Taffeta & Hotspur

“Read the last paragraph,” entreated Seth. “Where he speaks about the bill…”

“What bill?” asked Lady Marble, showing some interest.

“A death penalty has been proposed for all Luddites caught smashing frames and looms,” explained Nigel.

“You cannot mean it?” cried Taffeta.

“Indeed, a death penalty is severe, but something must be done to stop the destruction of property.”

“Yes, something must be done—pay them a decent wage so they don’t starve,” argued Taffeta hotly.

“Aunt Sissy, Taffy, listen to Byron for he is so very eloquent on the subject,” he said and then began reading: “Suppose it passed. Suppose one of these men, as I have seen them—meager with famine, sullen with despair, careless of life which your lordships are perhaps about to value at something less than the price of a stocking-frame—suppose this man, and there are a thousand such from whom you may select your victims, is dragged into court to be tried for this new offense by this new law. Still there are two things wanting to convict and condemn him, and these are, in my opinion

, twelve butchers for a jury and a Jeffreys for a judge.”

Taffy clapped her hands and pronounced, “There you are. Lord Byron is a much better man than I was led to believe. I shall most certainly seek him out and applaud him…”

“No, you shall not,” admonished her aunt. “He is not the sort of man you should be interested in…” She added. “Nor is the Marquis of Bruton.”

“What had Lord Tarrant to say about the bill?” Taffeta asked as casually as she could.

“He was absent,” answered her brother.

“You mean he did not take a seat for such an important meeting?”

“No, but it wasn’t going for a vote yet, but it does look as though the Tories will have their day, and the death penalty will pass.”

“No … oh no…” Taffy cried. “I can not believe Tarrant did not stand up against the bill…”

“What is all this interest in the Hotspur?” asked Nigel.

She colored up. “I have no interest in him as such, only in the fact that I have learned he carries a bit of weight among his peers. He is not, by his own words, a Tory…”

“No, he is not a Tory,” Her aunt Sissy stuck in. “But I have never known him to take an active part in politics.”

“Besides, I suspect he is out of town,” said her brother.

At that point, Valiant appeared in the open doorway and wagged his tail. She regarded him with interest as he eyed the people he had surely grown to love and started to make his way toward her. She knew he must have made some effort to escape the kitchen and sniff his way to her. Apparently exhausted, he plopped down only a few feet from the doorway.

Taffy laughed and ran to pick him up and snuggle him, took him back with her to the sofa, and allowed him to sleep in her lap. “Is he not beautiful, Aunt Sissy?”

Her aunt regarded him approvingly, “I must say for a mongrel … his black and white markings are quite outstanding. He looks as though he might have Border Collie in him. Yes, he is quite a nice little thing.”

Jarvis appeared and announced, “The Marquis of Bruton.”

“Drat!” said Nigel.

“Loose fish,” whispered Seth. “Don’t like the blasted fellow.”

“You may show him in Jarvis, thank you,” said their aunt Sissy.

Seth looked surprised, “Didn’t think you liked him either.”

“Don’t … but he runs with prince regent, and one does not wish to make enemies in that quarter unnecessarily.”

Taffy had very definite views about Bruton, but she wasn’t letting on just yet. She rather thought she might need to further a friendship if she was to solve her dear friend’s problem, so she kept her thoughts on Bruton to herself.

At least with her, he had never overstepped, and he had never bored her—there was that, and probably only that, in his favor for as he walked into the room, she once again concluded he thought too much of himself.