Free The Revenge of Captain Paine by Andrew Pepper Page B

anyone else.’
    On the platform Munroe was starting to build towards a conclusion but there were already rumblings of discontent from the floor.
    ‘Do you think he’s flesh and blood?’
    ‘You mean, do I think he’s one man rather than an amalgam of people using the same name?’
    ‘That’s part of it,’ Pyke whispered. ‘But I was also wondering whether you’d heard the rumour that Jackman is Captain Paine?’
    ‘Who did you hear that from?’ The way Godfrey said it showed he was prepared to entertain the possibility.
    Pyke ignored the question.
    ‘Look, Pyke, whether Captain Paine is a fiction or not, he’s someone the poor can cheer for. They see someone who acts rather than postulates. That’s what makes him such a threat.’ Godfrey hesitated, perhaps deciding whether to say what was on his mind. ‘But there was something else . . .’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘This chap Jackman is rumoured to be something of a ladies’ man. Apparently he’s hung like a donkey.’
    Pyke turned to his uncle. ‘Why are you telling me this?’
    Up on the platform Munroe was winding up his speech with an attack on vulgarity and drunkenness. ‘Let us put into practice our democratic principles,’ he shouted, his eyes fixed on something over their heads, ‘by seeking the company of sober-minded, virtuous individuals.’ Unsurprisingly, given that most of the people were drinking ale provided by the owner, this drew the first outward signs of dissent. Someone shouted, ‘Give the man a drink,’ and then added, ‘Sit down, you old windbag.’ This got the most raucous cheer of the evening. Then someone began chanting ‘Captain Paine’ and others followed, and soon everyone in the room had joined in, the chanting easily drowning out the end of Munroe’s speech.
    Someone jostled them from behind and at first Pyke put it down to an expression of high spirits. He heard some further mutterings and then someone threw some beer over the back of Godfrey’s coat. Laughter ensued and it was only then Pyke realised they were being targeted because of their clothing: because someone had decided they didn’t belong in such a gathering on account of Godfrey’s blue double-breasted jacket and Pyke’s knee-length cutaway coat.
    Emily had climbed back on to the platform, together with Julian Jackman. Emily waited for the room to quieten before she said, in a deep, confident voice that surprised Pyke, ‘And that’s why you shouldn’t allow us respectable, bourgeois types anywhere near these meetings.’
    It was a direct rebuke to Munroe and it got the biggest cheer of the night.
    Next to her, Jackman applauded her comments and commended Captain Paine to the mob.
    ‘Death to the tyrant Whigs. Pestilence on the villainous Tories.’ Jackman stepped to the front of the platform. ‘Let the swinish multitude rise up and kick our fat masters in the teeth. Cut off their heads and stick them on pikes. What we need is revolution. While we’re at it, let’s throw Bentham and Malthus on the bonfire too. We should be striving for the betterment of the working man and only the working man: the middle classes can take care of themselves as they always have done.’
    Those packed into the fetid room rose to their feet to hail his words, throwing their caps into the air.
    Turning round, Pyke found himself staring at a fat, whiskered man of about forty wearing a monkey jacket that was too small for him and a stocking-cap pulled down over his forehead. ‘Look at me again, cully,’ he sneered, ‘and I’ll smite your costard.’ He was cross eyed from drink. ‘What are two rum culls like you doing mixing with the riff-raff? Didn’t you hear the man? You ain’t wanted.’
    There were many ways in which Pyke could have answered the question, not least pointing to the fine work his uncle did riling the authorities with his unstamped paper the Scourge , but none of them seemed appropriate. So when the man started to pour the rest of his beer over