Page 89 of The Armor of Light

Susan and Sal were among only a handful of women in the room.It was often said that politics should be left to men, and some women believed it, or pretended to.

The audience included a group of young men Sal had seen hanging around the Slaughterhouse Inn, down by the river. She murmured to Jarge: ‘I don’t like the look of those lads.’

‘I know them,’ Jarge said. ‘Mungo Landsman, Rob Appleyard, Nat Hammond – they want watching.’

Sal and Jarge sat in the front row with Midwinter and the Rev. Small. A minute later Spade got up and came to the lectern. There was a murmur of surprise: Spade was smart, everyone knew, and he read the newspapers, but still, he was only a weaver.

He held up a copy ofReasons for Contentment Addressed to the Labouring Part of the British Public. ‘We should pay close attention to what Mr Paley says,’ he began. ‘He is very wise about how we should manage our affairs here in the west of England, because he is an archdeacon...of Carlisle.’ There was a ripple of laughter. Carlisle was on the Scottish border, some three hundred miles from Kingsbridge.

He went on in the same vein. Sal had looked through Paley’s pamphlet, and she knew it contained pompous and condescending remarks about labouring people. Spade read out the worst of them in a deadpan voice, and with every quotation the laughter grew louder. He began to play to the audience, pretending he was puzzled and offended by their reaction, which made them laugh all the more. Even Tories were amused, and there was no hostility, no heckling. Midwinter whispered to Sal: ‘This is going well.’

Spade sat down to cheers and applause, and Midwinter introduced the Rev. Small.

Paley was a philosopher, and so was Small; and Small’s approach was academic. He did not mention the French revolution or the British parliament. His arguments were about the right to govern. Kings were chosen by God, he admitted, but so were dukes andbankers and shopkeepers, and none of them were perfect, so no one ruled by divine right. The audience became restive, fidgeting and making remarks to one another. Sal was disappointed, but at least Small had said nothing inflammatory.

Suddenly someone jumped up and shouted: ‘God save the king!’ It was Mungo Landsman, Sal saw.

‘Oh, hell,’ she said.

Several men in the audience did the same, standing up and shouting ‘God save the king!’ then sitting down.

It was the group from the Slaughterhouse, Sal noted, but there seemed to be more than the three Jarge had named. She was seized by consternation. What was happening? Small had said nothing about King George specifically, so they could hardly have been inflamed by his speech. Had they planned to do this regardless of what was said? Why would they come just to disrupt the meeting?

Small continued with his speech, but soon he was interrupted again. ‘Traitor!’ someone shouted, then: ‘Republican!’ and ‘Leveller!’

Sal turned in her seat. ‘You can’t know what he is if you don’t listen to him,’ she called angrily.

‘Whore!’ they shouted, then: ‘Papist!’ and ‘Frenchwoman!’

Jarge stood up and walked slowly to the back, near the shouters. He was joined by his friend Jack Camp, who was even bigger. They did not speak to the troublemakers, but stood with their arms folded, looking to the front.

Midwinter murmured: ‘This is not good, Sal. Perhaps we should close the meeting now.’

Sal was dismayed. ‘No,’ she said, though she was worried. ‘That would be giving in to them.’

‘There could be a worse outcome.’

Sal felt he might be right, but she could not bear to admit defeat.

Small continued, but not for long. The shouting resumed, and Sal said: ‘It’s as if they actually want a fight!’

‘This was all prearranged, I’m sure,’ Midwinter said. ‘Someone is determined to discredit the society.’

Sal had a sick feeling that he was right. The Slaughterhouse lads were not responding to what was said, they were following a predetermined plan.

And Riddick knew about it, she realized; that was why he had come with the militia. There was a plot.

But who had made the plan? The men who ruled the town disapproved of the society, but would they really try to arrange a riot? She said: ‘But who would have done it?’

‘A frightened man,’ said Midwinter.

Sal did not know what he meant.

People sitting near the shouters began to get up and move away, no doubt nervous about what might happen next.

The Rev. Small abandoned his lecture and sat down.

Midwinter stood up and said loudly: ‘We will now have a short break, followed in a quarter of an hour by a discussion.’