Free Sweet and Twenty by Joan Smith Page A

force.”
    “Mr. Alistair said it was the Whigs who threw the apples, Mr. Fellows,”Sara told him. “I think if your supporters are to be there tonight, you had better both be careful, for it was the Whigs who threw the rotten apples.”
    “Nonsense!”he said indignantly. “It was a Tory meeting. What would my men have been doing there?”
    “The Whigs threw apples at Mr. Alistair, and it was not very nice,”she insisted, pouting.
    “But why should his own men pelt him with apples?”Lillian asked, with a suspicious eye in Mr. Hudson’s direction. There was a sparkle in his gray eyes as he lifted a brow at her that she did not quite trust.
    “Why, the Tories are so stupid they don’t know the difference,”was Tony’s explanation of the affair.
    “It looks as if it might be a rough meeting tonight,”Lillian said, turning to Mr. Hudson, who had seated himself beside her upon entering, a mark of distinction both noticed and felt by her.
    “I look forward to a lively débacle,”he said with a conspiratorial smile, and then, speaking in a low voice, presumably to spare Tony, “Rotten eggs, cat-calls—the whole cat, in fact, flung in his face.”
    “There were dead cats thrown in the West Riding. Disgusting! Will it be likely to happen here?”
    “I consider it almost inevitable. Keep a sharp eye on your domestic brindle or she’ll end up on Alistair’s—or Fellows’s—shoulders.”
    “Mr. Fellows won’t stick it, Mr. Hudson. Hestands too high on his dignity for such rough treatment.”
    “Helooks forward tothe honor. I have prepared him.”
    “No, not even you could accomplish that.”
    “You have a low opinion of my powers of persuasion, ma’am. Listen to him; he’s giving your aunt my lecture now. Please allow for its mangling at his hands.”
    They both looked toward Mr. Fellows, who was holding forth in his resonant voice. “It will be rough going tonight, but politics is for men, not boys. You can always expect to come in for abuse when you stand up for something. The bishop of London, Lord Castlereagh and all the outstanding men of the times were abused and vilified during the Corn Riots. Their windows were broken and mud and stones were flung at them in the streets. Even the Prince of Wales knows well enough how it is—he dare not go in the streets for fear of being pelted with garbage. I will be in good company. But I will take it all with dignity.”
    Lillian turned to Hudson with a sapient eye. “What is the dignified way to take a dead cat being thrown at you?”she asked.
    “It involves a deal of ducking and dodging.”
    “It sounds monstrously dignified. Your Mr. Fellows is not noticeably light-footed. You may have talked him into accepting it mentally, but what will happen when he is faced with the reality of it? He’ll cry craven and bolt on you, Mr. Hudson. Depend on it.”
    “I’ll reinforce him with another bout of lectures before we go and circulate some fellows amongst the audience to lift any suspicious brown bags they see. I have half a dozen flash culls from the east side of London arrived today.”
    "What on earth are flash culls?”she demanded.
    “Petty criminals,”he answered, unmoved. “Excellent for this sort of work, and it keeps them out of real mischief. Mind you, there’s one in the bunch is on the ken lay—ah—a housebreaker, in genteel parlance. Have an eye to your silver and jewelry for the next few days.”
    “You employ common criminals in your work?”she gasped.
    “Shh!”he said with a nervous glance at the rest of the group. “Let them recover from my corruption before they hear of this. They are not really bad fellows at all, I assure you. I find them totally reliable. There was a list of names I absolutely had to get hold of at the last general election, and my own best efforts at burgling the gent’s room came to nought, so in desperation I hired a gallows-bird . . . oh dear, I’ve lost you again. I hired a pickpocket to filch it from