Chapter 14 The Honorable Mr. Tinsdale
THE HONORABLE MR. TINSDALE
EMMA
“Here we are, at last!” I said to Harriet while the coach bounced. “Two ladies exploring London on their own. And this evening, staying in a hotel!”
Harriet did not turn from the window. “I am happy you are well enough.”
That soured my mood. I was tired of concerned companions. Today, I was Emma Woodhouse, mistress of Hartfield.
“We are meeting a prominent gentleman,” I said.
Harriet abandoned the window. “I thought we were shopping for boots!”
“We will shop. But first things first.” I checked the directions in the letter I had received—a reply delivered by private courier. “There!” I pointed ahead.
The road ended at the river. Coaches were stopped every which way. Festively garbed people thronged the cobblestones, the shore, and even the ice. Colorful flags rippled in the breeze, and bright tents and booths had been erected on the frozen white.
“What are they doing?” Harriet cried.
“It is a Frost Fair, the first in twenty-four years. The Thames did not freeze once in our lifetimes! We are clever to be in London now.”
We disembarked and joined the crowd rushing to the river.
The ice was several feet lower than the seawall, so wide planks had been laid like angled bridges.
Harriet and I descended, our arms playfully stretched for balance, and a sturdy lad of sixteen took our hand for the last steps.
I gave him a penny, and he winked. “I’d help two lovelies anytime.
” Harriet giggled, and I laughed outright, feeling more festive than I had in a long time.
Harriet caught my arm. “Who is the prominent gentleman? Is it Mr. Knightley?”
That was unexpected, and for a moment the thought of him drove the correct name from my mind. “We are meeting Mr. Tinsdale.”
Harriet’s brow furrowed. “The man with the big eyebrows?”
“You must not think of him like that! He is a member of Parliament, and very distinguished.” Harriet looked let down, so I said, “He is an important man, and this is an important meeting. He has influence. You must present yourself perfectly.”
“Yes, Miss Woodhouse,” she murmured.
The Frost Fair was a gigantic, jumbled event.
More booths and tents were sprouting even while we strolled.
At least half were stocked with casks and packed with rollicking drinkers—gentlemen, tradesmen, workers, even women, all mingling in joyful familiarity.
Mules pulled carts filled with meat pies, kegs, rolled-up canvas, and clucking chickens.
The walkways were sprinkled with straw and fronted with shops for all manner of goods.
One even sold shoes. Harriet browsed but did not buy.
They seemed more expensive than their land-based brethren.
When my watch showed quarter of one, I began searching for our meeting.
Requests for directions received happy, useless shrugs, but I finally spotted what the letter described—tiered benches and a podium.
We rushed through the crowd, arms linked so we would not be separated, and I spotted Mr. Tinsdale’s imposing frame with two other well-dressed gentlemen, all in black silk toppers and belted black coats.
I pulled Harriet to a stop before we were seen. “You must wait by that coffee booth. I will speak with Mr. Tinsdale first. Then I will pretend to see you and call you over for a grand entrance!”
“A grand entrance?” Harriet said, her eyebrows squishing.
“You were not introduced in our first encounter, so it will naturally be grand.” Harriet looked even more concerned. I patted her arm. “Fold your coat on your arm, be your lovely self, and all will be splendid.” I gave her a little push, and she headed to the coffee booth.
I approached Mr. Tinsdale and raised a lace-covered hand. He immediately excused himself from his friends.
“Miss Woodhouse,” he said, his smile pink-cheeked in the cold. “This is a delight. I was charmed to receive your unexpected letter.”
“You are very kind,” I said. “I was not sure you would remember. We could hardly meet properly under such terrible circumstances. I feared you would think me forward.”
“Not at all,” he said jovially. “I was intrigued by your mention of draca.”
“I could not help but notice that you were aware of the Darcys’… exceptional affinity to draca. I hoped I could approach you about my own unusual situation.”
Under his eyebrows—which now I could not help but think of as “big”—his eyes became shrewd. “I gather you are in the Darcys’ close confidence?”
“Naturally,” I said with a confident smile. “Seeing the government’s interest, I thought you should know that Mrs. Darcy is not the only lady with exceptional affinity.”
Mr. Tinsdale’s mustache wiggled. “I see this is more than a delightful social meeting. The government values wyves with such ability.” A man shouted from the podium behind him, and Mr. Tinsdale frowned.
“I am afraid I am the first speaker. Perhaps we could continue after?” He looked me over with an appraising eye. “Have you come alone?”
I blushed at the notion. “My friend is with me, which is why I wished to meet. Her affinity is remarkable, but unfairly hampered by the silliest oversight in records. Of course, that could be easily corrected by a gentleman of your influence.”
“Your friend? I thought—”
“I seem to have lost her…” I shielded my eyes, looked high and low, then waved at the coffee booth.
“There she is!” Harriet noticed my wave with an artful start, then promenaded toward us.
As she arrived, I said proudly, “Mr. Tinsdale has requested an introduction. May I present Miss Harriet Smith.”
“Sir,” she said with a perfect curtsy. I had selected her clothes for today, a rich green velvet gown and bonnet, my gifts for her last birthday, and a cheerful red shawl for warmth. They deepened the rich hue of her complexion.
Mr. Tinsdale’s reaction exceeded my hopes. He seemed dumbstruck. He finally muttered “Miss Smith” but so late that Harriet was already rising. That meant he could not take her hand, but I was satisfied.
“I have been researching the matter,” I said. “It seems only a question of having her rights documented—”
“You must pardon me,” Mr. Tinsdale said. “I am overdue for my speech.” He bowed stiffly, then strode off.
“Is that all?” Harriet asked as his broad back vanished into the growing crowd.
“For now,” I said cheerfully, although I was disappointed. “His speech cannot be long. Let us wait.”
A substantial crowd had gathered. The tiered benches were packed, and the overflow strained behind flimsy rope barriers. Mr. Tinsdale mounted the podium, which I realized was a wooden crate draped with a blanket. That was disappointingly makeshift.
Then he began speaking, and my disappointment vanished. His voice was confident, his charisma magnetic. This was a new aspect to the man—and a taste of the excitement of London politics, which never reached our tiny town in Surrey.
To a man, the crowd had cropped hair and belted coats that matched the speakers’. The darkness made their upturned, milk-pale faces shine. Mr. Tinsdale’s voice projected effortlessly. “I come to you with a new and revolutionary conception of politics, and of life itself…”
“He is an orator,” I whispered to Harriet.
“Miss Woodhouse, I do not like this,” she whispered back. “There are no ladies here. Must we stay?”
“It is naturally men,” I said to reassure her. “Women cannot vote.”
Mr. Tinsdale’s voice rolled, and the crowd amplified each cadence with shouts and surging motion like a restive herd of animals. They spanned society, from well-dressed gentlemen nodding sagely to rough-and-tumble workers punching their fists into the sky.
Mr. Tinsdale’s voice cut through the crowd’s cries: “…this ceaseless warring against the French, our natural allies in the struggle against inferiors, is bought with your blood…”
A man’s violent salute jostled my shoulder. “I beg your pardon,” I said. He glanced at me, then stared at Harriet.
“…Britain Awake!” cried Mr. Tinsdale, and an answering cheer rang out. In our pocket of the crowd, faces turned inward. Mouths shrieked “Britain Awake!” like taunting schoolchildren.
Harriet was tugging my arm. “We must go! We are in danger.”
“Perhaps you are right—” I said just as a strong arm circled my waist, spinning me irresistibly and pulling me through the crowd.
“What are you doing here?” Mr. Knightley hissed in my ear. My entire side was pressed against his, and my stomach gave a surprised flip. He had an arm around each of us and was half-guiding, half-pulling us away from the ruckus.
Answering was impossible in that chaos, so I concentrated on keeping my feet under me.
Frightening memories of yesterday’s violence by the river flickered, but the crowd and noise diminished swiftly.
In twenty paces we had reached a straw-scattered walkway.
People were tossing pennies into bowls to win a prize.
A gaily dressed gentleman and lady passed us arm-in-arm.
Only the distant racket proved the frenzy had been real.
Mr. Knightley faced me, his hands clasping my forearms. “Are you mad to stand in that? To bring her here?”
“Do you mean Harriet?” I said, although he could not mean anyone else. I realized Harriet was gasping in panic. I tried to reach for her, but Mr. Knightley had my arms locked in place. I raised my eyebrows, and he freed me with a start.
I took Harriet’s hand. “Are you well?”
“That was terrible,” she said shakily.
“We are safe. Mr. Knightley is taking care of us.” I smiled at him. “Will you, sir?”
He blew out a hard sigh as if that were an astounding statement. “Let us move farther. Those scoundrels will be spoiling for trouble when they finish.” He tugged his tailcoat straight, which was snuggly fitted and very stylish, then offered us each an arm.
“Why do these London crowds become so agitated?” I asked as we set out at a more traditional stroll.
“This mob’s anger was cultivated,” Mr. Knightley said. “Fliers have been posted with lies of conscription to the navy, and the dock workers seek a scapegoat for lost jobs and poor wages. Then rabble rousers play on their fears to inflame bigotry and violence.”
“Rabble rousers?” I asked.
“Rosdan Tinsdale, for one.” Mr. Knightley said his name with profound distaste.
I frowned. That was an unwelcome complication.
“His speech was horrid!” Harriet exclaimed. “All that ‘Britain Awake’ and ‘defend our mighty past.’ How do you defend the past?”
I had not listened that carefully. In fact, I was feeling unpleasantly unsure of my plan for Mr. Tinsdale. But a good remedy for uncertainty is to reverse the discussion. “Why were you there, Mr. Knightley?”
“My work with the Freedom Society requires that I monitor dangerous politics.”
“Is that where we are going?” I asked. We were walking farther onto the river.
“To the Freedom Society? No. I am meeting friends. We plan music if our frozen fingers permit.” He looked over his shoulder. “I was thoughtless. May I assist you to shore?”
Harriet shuddered. “I do not want to walk near those horrid men.”
I was not eager, myself. Brightly, I said, “A musical gathering sounds lovely.”