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 bringherhere?”
“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 ofmy plan for Mr. Tinsdale. But a good remedy for uncertainty is to reverse the discussion. “Why wereyouthere, 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.”
15
ASHIP IN FROST
EMMA
Halfway across the Thames,the tents and booths were left behind. Frozen stillness stretched. I felt like a sailor becalmed on a whitened sea. Ahead, the silhouette of a lone ship grew, low-slung and long with a single bare mast.
The ice was stupendously cold and solid. We walked briskly along a trail of straw trod into the ice. Mules or small horses had made this trek before us; their sharp-shod hooves had cut toothed crescents in both directions. Patches of yellowish mist brought a tinny bitterness to my nose while the sky churned toward the burnished copper of yesterday’s strange weather. The light diminished, brightening three twinkling lanterns on the ship. Tones flitted through the air, then connected into a tune. A man’s trained voice sang. A pennywhistle played a measure of a jig.
“Knightley!” hailed a voice from aboard the ship. It was fifty feet long, one of the broad, squat freighters that glide the wide rivers. A frosted hawser angled from the bow and vanished into the rigid ice.
