Mr. Hunt leaned back in his chair, chuckling and rubbing his hands together with satisfaction.
“Your ancestor must not have had your height, Mr. Hunt,” said Mrs. Butters. “For I warrant there were not many ladies in Cromwell’s time who were six feet tall. If you ever come to be in prison, you cannot expect to replicate your ancestor’s feat, unless you have a sister who is a giantess.”
“The authorities would dearly love to clap me in gaol, but I am not so foolish as to step into their snares,” answered Mr. Hunt complacently. “On the one hand, there is Lord Sidmouth, with his spies listening to my every word, and on the other, revolutionary fools who have tried to enlist me in their mad schemes. And I have set my course between them, careful not to veer too close between one or the other—and I keep myself out of prison thereby.”
Fanny wondered if this was a contemptuous reference to Mr. Gibson, and she looked down at her plate, and pushed her fish about with her fork, while her cheeks glowed with indignation.
* * * * * * *
Sam, unlike his sister Fanny, admired Mr. Hunt almost to veneration, after hearing him orate to a large gathering at Brandon Hill on the subject of corruption in the government. Sam was still young, of keen intelligence, and of an age to want to do and achieve great things; it was exceedingly hard on a person of his active temperament to abandon the only profession he had ever known, and be told he was unsuited for any other.
Sam found an animating passion in the subject of parliamentary reform, which transported him out of his own sorrows.
His thoughts ran more and more upon the inequities of his country. He and his comrades fought, bled and died to liberate Europe from the Bonaparte, and so the arguments of Mr. Hunt, on the natural rights of man, universal suffrage and fixed elections, kindled a new resolve within him.
Some days after he last heard Mr. Hunt speak, he accidentally encountered the great orator conversing with some associates in a tavern. Sam hesitated, advanced, paused, and finally plucked up the courage to approach him, to express his admiration, and then to enquire if there were not some way in which he could serve the cause.
“Well, lad, I employ men to paste handbills up around town. Ah, but—” and Mr. Hunt glanced down at Sam’s empty jacket sleeve.
Sam nodded, wishing the earth might swallow him up. He understood. Two arms, two hands were required to glue handbills.
“Then again,” added Mr. Hunt. “Sometimes we hand them out to the public. Do you think you could do that? Give out handbills? It takes some judgement, to know who one ought to approach on the street. If they meet your eye, that is a good sign. I must pay the extortionate government tax on every sheet and I’ll not have them wasted. Do you understand me?”
Sam eagerly expressed his willingness for the employment—and he was instructed to report to the same tavern in four days’ time. He walked back to Mrs. Butters’ house, in a better frame of mind than he had known for many weeks. But, he began to ask himself how he might hold a parcel of handbills and distribute them, one by one, with only one hand. He pictured himself fumbling awkwardly; he pictured himself dropping the entire bundle in a puddle, he grew angry and mortified. Fanny, spying him from her window as he came up the street, perceived him to be in an unusually strong state of misery, and she slipped down the stairs to intercept him as he made his way through the garden to the carriage-house.
She prompted and coaxed until he confided his dilemma to her. Fanny exclaimed at once, “Why, Sam, there is no difficulty whatsoever. I will make a satchel for you to wear. Some sturdy type of fabric or burlap, I fancy, would do the trick.”
Sam cheered up and acknowledged her ingenuity with respect and thanks. She would not have traded her younger brother’s approbation for any commonplace gallantry.
She set about the task immediately, designing and sewing a sturdy pouch for Sam to sling across his chest.
Sam gladly commenced the work of distributing Mr. Hunt’s handbills. He had a loud carrying voice, not unlike his new employer, and he enthusiastically cried the news of “Orator” Hunt’s next public appearance through the streets of Bristol. He received a pittance for his efforts—but the dignity of having some employment after weeks of idleness, and feeling that work to be virtuous and useful, greatly improved his spirits, and even Fanny felt gratitude to Mr. Hunt on Sam’s account.
Chapter 12: England, Autumn 1815
Margaret Meriwether received the news of Maria Crawford’s engagement to Mr. Orme with a joy approaching rapture, even though Mr. Orme had not been her preferred candidate.
Mr. Orme’s triumph over his rivals came about in this fashion: after rejecting Mr. Fenwick for his defects of character, and after losing Mr. Greville to a wealthier heiress, (a circumstance upon which Maria was not inclined to dwell,) she began to consider Mr. Orme’s claims to her regard more seriously—she considered him as a parent to her child, as a master for Everingham, as a respectful son-in-law to her parents, and as an intelligent companion for her future years, and she found there was nothing to which she could seriously object.
When Maria first launched herself into London society, she disliked the idea of marrying a professional
