Breaking free, Amanda ran from the study out into the hall, desperately looking for a wrap, a pelisse—anything to be outdoors, to see the sky. The nearest cloak off a hook served her purpose. She ran through the entry and out the front door, dragging it behind. Following her, the warning shouts and immediate sounds of running footmen went unheeded. She pulled on the cloak as she ran; it drowned her small frame and dragged at her feet. When she managed to pull the hood over her head, it covered her face and hair, hopefully hiding her identity from the curious eyes of the London ton.
Faster and farther, fighting to escape familiarity, she ran through London’s streets. Seeking a hiding place, somewhere, anywhere, she turned blindly around corners, ran behind town houses and through alleys until she became more aware of her circumstances.
The smell hit her first. Rotten waste and filth lay before her on the street. She lifted her skirts and stepped with care. A slushy gurgling splat landed behind her. The new odor of day-old chamber pot crawled into her senses and encouraged her into another run, out of that alley and across a busier street.
Her tired feet brought her to a square, at the back of which was a church, well-worn and small, and she slowed to a walk toward what she hoped would be a peaceful place to ponder her next move. A comforting pleasure brought light to her face. An open green area in front of the church welcomed her. The trees felt like an oasis in the desert of London’s gray and tan.
The location perfect for reflection, already her mind began sifting through her options. She could not survive the rest of her life if it was merely a form of captivity, one not even of her own choosing. Her father could not force her into a marriage choice. He must be brought to see reason. And she must appeal to her mother’s kindness. Surely they would understand that she wanted a love match like theirs.
She considered Lord Needley. He was a nice enough man. She knew he would be kind. But she had not developed any sort of attraction to him. When they had danced, there was no fire or spark or pull. Rushing into marriage with him might very well ruin any chance that something could develop between them besides friendship.
Her mind turned to Lord Nathaniel, and immediately her heart picked up—treacherous territory for her. Her physical fascination with him consumed her at times. What if he continued to treat her with the disdain he’d displayed in the drawing room? Could her heart bear such rejection? She suspected she would be happier marrying a man she did not love than one she might love who did not return her regard.
Blast her reaction to this man! She could not account for it. Intellectually, she loathed him. He disdained the poor. He probably broke half the hearts of the new debutantes each year. He had appeared interested when she spoke of the rights of the working class and then completely dismissed her thoughts as trite, childish fancies. She could not imagine she would ever have a true marriage of the minds with Lord Nathaniel.
She approached the church, yearning for the peace she hoped to find inside, but a noise from the opposite street caused her to jump behind a copse of trees on the edge of the square. A small rank and file of people marched toward her, jeering and calling out. The men were loud, swaying, probably drunk; the women, dirty, with tattered dresses. She sunk back into the shadows, daring not to move. Angry faces; drunk faces; daft, ridiculous faces marched together in a mock processional. One woman shouted, her eyes bulging, and then fell backward into the arms of the laughing, teetering men behind her. A man swayed with a bottle in one hand, singing an old folk tune as he stumbled forward. From behind them a voice called, “Move along! Out of the way!”
Surprised, Amanda stepped forward involuntarily at the sight before her. A carriage with bars, a human cage, being pulled by two men rolled slowly in front of the church. In its horrific splendor, filled with captives, it reigned as the focal point of this bizarre, regimented march. As it drew nearer, Amanda’s heart constricted. A young girl, not yet ten, sat in the arms of a woman—surely her mother—face tight with fear. A boy hunched in the corner, resting his arms on his knees, which were bent to his chest. He noticed Amanda in her hiding spot and stared at her with such a look of want, or despair, it seared her heart. She would never forget those eyes.
Another mother sat with a vacant, hollow expression, unashamedly giving suck to her infant. The cart also carried two men, neither looking anywhere but their own bare feet.
Encouraging the carriage onward, a constable of sorts mocked his own profession. Perhaps a bit in the cups himself, he called, “Move along!” Riding his horse, he watched the side streets lazily, every now and then a yawn escaping.
Amanda returned her attention to the eerie prison. The wheels went down into a rut, and the people fell against each other in a garbled mass of limbs. She watched as they slowly righted themselves again.
Someone bumped into her, teetering on his feet. “Oh, beg pardon.” He moved away, shuffling his feet.
She swallowed. “Wait.” Stepping nearer, she asked, “Could you tell me why those people are locked up in there?”
Swaying on his feet, he burst out laughing. “What manners ye have. Puttin’ on airs, are ye?” He leaned closer, and she stepped back, the smell of him sharp at the back of her throat.
“Ye ain’t from around here.” He jabbed a filthy finger in her direction. “They are going to Marshalsea Prison, they are. ’Cause they can’t pay what they owe. Mind ye, none of these have the means to pay anyone, they don’t. That woman there, with the babe—her husband drowned in the Thames and left her owing all his money.” He swayed toward her, losing his balance. “And once they go in the Mashalsea, they don’t ever come out.”
She gripped his sleeve to steady him, pushing back when he tipped too much in her direction. He righted himself and stumbled away from her. And then her own shackles paled as she worried about theirs. The injustice of everything she saw filled her with an anger she hadn’t felt since she was a young child. People, caged like animals. Caged. Children. The baby with her mother, unjustly shackled with someone else’s debt.
A great rise of emotion surged through her. All the struggle from this morning, the raid on her house, a forced marriage decision combined with the endless hopelessness of these people before her, the injustice of their lives with no one to speak for them. Fiery emotion burned inside and she rushed forward without thinking, throwing back the hood of her cloak, whose ends dragged in the dirt of the street. She pointed an arm, completely covered by the sleeves of her cloak, at the man on the horse and demanded, “You there, stop this minute!” The people closest to her froze, stunned. Their neighborhood had probably never seen the likes of her, in all her finery.
Without thinking, she ran forward, pushing through the crush of people, who were slow to move aside. She reached the cart, saw the padlock was not secure, lifted its heavy ring from its hole, and threw it to the ground. It dented the earth where it landed. She wrenched the door aside, leaving it wide open to the occupants.
She expected a surge of people to burst forth, piling out of the cage, running for their freedom. Her breath coming quickly, she swallowed in anticipation, standing on the balls of her feet. But the people in the cage did not move. They stared at her with blank, hopeless expressions, not mustering enough curiosity to look for very long.
“What’s wrong with you? Go!” she shouted. “Go! Be free! Run!” She tried to grab the arm of the boy to pull him out of the cage. He pulled back as if burned at her touch. Why won’t they leave?
The crowd, recovering from their shock, began to laugh in derision. “Look ’ere. The birds don’ wanna fly, they don’.” A man leered at her, too close to her face. His smell of old onions, sweat, and cabbage made her eyes water.
A toothless woman with hair in much need of brushing breathed whiskey and cackled. “Were ya gonna take ’em ’ome with ye, love? Wash ’em up and keep ’em as pets, eh?” Her laugh pierced Amanda’s ears. The crowd jeered louder and pressed closer. Fear moved from her belly to her throat as filth and stench blocked her retreat and pressed her up against the cage.
“What’s a pretty thing like you doing so far east?” The man swinging a whiskey bottle said, then added, “A man could get the wrong idea about your intentions.”
No one in the crush seemed to hear the constable on the horse call in a bored voice, “That’s enough! Move along.” Amanda moved up onto the carriage step as the crowd pressed in against her. She felt hands grasping for her cloak.
She started to panic. “You are too close! Back away—please!”
“Wassa’ matter missy, too good for the likes of us? Don’t want to muss your pretty gown?” Hands started to pull at the fabric.
“Yes, show us your fine clothes, miss.” The hands became more insistent, trying to pull off her cloak; they began to claw at her hair.
She screamed, “Stop! Help! Oh, someone help me, please!” She started to lose her balance. Desperately, she clung onto the bars of the cage to keep from slipping to the ground where she was sure to be trampled. Her boots found precarious footing on a lower step. Frantic, she searched for any possible escape. Seeing none, she squeezed her eyes tight and tried to curl into a ball.
At last, she felt the crowd give way, and she breathed in a wave of fresh air. Her head still down, she saw the toe of a shiny black Hessian and swallowed in relief. Taking another deep breath, she looked up into the eyes of . . . “Lord Nathaniel?”
What is he doing here? She reached for him, leaning into his chest, looking up into his face. His eyes looked deep into hers, and he gently pulled the hood back up over her hair, covering most of her head. Then he effortlessly picked her up into his arms and began to push through the crowd.
Amanda could feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest. His mouth looked grim, and tension lines deepened along his eyes and around his mouth.
A part of her knew she was still in some sort of danger, but the security of his arms wiped all worry from her mind. She leaned her head against his shoulder and felt his hands tighten around her. Where are we going? He kept walking, cradling her, and the crowd behind them became more distant.
When the streets had once again grown quiet and vacant, Lord Nathaniel stopped and gently placed Amanda on her feet. They stood in a back alley, blessedly deserted. Out of habit, she tried to smooth her dress and remembered she still wore the over-large cloak. Not sure what to do with her hands inside the long sleeves, she concentrated on keeping them still.
“Thank you.” She glanced up into his eyes and then quickly found his shoes.
How would she ever explain her presence here? What was he doing here? Her eyes snapped back up to his, trying to decipher his expression.
He stared at her a moment more. “You are most welcome, my lady. I had to come, you see; you have robbed me of my best cloak.”
“What? Oh. I do apologize. I just grabbed the nearest one. I was in such a hurry . . .” She moved to try to take it off.
“No, please, Lady Amanda. It is quite beyond repair. Keep it.”
She looked at the hem, which had been dragged along the dirty London cobblestone.
“I don’t suppose we could mend it for you . . .” Her voice trailed off as she realized the futility of such an effort. “I’m dreadfully sorry. I didn’t mean—I didn’t know—”
He brought a finger to her mouth and placed it on her lips, quieting her. He brushed a stray hair to the side, placing it behind her ear. His fingers left a trail of tingles along her skin. He pulled out his pocket watch and looked up and down the street.
Odd. Who could he be looking for?
“Now, how to get you home.”
“Have you no carriage with you, sir?”
“I do, but out of necessity I left it several streets away. These side alleys were not made for finer equipages.” Lord Nathaniel checked his timepiece again, looked around them in all directions, and then started back the way they had come.
“Wait, are you sure this is the best way? What if—?”
Lord Nathaniel smiled and offered his arm. “I’m sure.”
As they neared the square with the church from which they had just escaped, Amanda tensed and stilled her feet. The sounds of a crowd reached her ears and she said, “I’m not going back in the middle of that mess.”
Lord Nathaniel patted her hand. “It will be just fine.” He continued walking in the direction of the church. Her newfound trust in him moved her feet forward, one step in front of the other. The alternative, rushing again through London’s streets alone, had lost all appeal.
Another large crowd was gathered at the church, and Amanda clenched her teeth. Her fingers pressing into Lord Nathaniel’s forearm, she scanned the group for any sign of the strange cart with the cage or any of the awful people surrounding it. But this assembly and the other bore nothing in common. These people were obviously of the working class, but were dressed in clean clothes, pressed and mended, and they were standing in front of an orator on the church steps, listening raptly to everything he had to say.
Amanda felt Lord Nathaniel’s eyes on her. When she started moving in the direction of the crowd, he walked with her, never relinquishing her hand on his arm and keeping close to her side. The speaker in front was handsome, with broad shoulders and eyes that would have been pleasant had they not been slightly bulging with his efforts to convince and persuade. They inched forward through the crowd until they could hear and see him well.
“We cannot be a truly great nation until we are free! ALL of us: every single maid and footman, workers from the steel mills and the hospitals.”
The crowd applauded and nodded their agreement.
“Are we not all humans, come from Adam himself? Are we not all beloved of God?”
They nodded, and a few cheers joined the applause.
“We no longer want hearts crushed by power; hope extinguished with every unfair advantage of the titled classes. Our voices must be heard! Our elections noted. We would elect lawmakers to champion our cause! The nobility give us our work, they lend us their land, they give us clothes when it suits them, food when it is convenient. They give us our laws, pave our roads, and build our structures. Do not feel pacified by the rocking hand of your cradles. You are more than infants reliant on your mothers. We may feel we have no way out, that we are trapped, but are we?”
A few murmured in response.
“ARE WE?”
Some shouted, “No!”
“No, we are not. Our rights do not come from the aristocrats among us, because our freedom is not theirs to give. We. Have. Rights.”
The crowd responded with a cheer. Amanda heard no one but the orator himself. Her heart opened in wonder to ideas never before considered.
“Just as Thomas Jefferson taught the French, just as they adopted in America, we each were born with certain rights that cannot be given or taken away, except we allow it! These rights were given to us by our Supreme Creator Himself. And these are the rights to life, to liberty, and not just property, but the very pursuit of our own happiness.”
The crowd erupted in great shouts and cheering.
Amanda could not restrain her own applause. This stranger before her had just expressed perfectly the longtime yearnings of her heart. Freedom. If these people would ask for freedom, then surely she could too: Freedom to choose her own husband, freedom to manage her own estate, to decide her own marriage contract, and to make decisions for her education and future. Before she realized it, she was cheering along with the crowd and smiling joyfully at the families near her who seemed equally touched. And didn’t they deserve to be free?
Turning to Lord Nathaniel after a moment, exclamations on her lips, she stopped and opened her eyes wider. Nathaniel paid no heed to the crowd around them but instead watched her with a particular intensity. His searching eyes showed pleasure and admiration. His smile lit the square and, for a moment, even the orator dimmed in her sights. She blushed and returned her cloak-covered hand to his arm. Great satisfaction filled her as she basked in his approval.
A woman from the crowd called out, “And what of women? Are we not to have a vote as well?”
Her head whipped around to find the speaker. Women to have a vote? Her heart ached at the thought.
Several women in the crowd nodded, but Amanda noticed most of the men wore smiles of condescension; even the orator himself looked in the direction of the speaker and responded sympathetically, “There may be a time for that, yes. Universal suffrage may include women someday.” A few men in the audience grunted in disapproval. “But that time is not now. Let us gain suffrage for our working class of men first, shall we? We will all benefit! Let us not rest until we do! Let us respectfully and peaceably work with the law until every one of us has a vote.” The crowd cheered, and Amanda applauded along with them.
The people around her began chanting, “Henry Hunt. Henry Hunt.”
Amanda smiled and chanted, but her mind raced. So many new ideas to consider: votes for all, votes for women someday. How his words of freedom had stirred her, seared onto her heart. How she longed to be free. How she longed for everyone to be free. Free to pursue whatever life they chose to live. What a beautiful thought.
With her eyes shining and her heart beating happily, she turned to Lord Nathaniel and opened her mouth to speak when he said, “What a lot of nonsense! Universal suffrage indeed! Give this group the right to vote? And those that nearly trampled you? They were a lovely bunch, to be sure. England would be in good hands with that group, I daresay.” He brushed his coat distastefully and looked down his nose at those assembled.
Amanda stared at him in shock. “How can you say that about these good people, and after hearing such a stirring message? Why, I feel my heart might never be the same.”
He took her hand in his arm again and started leading her away. “Pretty thoughts, my dear. Why don’t you buy your maid a new bonnet or some such frippery? Throw a few bones in their direction every now and then, and you’ll have a house full of happy servants.” Amanda stopped walking. Speechless, she could not even formulate a thought.
Lord Nathaniel’s eyes sharpened, and he gave a barely perceptible shake of his head.
Odd. She followed the direction of his eyes. Curiously, the orator turned away at just that moment to talk to someone at his side. Amanda’s eyes narrowed. “And are these your true thoughts on the matter, my lord? Because I, for one, don’t believe it. Any man with half sense in his head would see that we are in brilliant company here.”
Lord Nathaniel looked about to say something, but then he yawned. “Might we return you to your family, my lady?”
Amanda raised a cloak-covered hand to her mouth and then dropped it again when she felt the sleeve against her lips. “Oh yes, oh dear. I’ve been gone much longer than I planned.” The cloak slipped off her shoulder, and she pulled it back up. She tipped her head to the side in realization. As facts connected, she asked, “How is it I am wearing your cloak?” Then as the full implications of his presence in her home returned, her face heated. “Did you happen to hear my conversation when I—?”
“Carried on about not wanting to marry? Yes, bits of it were quite audible from the drawing room where Lord Needley and I were taking tea with your mother.”
Amanda swallowed with difficulty.
Lord Nathaniel continued. “And then I was also present to see you rush from the house and down the street in a careless manner, causing a household full of people to worry on your behalf. People who are even now still combing the streets of London in search of you. Parsons’ hands shook as he handed me my hat, apologizing for the missing cloak.”
Amanda’s guilt heightened, but it was coupled with a growing sense of irritation for this pompous, self-righteous man by her side. How dare he patronize her in such a manner.
“And do tell, Lord Nathaniel, how you managed to find me? Did you run down the street, chasing the tails of your cloak?”
“Me? Heavens no! I leave that sort of effort to the footmen.” He adjusted his sleeve and brushed the front of his tailcoat. “I had a meeting with a colleague a few streets over. I was headed there when I heard the sounds of the crowd and your squawking voice over the tops of them all.” Lord Nathaniel looked at her with a bored expression. “What could I do? A lady in need of rescuing, couldn’t resist . . .”
Amanda pulled her hand from his arm and walked ahead of him in what she hoped was the right direction. Lord Nathaniel followed behind her for a couple of blocks then turned down a different alley, calling, “My carriage is this way.”
She could hear his laugh as he walked farther into the alley and out of sight. Huffing, she changed directions to follow him.
She hoped never to see this awful lord with his pompous opinions ever again. One thing she felt sure of: after today’s rescue, she was certain Lord Nathaniel would drop his suit and no longer desire to court her. She pushed away a tiny pang of regret.
How could he be unmoved by that speech? The stirring orator had spoken directly to her heart some of the most important words ever spoken, Amanda was sure of it.
When she returned home, a very solemn and disappointed father and mother met her at the door. They hugged her gratefully, but no smile accompanied the embraces. Amanda felt her heart sink.
She tried to explain to her father. “I just want to be free. It is a feeling inside. Talking to you, the world closed in—I’ve never known how to control it.”
Amanda’s father looked at her sternly. “Your actions today spoke of complete selfishness. Your mother and I, our entire staff, and Lords Needley and Nathaniel have been sick with worry for you.”
Amanda couldn’t stop the snort of disbelief at the mention of Lord Nathaniel’s worry. Her father hardened his eyes. Oh dear, he misunderstood.
“If you have so little regard for our watchful care and attention, then you will lose some of that precious freedom until you acquire the respect that I desire from my daughter.”
“Oh, Father, no! I was not thinking of you or the staff—”
“You most certainly were not. I have never seen dear Parsons so agitated. Half of the footmen are still out there on the streets of London, searching. Your Molly asked to leave with them to search for you herself. We told her to stay. We didn’t need two females lost in the city. As it is, she is up waiting for you in your room with a hot bath.”
Amanda’s heart warmed at the generous treatment from those whom she had wronged. Filled with remorse, eyes wet with new tears, she reached for her mother’s hand. “Mother, I am so sorry.” She held the other hand out. “And Father, please forgive me. I will strive to be better, to be worthy of your love and care.”
She leaned in, kissed each of her kind parents on the cheek, and walked out of the main hallway and up the stairs toward her room. As she turned back to smile at her parents, she was surprised to see Lord Nathaniel folding a now dirty and tattered cloak over his arm and placing a hat on his head. He had heard the whole of her mortifying interchange with her parents. Had he no decency?
He tipped his head in her direction. Then he turned and walked out the front door.
Did she see admiration in his eyes? She shook her head. That was probably the last time he would ever be in her home. Surely, he would not want to court her after today. She told herself she was glad of it. She turned from him, her mortification, and her punishment and ran up the stairs. She rushed down the hallway and into her room, slamming the door in her wake.