“Only imagine, Miss Bertram. Imagine—there are no countries, no borders, and therefore, no causes of dispute. No more wars. And of course, no state-ordained religion, either.”
“So all the people will live under one government?”
“There would scarcely be such a thing as government. No longer would we conduct our lives according to falsehoods and petty social dictates. No more hypocrisy and deceit. Perfect freedom for man—and for woman!”
“And your friend Mr. Shelley thinks this can all come about?”
“You may think him merely a dreamer, Miss Bertram, but he is far from alone in his views. I hope to persuade you to join us. No more ranks, no more titles, of course—Shelley will establish a community living in perfect brotherhood. It will be particularly advantageous to the lower orders, you know.”
“This is rather confusing, sir. Will you surrender your title, and refuse to inherit your father’s fortune?”
“Oh,” the young lord waved his fork about cheerfully. “That’s as may be. What matters is, how and where can I do the most good. If I can do the most good as a Lord, even in the House of Lords one day, Shelley says that’s what I should do. I am no poet, like Shelley. I cannot write the way he does, don’t you know. His own father has thrown him off, don’t you know, for being expelled from Oxford. And eloping.”
“Eloping! How romantic!”
“Do you think so? Actually, Shelley hates marriage, you know. That is, he believes it is a type of bondage. But there was this pretty girl, a friend of his sisters, don’t you know, and he had to rescue her from the stupidity and ignorance of her father. They ran away to Edinburgh, but now they are settled in Keswick. They have barely a farthing to live upon, don’t you know, so I have done what I can. Shelley has written me, many times, asking me to come and stay with them.”
“I have heard that the Lake District is very beautiful. Does not the poet Southey live there?”
“Yes, I fancy that poets like Southey and Shelley need to have a beautiful place for inspiration, you know. But, we need more people for our scheme to establish a proper colony of free thinkers, living in absolute harmony and equality. So, what do you say, Miss Bertram? Why don’t we elope and go there together?”
Julia was momentarily dumbstruck.
“You’d have to adapt to a vegetable diet, of course,” he added, eyeing the slice of ham on Julia’s plate. “Only vegetables, fruit and water. And bread. Shelley says, if all men stopped eating meat, there would be no more war. It’s the consumption of animal meat which is the root cause of mankind’s aggression. Brilliant, don’t you know? Perhaps,” he laughed, “I should not say root cause, you know? Hey, root?
Julia laughed, as she knew she must.
“But what do you say? Are you ready to cast off convention, all of the stupid antiquated doctrines, all the foolish constraints of society, and live a life of simplicity, answerable only to Nature’s laws?”
“Sir, I am not certain, but did you just propose marriage? You are not one-and-twenty, I believe, and while I am greatly honoured, I do not think your parents would—”
“Oh, do not speak to me of parents! And a Scottish marriage—while necessary to establish our legal independence, would not confer ownership on me, nor constrain us—financially or, er.... any other way, you know.”
Julia wondered if she ought to take offense, at being proposed to in such a fashion. Lynnon appeared to be assuring her, as though it were to her advantage and not his, that the role of husband imposed no responsibilities on him. She considered, and decided it was best to treat the whole matter lightly. He was, after all, the son of a very rich and influential man who was currently her father’s tenant.
“Well, sir, I beg you will forgive me if I decline your interesting proposal at this time, although I am sensible of the profound honour you do me. And if I may be so bold, I think you would be well-advised to be guided by your father’s wishes, at least until you attain your majority.”
“Never! Never let it be said that I obliged my father!” Lynnon declared, his face flushing with anger, and Julia swiftly pushed a platter of carrots toward him.
“There, there. I am sorry for rousing your spleen, sir.”
* * * * * * *
The young students of Camden Town no longer shivered, thanks to Mrs. Butters, but they were, nevertheless, quivering with excitement over the news which had thrown all of London into a panic—the brutal midnight bludgeoning of a linen-draper and his family on the Ratcliffe Highway.
Everyone took the keenest interest, mingled with horror and alarm, in the newspaper accounts, Fanny as much as anyone, for the killings had occurred very close to the Thames River police office where her brother worked, and in fact, one of their officers was the first to be called to the dreadful murder scene.
She sent John a brief note of enquiry, which was answered by an even briefer one, telling her on no account to come to Wapping until the murderer was apprehended, “for I have obtained extra work, patrolling the streets at night, for which I am to be paid twelve shillings per week, so I shan’t have time to visit with you.”
Despite her feeling such a personal connection to the horrible murders, Fanny felt it was her duty to suppress, so far as possible, the speculation, the whispers, and squeals of fright in her classroom—the older girls in
