I let out a small sigh of relief at the sight of the older gentleman, tall and well-dressed as usual. He held my post before me and has since retired and spends half his time in Bath and half his time here. Mr. Thompson has always been amiable to me, even though I know that he has a son in the church and would have preferred for him to take my post upon his retirement. I hear it said that old Mr. de Lacey found the young Thompson too flash and that is why he was passed over. Knowing the disposition of fathers in the Church, I do not imagine that Mr. Thompsontook such a snub lightly—but he has always been scrupulously polite to me.
“She is no lady. You know better than anyone what she is, Thompson!”
For a moment, I hesitate. Why should I leap to the defense of Annabelle de Lacey? Yes, she is a lady and no lady should be subjected to such abuse, no matter how notorious. But she is also currently blackmailing me, threatening me with penury and notoriety.
And yet even though this description fits what is happening between us literally, it does not seem to carry the full reality of our relation to one another.
And I cannot think of her shuddering on my tongue without a foolish, possessive spark kindling in my chest.
Without considering it further, I advance towards the crowd and push my way through.
I look through the carriage doors and see Annabelle de Lacey sitting there on the squabs. She appears almost bored, which I cannot fathom. The crowd appears ready to riot.
“Ah, my vicar,” Miss de Lacey says dryly. “I am saved.”
I grimace at her jibe. I may be a novice in the bedchamber, I may be a wretch she uses to her own ends, but I am no coward. I leap up on the box.
“Stand back,” I shout to the crowd. “Let Miss de Lacey through. Liddell, you best heed Mr. Thompson’s warning. I suspect you do not want to go before the justice of the peace again. You could be transported for a second offense.”
“Who would blame me? She’s infamous! Everyone in England knows her!”
“Sir,” I say. “You do not know what you say. You are drunk. I am giving you one last chance.”
“One last chance!” The man bellows. “We’ll show you.”
The crowd cheers at that mockery.
“Overset this carriage!” Liddell screams. “And send this whore back to London—or to the devil!”
The crowd advances, multiple hands grasp the carriage, and the conveyance rocks.
I catch Miss de Lacey’s eye. For one quick moment, I see a flash of fear.
That does it.
I have had enough.
Over my shoulder hangs my game bag. I promised the Ludlows I would stop by on my way back from town and help them clear their property of a few rabbits that have been getting into their vegetable patch. And now I am very glad that I made such a plan.
I pull out my fowler and fire it into the sky.
The crowd screams and instantly shrinks back.
“What in seven bloody hells!” Liddell cries.
“My word, Saintsbury!” exclaims Mr. Thompson. “Do not kill anyone, man.”
“You should all be ashamed of yourselves,” I say, managing to keep my voice steady. “This isnotthe Christian behavior I would expect of my parishioners.”
Already the crowd has begun to thin. A few of the men known to me personally look chastened as they quickly walk away. But just as many eye me with outrage.
“Amadvicar,” one woman, Sally Albright, hisses to another whose name I can’t recall.
Liddell and a few of the rougher men still stand before the carriage.
“We aren’t scared ofyou,vicar. A fine gentleman like yourself doesn’t shoot fellows in cold blood,” Liddell slurs.
A hot flash of anger washes over me.
