Chapter 7 #2
They had emerged onto Old Burlington Street, where there was a massive crowd—much larger than the one that had scattered the carriages.
There had to be at least sixty people, maybe more, standing outside a grand corner townhouse.
Their torches were raised in the air as they screamed, “No Corn Laws! Down with the Corn Laws! Down with the Lords! Heartless Lords!”
The mob had certainly kicked up a dust. It stood in stark contrast to the scattered protesters outside the theatre. This was organized. Focused. Angry.
“Goodness gracious,” Frances whispered. “What are they doing? Why are they in front of that house?”
“That is the house of Frederick John Robinson,” the Duke explained quietly. “He was the MP who introduced the Corn Bill to Parliament. They blame him for their suffering.”
“I see,” she said slowly. “I can understand why they’re angry at him, but why are they outside his house? What do they intend to do? You said this has been happening elsewhere. Why?”
She couldn’t finish the thought. She understood anger; she had felt it herself when discussing the injustice of the bill. But this? This was something else entirely.
“Angry, desperate people will do all manner of things one would not think possible. I think they mean to scare him above all else. However, whenever a group of people comes together in such a manner, one cannot be certain what will happen, so I suggest that we leave immediately.”
For once, Frances agreed with him.
Together they turned to go back the way they had come. However, more people were streaming in from that direction.
These people looked angrier than the ones at the theatre. There was a wildness to them that Frances knew all too well.
She’d seen it on the faces of all those who had been suffering for the past two years under the incredibly high grain prices.
Her own father, who benefited from the law, had stopped going to church altogether because he knew people blamed him.
She knew this with certainty because she still attended church, and people told her often that her father should be ashamed of himself for benefiting while his neighbors struggled.
And she agreed with them wholeheartedly. Still, she didn’t think that any of these people would care what she thought or what she had done to help. They stormed forward to join the others.
“James!” She called him by his name for the first time.
He turned and reached his arm out for her, but before she could grasp it, she was swept up in the crowd storming toward the house.
Her heart thundered, and sweat ran down her back. She felt the crushed white pearl powder drip from her face onto her pristine gown.
“James!” she called again.
“Frances!” he shouted back. “Frances, I’m here! Get out of my way!”
He pushed someone aside and appeared at her side. He wrapped one arm around her and pulled her close. Without thinking, she raised her left arm and wrapped it around his back, holding onto him.
“I do not like what is in the air here,” he said. “We must go. You must trust me.”
“All right,” she replied, surprised that she actually did.
He grabbed her by the arm, and together they pushed through the crowd, James practically boxing his way through until they had made it to the other side. They paused on a street corner, both out of breath, when a tall young man walked past.
“I wouldn’t go that way,” James warned. “Dashed lot of trouble in that direction.”
“Thank you for the warning,” the man said, but continued on his path anyway. “I shall be quite all right. My business is not with them.”
James shrugged. “Well, I suppose we shall have to walk the rest of the way.”
“Indeed,” Frances said.
Together they walked on. For a while, they walked in silence, but then she turned to him.
“Thank you for your help. I thought for a moment I was going to be carried away in the crowd.”
“I thought that, too,” he admitted. “I’m glad I was wrong. But in any case, Aunt Eugenia will be most upset with us.”
“We are not the ones who left,” she pointed out.
He chuckled. “Well, technically, I left to investigate what was happening, and then she allowed you to follow, and before we knew it, there was so much trouble, and we were separated. So really, it was nobody’s fault. I will try to explain.”
“Well, I wish you well, for she does not strike me as the sort of person who takes this type of situation lightly. She’ll be in the suds that the two of us were together alone as well.”
“You speak of propriety? Well, our kind does value propriety above everything else. However, I dare say, given everything that has happened—”
He was interrupted by a gunshot that sounded from behind them.
Frances lurched sideways at the sound of it, directly into him, and wrapped his arm around her shoulders to hold her steady.
“Good heavens, what was that?” she yelped, even though she already knew. She had grown up in the country. She knew what a gunshot sounded like.
“Someone fired a weapon,” James said grimly. “I hope nobody was hurt.”
“So do I,” she said. “But you’re right, we really should go.”
He nodded, and this time the two of them did not dally any longer or engage in conversation. Instead, they walked the few blocks back to Mayfair, where they found her aunt’s carriage already waiting.
Frances took a deep breath, aware that in all likelihood, a severe scolding was awaiting her.