Free Death of a Radical by Rebecca Jenkins Page A

the Peace, sat besieged behind a broad table. His hands gripped its edge as if the oak were his defense and anchor. Before him paced the eccentric gentlewoman who fell by the tollbooth. She held her heavy broadcloth coat in her hands. She spun it out in a vast arc, clipping the tip of the nervous cleric’s nose, causing him to start back so violently he almost overset his chair.
    â€œSee! See the filth!” she cried, indicating with a grand gesture the stained coat that now lay on the tablebetween them. “I was pushed into the gutter! I!” She leaned over the table toward the shrinking Mr. Prattman. “I, a Lippett of Grateley, pushed into the gutter by a pair of mean vagabonds in broad daylight in the middle of the market!”
    Mr. Prattman looked upward for his salvation and saw Mr. Jarrett hesitating in the corridor.
    â€œMr. Jarrett! Come in, come in,” he appealed. “Miss Lippett has suffered a terrible outrage; she is most upset.”
    Mr. Jarrett winced. He had no wish to make the acquaintance of the absurd creature. Composing his most aloof expression, he stepped into the room.
    The woman was dressed entirely in black serge, save for a small ruff of white lawn visible around the high neck of her gown. The curls that framed her face were wiry, reminding him of black lambs’ wool. Back against one wall, he noticed the servant who had come to her aid by the tollbooth. He was observing the scene with an easy detachment, as if he had paid his ticket to some mildly entertaining play. Though not a vain man, Raif Jarrett was accustomed to meeting a certain softness in female eyes. There was none in those that regarded him now.
    â€œI regret,” he said, “I have not been introduced.”
    As the words left his mouth he became conscious that there was yet another person in the room; a pair of familiar gray eyes flecked with green observed him with distinct reproof.
    â€œMiss Lonsdale! I did not see you there.”
    â€œEvidently, Mr. Jarrett.”
    Miss Henrietta Lonsdale was a lady of good family, the companion and stipulated heir of a wealthy aunt. Her borrowed status encased her in a confidence beyond the strict count of her years. They had made one another’s acquaintance during the affair that had embroiled him on his arrival the previous year; she had proved an ally in his time of need. Although he never entirely felt he had Miss Henrietta’s measure, he considered her a woman of distinction. He did not like her to think badly of him. She always dressed with taste, he reflected. Today she wore a sage green carriage dress of soft cord that set off her eyes. At present those eyes were making him uncomfortably aware that he was not behaving as a gentle man should.
    â€œMiss Lippett,” Henrietta stepped forward. “You will not have made the acquaintance of the Duke of Penrith’s new agent. May I present him to you? Miss Josephine Lippett of Grateley Manor, Mr. Raif Jarrett. The Lippetts of Grateley are one of our oldest families, Mr. Jarrett.”
    â€œWe trace our ancestors back before the Conquest,” Miss Lippett declared.
    Mr. Jarrett made his bow.
    â€œSo this is the man, is it?” The creature looked him up and down. “You’re not a magistrate.” Out of the corner of his eye, Raif caught a flinch of brotherly feeling in her manservant’s expression. He seemed oddly independent for a domestic.
    â€œNo, no dear lady,” said Mr. Prattman hurriedly. “Mr.Jarrett’s opinion is much valued among us—indeed, he is come here today to attend our meeting at the colonel’s invitation. Is that not so, sir? You are come for our meeting?”
    Miss Lippett made an impatient gesture. A muslin handkerchief broke free from her cuff. It wafted down to rest at Mr. Jarrett’s feet. Mr. Jarrett did what was demanded of a gentleman. He picked it up. It was curiously delicate for so mannish a creature. There was an