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Authors: Shirlee Busbee
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peace and tranquillity of a backcountry laneâLord knew that only madmen deliberately subjected themselves to this type of punishment. Having narrowly escaped a collision with a speeding mail coach and a farm wagon filled with vegetables, it was with relief that Royce guided his pair down St. Martinâs Street.
It soon became apparent from the many horses and vehicles which lined the cobblestone street that the fight was going to be well attended, and after securing the dubious services of one of the several street urchins who vociferously promised to watch the horses and gig for him, Royce strolled with Zachary in the direction of Fives Court. Nodding to several acquaintances, they slowly made their way through the boisterous crowd to join a group of friends gathered near one corner of the ring where the fight would take place.
âOh, I say! Itâs about time you arrivedâthe match is about to begin,â exclaimed George Ponteby, the nondescript features above his intricately tied and starched white cravat slightly flushed with excitement. Though Ponteby was distantly related to Royce, there was little resemblance between them. George was just about medium height, rather slender in build, and while his face was considered handsome enough, there was nothing particularly remarkable or memorable about him. Yet Ponteby was extremely well liked, his easygoing nature and amiable personality making him a welcome addition to any gathering. Being a member of a reputable family as well as having his own respectable fortune gave Ponteby entrée anywhere.
Royce greeted him affably and was instantly absorbed into the group of fashionably attired gentlemen. Zachary hung about for a few moments, speaking politely to several of Royceâs friends before spotting a few cronies of his own. Taking leave of the older group, Zachary quickly made his way through the restlessly surging crowd to join his friends.
The fight area was outside, and the cobblestone street around the ring was thronged with people from all walks of life. There were, to be sure, members of the ton, like Ponteby and Royce, attending, but there were also a number of lesser folk, businessmen, bankers, and merchants, as well as street vendors, butchers, and fishmongers ... and thieves and pickpockets. The group was predominantly male, although a few tawdry-dressed streetwalkers in stained silks of scarlet and purple flittered hopefully throughout the multitude. Dogs and young boys ran excitedly in and out of the crowd, and snatches of laughter and conversation floated in the warm June air.
From the sidelines, where she leaned idly against the wall of a brick building, Pip watched the comings and goings, keeping an eye out for the tall American whom she was to rob. She spotted Royce and Zachary the instant they appeared, their height making them immediately noticeable. Squashing a particularly insistent flea between her dirty nails, she pushed herself away from the wall and unobtrusively tagged after the pair. While she was fairly certain that the tall, broad-shouldered gentleman in the expertly cut tobacco brown jacket was her prey, experience had taught her not to make assumptions, and so she sidled nearer, waiting for the gentleman in the curly-brimmed beaver hat to speak. Hearing the easy drawl when he spoke to his acquaintances clinched it for her and she glanced around, looking for either Ben or Jacko to let them know that she had marked the swell. Her diminutive height made it nearly impossible for her to find either one of her brothers in the constantly shifting mass, and eventually she was forced to leave Royceâs vicinity and go in search of them.
Fortunately, she did not have to go far, and she had just reached the fringe of the crowd when she spotted Ben at his post on the other side of the street. Putting two fingers in her mouth, she gave an earsplitting whistle that was instantly recognizable to Ben. He glanced up, and when his
It soon became apparent from the many horses and vehicles which lined the cobblestone street that the fight was going to be well attended, and after securing the dubious services of one of the several street urchins who vociferously promised to watch the horses and gig for him, Royce strolled with Zachary in the direction of Fives Court. Nodding to several acquaintances, they slowly made their way through the boisterous crowd to join a group of friends gathered near one corner of the ring where the fight would take place.
âOh, I say! Itâs about time you arrivedâthe match is about to begin,â exclaimed George Ponteby, the nondescript features above his intricately tied and starched white cravat slightly flushed with excitement. Though Ponteby was distantly related to Royce, there was little resemblance between them. George was just about medium height, rather slender in build, and while his face was considered handsome enough, there was nothing particularly remarkable or memorable about him. Yet Ponteby was extremely well liked, his easygoing nature and amiable personality making him a welcome addition to any gathering. Being a member of a reputable family as well as having his own respectable fortune gave Ponteby entrée anywhere.
Royce greeted him affably and was instantly absorbed into the group of fashionably attired gentlemen. Zachary hung about for a few moments, speaking politely to several of Royceâs friends before spotting a few cronies of his own. Taking leave of the older group, Zachary quickly made his way through the restlessly surging crowd to join his friends.
The fight area was outside, and the cobblestone street around the ring was thronged with people from all walks of life. There were, to be sure, members of the ton, like Ponteby and Royce, attending, but there were also a number of lesser folk, businessmen, bankers, and merchants, as well as street vendors, butchers, and fishmongers ... and thieves and pickpockets. The group was predominantly male, although a few tawdry-dressed streetwalkers in stained silks of scarlet and purple flittered hopefully throughout the multitude. Dogs and young boys ran excitedly in and out of the crowd, and snatches of laughter and conversation floated in the warm June air.
From the sidelines, where she leaned idly against the wall of a brick building, Pip watched the comings and goings, keeping an eye out for the tall American whom she was to rob. She spotted Royce and Zachary the instant they appeared, their height making them immediately noticeable. Squashing a particularly insistent flea between her dirty nails, she pushed herself away from the wall and unobtrusively tagged after the pair. While she was fairly certain that the tall, broad-shouldered gentleman in the expertly cut tobacco brown jacket was her prey, experience had taught her not to make assumptions, and so she sidled nearer, waiting for the gentleman in the curly-brimmed beaver hat to speak. Hearing the easy drawl when he spoke to his acquaintances clinched it for her and she glanced around, looking for either Ben or Jacko to let them know that she had marked the swell. Her diminutive height made it nearly impossible for her to find either one of her brothers in the constantly shifting mass, and eventually she was forced to leave Royceâs vicinity and go in search of them.
Fortunately, she did not have to go far, and she had just reached the fringe of the crowd when she spotted Ben at his post on the other side of the street. Putting two fingers in her mouth, she gave an earsplitting whistle that was instantly recognizable to Ben. He glanced up, and when his
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