement in politics I am permitted, and I should hate to surrender my role.”

”And what would happen if Dogmill should learn the truth?”

Miss Dogmill closed her eyes for a moment. ”Two years ago a carpenter to whom my brother owed some money grew rather desperate. He was none the most engaging man in the world, but Denny owed him more than ten pounds, which the fellow needed to feed his family. There are times when Denny will not pay what he owes tradesmen simply for the pleasure of watching them suffer and worry, and here was such a time. This carpenter seemed to understand that my brother teased him the way a child will tease a captured frog. So he sent Denny a note telling him that if he did not pay his bill, he would get his money by hook or by crook and that he would pluck me off the street and hold me hostage until justice was served.”

”I presume your brother did not take this kindly.”

”No. He went over to the carpenter's house, beat his wife unconscious, and then beat the man unconscious. He then took a note for ten pounds, spat upon it, and stuffed it in the fellow's mouth. He even tried to put it into his throat so he would choke on his money. I witnessed all this because the carpenter, in an effort to convince my brother I had been abducted, had invited me to his home, knowing I was sympathetic, pretending that he wished me to serve as an intermediary.” She took a deep breath. ”I should very much have liked to have stopped his violence, but there is no stopping him once he begins. I should hate to see him let loose with his pa.s.sions in the midst of Covent Garden while the electors stand by.”

”I can understand how you might feel thus.”

”You seem to have your pa.s.sions much more at your disposal, and I thank you for your efforts today. I cannot say that this was the first time I have ever been threatened, and it is a much finer thing to have a capable man by your side.”

”It was my pleasure to serve you.”

She astonished me by reaching out and gently, just for an instant, laying her fingertips against my jaw where Dogmill had punched me. ”He told me he struck you,” she said quietly. ”It must have been very hard for you not to strike him back.”

I laughed softly. ”I am not used to running from men like your brother.”

”You are not used to men like my brother at all. No one is. But I am sorry for what he did to you.”

”Don't be sorry,” I said testily. ”I chose to let him use me so.”

She smiled. ”I have no doubt of your resolve, sir. No one who knows your name would make the mistake of doing so. I daresay my brother, if he knew who you were, would have hesitated himself.”

”As you have broached the topic, I would fain discuss it with you.”

She sipped from her dish of chocolate. ”How did I know? I did the most extraordinary thing to make my discovery: I looked at your face. I have seen you before around town, sir, and I always remarked on your proceedings. Unlike some others, perhaps, I am not so easily fooled by the application of new clothing and a new name, though I think your disguise masterfully handled. The moment you came to see my brother, I thought I knew your face, and I could not rest until I hit upon it. At last it occurred to me that you looked uncommonly like Benjamin Weaver, but I was not certain until I danced with you. You move like a pugilist, sir, and the world knows of your leg injury, which I fear gave you away.”

I nodded. ”But you have said nothing to your brother.”

”You have not been taken by the constables, so you may a.s.sume I have said nothing to my brother.”

”And you do not think he will guess?”

”How could he? I don't know that he has ever laid eyes upon you-dressed as yourself, I mean-and there is no reason why he would suspect you come to him in disguise. He learned from Hertcomb about the chanting for Melbury and Weaver at the theater, and though he cursed at great length and with great vigor against Tories and Jacobites and Jews and the large franchise in general, he never once mentioned your name-Mr. Evans's name, that is. And, allow me to a.s.sure you, he was in no frame of mind to censor himself.”

”Well, that is a relief, at least. But you know who I am. What do you plan to do?”

She shook her head. ”I cannot yet say.” She reached out and placed one gloved hand on my arm just above my wrist. ”Will you tell me why you sought to connect yourself to him in the first place?”

I let out a breath. ”I don't know if I should.”

”May I speculate?”

Something in her tone caught my attention. ”Certainly.”

She looked away for a moment, and then turned to catch my gaze, her eyes as amber as her dress. I could tell that what she had to say could not be said with ease. ”You think he had this man, Walter Yate, killed, and that he has put the blame on you.”

I stared I don't know how long before I dared to speak. ”Yes,” I said in a rasping voice, just above a whisper. ”How could you know that?”

”I could not reach any other conclusion. You see, if you had truly killed that fellow, as you have been convicted of doing, you would have no business with my brother. You would have no need to play at masquerade. The only reason you might take such risks is to prove yourself guiltless, and I can only presume that you now search for the man who did murder Yate.”

”You are a very clever woman,” I said. ”You would do well as a thieftaker.”

She laughed. ”You are the first man to tell me so.”

”So now you know all my secrets.”

”Not all, surely.”

”No, not all.”

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