Death of a Radical Read Online Free Page B

of Robert Mouncey, the saddler he patronized in Powcher’s Lane who liked to spout irreverent philosophy while he mended your bridle. He liked these people. He was the duke’s representative in this out-of-the-way place. He could make it his business.
    â€œIf I may make a suggestion, sir …” he turned back donning his most conciliatory face. “His Grace has a warehouse in town. It is standing empty and the location is convenient to the markets.” The colonel chewed his bottom lip.
    â€œA military strategist such as yourself, sir,” Jarrett continued, mentally kicking himself for sinking so low, “will see the benefit in lodging the troop together and I am sure his Grace will be willing to meet the expense.”
    The colonel’s eyelids flickered. “A generous offer,” he admitted grudgingly.
    â€œShall I make arrangements?”
    The colonel drew a fat letter out of his pocket and tapped it against the palm of his free hand. “I have calledan extraordinary meeting of the magistrates tomorrow,” he said. “Should Lord Charles have returned by then his counsel would be welcomed.”
    â€œThe warehouse?” Jarrett prompted. Colonel Ison jerked his chin.
    â€œDo it.” The older man unfolded his letter and pretended to absorb himself in its contents. “I have another appointment, Mr. Jarrett,” he said. “I must prepare. Goodday.”
    Jarrett almost laughed out loud. Did the old badger expect him to back out bowing low like a footman?
    â€œI shall wait to hear from the lieutenant when he arrives, then,” he informed the room with a slight bow. As he left, the colonel’s voice followed him.
    â€œIf the marquess is not available, perhaps you would attend the meeting in his place. Twelve noon.”
    The galleried courtyard of the Queen’s Head was empty and still. It was that lull in the morning after the deliveries and before the midday customers gathered. Jarrett could smell ale and baking bread. He heard a woman singing. Ringing out in the calm of the yard the voice was enchantingly pure with a heart-catching lilt. He stilled, listening to the song.
    Every night I dream about him,
Every day I take no rest,
Every instant thinking on him,
My heart ever in his breast.
    Recognition lit Jarrett’s features. He took the gallery steps two by two. He began to sing along in a pleasing tenor.
    And ’tho long distance may be assistance
From my heart thoughts of love to remove,
Yet my heart is with her altogether,
’Tho I live not where I love.
    He completed the last lines alone. There was a squeal and the trample of bare feet on boards. A door flung open and a female dressed in a shift visible under a trailing shawl propelled herself into his arms.
    â€œCaptain Fred!”
    The woman swept back a mass of curls to greet him with an open-mouthed kiss. She was slim and wiry, of a height to fit under his chin. He flicked a quick glance about the gallery. There was no one in sight.
    â€œBess!” he responded as she leaned back to look at him. She had the freckled white skin of the true red-head. He smiled down into pale blue eyes in a vivid, knowing face.
    â€œKiss me again!” she demanded.
    â€œIn the yard of a public inn? Bess, I’m a respectable man these parts. Would you have me rob you of your good name?” A lewd hand gripped him firmly on the buttock.
    â€œI give you my all freely, my chuck—as you well know. Come in, come in!”
    Bess pulled at his hand, dragging him into her room. “It’s cold enough to freeze the tits off a sow out here.”
    Bess drew the edges of her shawl together, leaving the curve of one shoulder in plain view. There was a smudge of soot on her luminous skin, defining the hollow between left shoulder and breast.
    â€œCome sit with me,” she said.
    Bess settled herself at a dressing table loaded with half-burned candles. They huddled on every available