Read Online Ten Lords A-Leaping by Ruth Dudley Edwards - Free Book Online
Authors: Ruth Dudley Edwards
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behind her. Dolamore quelled the audience with a gesture. His eyes bored into hers.
‘You make it clear that it’s all baloney about this bill being a one-off. That wasn’t just rhetoric. Fishing next, then the shooting and killing of animals for meat or clothing. This is what your organization wants. Is that now official?’
‘Certainly,’ he said. ‘I am not a compromiser.’
‘Nice company you find yourself in, Lady Parsons,’ she said. She picked up her voluminous bag, jerked her head at Amiss and began to walk down the aisle towards the back door. The booing started halfway down and from the back row suddenly erupted several dozen angry people shouting abuse, waving banners and fists and blocking her exit. Amiss looked around for police, bouncers or just people anxious to defend the right to express dissent. There were none, merely some anxious-looking people who had no intention of getting themselves mixed up in any trouble.
‘Let’s just stand here, Jack, until they calm down,’ he whispered.
‘Rubbish. When I want to leave I leave. Out of my way!’ she shouted to the group in front of her.
The hubbub grew louder. An unpleasant-looking individual with a banner saying, ‘Animal Liberation is the Moral Issue’, stepped forward and waved a piece of paper in front of her.
‘Sign this petition.’
She looked at it. ‘Certainly not.’
‘Sign it!’ he shouted. His cohorts took up the chant.
Amiss could hear bleatings from the platform. He looked back quickly and saw all four on their feet calling for calm. But on this occasion even Dolamore’s hypnotic influence had no effect; the mob were caught up in their local objective.
‘Sign it!’ they shouted. ‘Sign it, sign it, sign it, sign it.’
Jack Troutbeck began to push forward. Frightened but resigned, Amiss moved with her. Suddenly he felt a stunningly painful blow on his shoulder and emitted a yelp. An ugly-looking youth leered at him, raised his banner high in the air and aimed it at Amiss’s head. Within seconds he had screamed, dropped his banner and was clutching his right arm, on which Jack had just landed an energetic blow with a horsewhip. As she brandished it at the youth in front, he hesitated.
‘Tally-ho!’ she shouted and cracked the whip on the floor with a noise so threatening that ahead of her the demonstrators parted like the River of Jordan. She turned, bowed at the platform and, followed by a rather sheepish-looking Amiss, marched out with her head held high and a happy and triumphant grin.
----
Chapter 8
« ^ »
‘So that’s the opposition. Your next job is to get to grips with our side.’ The baroness scooped another snail out of its shell, inserted it into her mouth and crooned appreciatively.
‘You like snails?’
‘Especially when they get the garlic just right. I like lots.’ She looked in a rather troubled fashion at his plate. ‘Are you sure that pâté is all right? It looks a bit finely cut to me.’
‘It suits me. But thank you for your concern.’
She shook her head. ‘Pâté should be coarse and preferably made of wild boar. Anyway, did you enjoy yourself?’
‘Well, I certainly wasn’t bored. Now, in view of a) your provocative interventions and b) the fact that you just happened to have a horsewhip in your bag, I infer that you set out to stir them up.’
‘Just a shot across their bows.’
‘Doesn’t it alert them to trouble ahead?’
‘When in doubt, I always believe in a foray into enemy territory. You can undermine their morale while picking up some gen. This time, for instance, we’ve seen how they crumble when you show them who’s boss.’
‘Jack, I think you may be getting muddled between a parliamentary challenge and animal activists. It’s a vote that will determine what happens to fox-hunting, not hand-to-hand combat between you and some hairy oiks.’
‘All part and parcel of the same thing,’ she said carelessly.
A parody of a French waiter oiled his way
‘You make it clear that it’s all baloney about this bill being a one-off. That wasn’t just rhetoric. Fishing next, then the shooting and killing of animals for meat or clothing. This is what your organization wants. Is that now official?’
‘Certainly,’ he said. ‘I am not a compromiser.’
‘Nice company you find yourself in, Lady Parsons,’ she said. She picked up her voluminous bag, jerked her head at Amiss and began to walk down the aisle towards the back door. The booing started halfway down and from the back row suddenly erupted several dozen angry people shouting abuse, waving banners and fists and blocking her exit. Amiss looked around for police, bouncers or just people anxious to defend the right to express dissent. There were none, merely some anxious-looking people who had no intention of getting themselves mixed up in any trouble.
‘Let’s just stand here, Jack, until they calm down,’ he whispered.
‘Rubbish. When I want to leave I leave. Out of my way!’ she shouted to the group in front of her.
The hubbub grew louder. An unpleasant-looking individual with a banner saying, ‘Animal Liberation is the Moral Issue’, stepped forward and waved a piece of paper in front of her.
‘Sign this petition.’
She looked at it. ‘Certainly not.’
‘Sign it!’ he shouted. His cohorts took up the chant.
Amiss could hear bleatings from the platform. He looked back quickly and saw all four on their feet calling for calm. But on this occasion even Dolamore’s hypnotic influence had no effect; the mob were caught up in their local objective.
‘Sign it!’ they shouted. ‘Sign it, sign it, sign it, sign it.’
Jack Troutbeck began to push forward. Frightened but resigned, Amiss moved with her. Suddenly he felt a stunningly painful blow on his shoulder and emitted a yelp. An ugly-looking youth leered at him, raised his banner high in the air and aimed it at Amiss’s head. Within seconds he had screamed, dropped his banner and was clutching his right arm, on which Jack had just landed an energetic blow with a horsewhip. As she brandished it at the youth in front, he hesitated.
‘Tally-ho!’ she shouted and cracked the whip on the floor with a noise so threatening that ahead of her the demonstrators parted like the River of Jordan. She turned, bowed at the platform and, followed by a rather sheepish-looking Amiss, marched out with her head held high and a happy and triumphant grin.
----
Chapter 8
« ^ »
‘So that’s the opposition. Your next job is to get to grips with our side.’ The baroness scooped another snail out of its shell, inserted it into her mouth and crooned appreciatively.
‘You like snails?’
‘Especially when they get the garlic just right. I like lots.’ She looked in a rather troubled fashion at his plate. ‘Are you sure that pâté is all right? It looks a bit finely cut to me.’
‘It suits me. But thank you for your concern.’
She shook her head. ‘Pâté should be coarse and preferably made of wild boar. Anyway, did you enjoy yourself?’
‘Well, I certainly wasn’t bored. Now, in view of a) your provocative interventions and b) the fact that you just happened to have a horsewhip in your bag, I infer that you set out to stir them up.’
‘Just a shot across their bows.’
‘Doesn’t it alert them to trouble ahead?’
‘When in doubt, I always believe in a foray into enemy territory. You can undermine their morale while picking up some gen. This time, for instance, we’ve seen how they crumble when you show them who’s boss.’
‘Jack, I think you may be getting muddled between a parliamentary challenge and animal activists. It’s a vote that will determine what happens to fox-hunting, not hand-to-hand combat between you and some hairy oiks.’
‘All part and parcel of the same thing,’ she said carelessly.
A parody of a French waiter oiled his way
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