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Authors: Christine Trent

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After searching everywhere she could think of, she locked up and returned to their lodgings. She tapped on his door, and, hearing no response, jiggled the latch. It was unlocked.
She entered, tentative about trespassing on her brother's domain. His bedclothes were jumbled on his bed, and clothes were equally cluttered about in piles, both on the bed and on the floor. Belle shook her head. How did he ever find anything?
She poked as gently as she could through his belongings in his room. Not finding the list anywhere obvious, she moved aside his bedclothes. How did he sleep with so much debris littering his bed? She touched a piece of fabric that did not belong to his bed-coverings and lifted it up. What was this?
A folded length of cotton batiste. Nearly three yards' worth. Why had he snipped it and brought it here? She had just reviewed the shop ledger this morning, and knew that he hadn't recorded the cut, either.
She sighed. Wesley was becoming more and more difficult these days.
Belle noticed a shallow wood box poking out from underneath his bed. It looked like something that might hold documents. Might he have accidentally stored the price list in there?
She knelt down, pulled it out, and placed it on her lap, sliding the lid out from its grooved tracks on either side of the box. Ah, Wesley's smoking supplies. She smiled as she pulled out the pipe she'd given him, which he seemed to love so much. She also tried not to let it remind her of Put.
Wesley had several pouches of aromatic tobacco in the box, too, and the fragrance was heady. And what was this?
She pushed aside the tobacco and picked up a murky brown brick. What was this? His latest tobacco find? She pulled it closer and sniffed at it. It was cloyingly sweet. A fragranced tobacco? There was no maker's stamp on it.
“What the hell are you doing?” Wesley banged open the door, causing Belle to jump up, dropping the box and scattering its contents. She still held the brick out to him.
“Looking for the Harrington Mill price list. I need it and I know you last had it, yet it's completely missing from our catalog box. But now I'm looking at this. What is it?”
He came around the bed to where she was and snatched it from her. “None of your business. And I'll thank you not to intrude on my personal belongings. I threw the damned thing away, if you must know, because I did a comparison with their last price list and they'd escalated prices ridiculously.”
“But the food riots and—”
“Have nothing to do with cotton and wool prices. And I'm sure you didn't think I could be conscientious enough to even compare prices, did you?”
“Don't sneer at me, Wesley Stirling. I thought no such thing. It would have been helpful if you'd at least
told
me you discarded the price list. Which I will ask you not to do again. Despite whatever price increases they may have had, they are one of the best manufacturers of cambric and toile in England, and I intend to continue purchasing from them for as long as I can.”
Wesley bowed mockingly, holding the brick out in his right hand. “Of course, dear sister. You are, after all, lord and mistress of both our lives.” He bent over and threw the spilled smoking supplies back to their storage box, slid the lid back on, and shoved it back under his bed.
When he rose, Belle saw that he was not only unshaven, but his eyes were bloodshot, and had a distinctly unfocused glaze to them.
“Wesley, what's wrong? Are you ill? Is that why you're so tetchy?” And when had he gotten so thin?
His laugh sounded like a gunshot report in the room. “Ha! So you invade my room, snooping about where you don't belong, and then accuse me of ill humor.”
Belle straightened. “You're obviously not yourself, Brother. I'll go to my room now. Perhaps you'd like to join me in the morning for breakfast, and we can talk then.”
She strode out of the room before he could snap at her again.
What was happening to her brother? What if he abandoned her? He was all she had left in the world. And what was that strange substance he'd snatched away from her without explanation? For certain it wasn't tobacco.
But by morning, Wesley was a different man. His eyes were clear, his face was smooth, and he offered Belle an apology for his behavior and promised to be a better brother and a more conscientious employee as he daubed butter on a bite of raisin scone.
Belle, desperate to find the sibling she'd loved so well when she was younger, accepted his apology without questioning him further about the curious substance she'd found under his bed, nor asking about the fabric that he'd taken from the shop without explanation.
“Never mind, Wesley. For me, it's as though yesterday never happened. Let's not speak of it again.”
Wesley grinned sheepishly, and told her he'd be along to the shop as soon as he cleaned up his room.
 
But Wesley really just wanted a few minutes of peace in his room after the exertion required to apologize to Belle.
10 July 1819, Saturday
Apologized to B——. D——won't be happy, but I will explain.
Moved box to a more secure location.
Must remember to see Mr. Ashby. D——is depleting what I have. May need to nick a few shillings from the lockbox again.
She says her father is considering several marriage options for her, mostly with the second sons of fellow parliamentarians. She thinks I have the ability to break any ensuing engagement, but I don't see how. A Yorkshire draper transplanted to London hardly has any influence anywhere, much less in Parliament. But I can't lose D——. I already can't imagine an existence without her.
D——says my sister should be able to help, given her relationship with the Prince Regent. As if I would ever ask such a great favor from B——. No, if I'm to break D——free of her father, I have to do it on my own.
During breakfast one morning, Belle's interest was piqued by the sound of someone shouting, “Peterloo Massacre!” outside their lodgings. She got up from the dining table where she and Wesley were sharing a quick breakfast before heading to the shop, and peered out a window. A boy was traversing the street outside their lodgings with a cartload of newspapers, calling out, “Peterloo Massacre!” repeatedly, and people were rushing up to buy copies. She excused herself, went outside, and was intrigued enough by the sign propped up in the boy's cart to spend twopence for her own copy.
PETERLOO MASSACRE ! ! !
J
UST PUBLISHED
N
O.
1
PRICE TWOPENCE OF
PETERLOO MASSACRE. C
ONTAINING A FULL,
TRUE, AND FAITHFUL ACCOUNT OF THE INHUMAN
MURDERS, WOUNDINGS AND OTHER MONSTROUS
C
RUELTIES EXERCISED BY A SET OF
INFERNALS
(
MISCALLED
S
OLDIERS
)
UPON UNARMED AND
DISTRESSED
P
EOPLE
.
She carried the broadsheet back into her lodgings and read aloud to Wesley.
The Manchester Observer
21 August, 1819
The morning of the 16th was hailed with exultation by the many thousands, whose feelings were powerfully excited on the occasion. At an early period, numbers came pressing in from various and distant parts of the country, to witness the greatest and most gratifying assemblage of Britons that was ever recorded in the annuals of our history. From Bolton, Oldham, Stockport, Middleton, and all the circumjacent country; from the more distant towns of Leeds, Sheffield, etc. came thousands of willing votaries to the shrine of sacred liberty; and at the period when the Patriotic Mr. Hunt and his friends had taken their station on the hustings, it is supposed that no less than 150,000 people were congregated in the area near St. Peter's Church.
Mr. Hunt ascended the hustings about half-past one o'clock, and after a few preliminary arrangements, proceeded to address the immense multitude, recommending peace and order for their government. Whilst thus engaged, and without the shadow of disorder occurring or likely to occur, we were surprised, though not alarmed, at perceiving a column of infantry take possession of an opening in the assembly.
Our fears were raised to horror, by the appearance of the Manchester and Salford Yeomanry Cavalry, who came galloping into the area, and proceeded to form in line ready for action; nor were they long delayed from their hellish purpose - the special constables were called in from their previous stations - the bugle sounded the charge - and a scene of murder and carnage ensued which posterity will hesitate to believe, and which will hand down the authors and abettors of this foul and bloody tragedy to the astonished world. Men, women, and children, without distinction of age or sex became the victims of these monsters.
The people in the crowd were so compact and stood so firm that they could not reach the hustings without halting. Few, if any of the meeting, even yet, supposed that this martial display was intended for anything more than securing Hunt, Johnson, Knight and Moorhouse, for whom they had warrants. Mr. Hunt was called upon to deliver himself up, which he offered to do to a Magistrate, but not to the Manchester Yeomanry Cavalry. A gentleman in the commission presented himself, and Mr. Hunt acknowledged his authority, and departed for the rendezvous of the Magistrates; where Mr. Johnson and Mr. Saxton were taken, and from thence conducted, along with Mr. Hunt to the New Bayley prison; Mr. Knight escaped, but was afterwards arrested at his own house and Mr. Moorhouse was soon after taken into custody at the Flying Horse Inn.
It is impossible for us to ascertain the extent of loss in lives and limbs which has been thus wantonly and inhumanly occasioned - people flew in every direction to avoid these hair-brained assassins, who were supported by detachments from the 15th Hussars. The latter, however, did not deal out death and wounds with the same liberal hand as our townsmen.
A secondary article indicated that an estimated eighteen people had been killed and around five hundred were wounded, many of them women.
“How terrible,” was all Belle could choke out in response. “Those poor families, losing wives, mothers, and children like that.”
Wesley was, as usual, detached. He shrugged his shoulders. “It's the price to be paid for reform. Besides, what does the government expect after four years of the Corn Law?”
The Corn Law? What was he talking about? They'd already seen that the disaster of the Corn Laws had been further worsened by the dreadful harvest in 1816, a consequence of the eruption of Mount Tambora. The country had suffered inestimable loss, in people like Clive and Amelia, literally starving to death all across the country. Why would the people's suffering result in the government exacting even harsher retribution on them?
“How can you say that? These were innocent women and children standing alongside their menfolk. It says here that one woman was thrown into a cellar and sabred to death. And here's another, a Mary Heys, who was ridden over by cavalry. She was pregnant, with six young ones at home. She gave premature birth and followed her infant into the grave. I can't imagine.”
“Ha! That's because you can't even imagine being married, much less having a child in apron strings.”
“What's that to do with anything, Wesley? You also have never partaken in the matrimonial state. And remember we promised not to bring that up with each other again. The point here is whether this tragedy could have been avoided.”
Wesley shook his head. “It couldn't. Soon this country will undergo a revolution like France did.”
“That's not possible. We have a duly elected Parliament and a crowned king. Revolutionaries are only effective in uncivilized countries.”
“That's not what Mr. Thistlewood says.”
“And who is Mr. Thistlewood?”
Wesley narrowed his eyes. “Just a friend. He knows much about such things. More than you or I ever could.”
And with that, Wesley departed the dining table for the shop, without offering to walk there with Belle.
 
Wesley jammed his hat on his head as he left their lodgings. Who was Mr. Thistlewood, indeed? Just the brilliant leader of the Spencean Philanthropists was all. In fact, if it were so early in the day he might consider skipping the shop today and instead heading over to the Horse and Groom. He stopped to check his pocket watch. No, it was entirely too early, even for a man of strength and purpose like Arthur Thistlewood.
But surely this afternoon he'd find him there. And Darcey, too. Darcey thought Mr. Thistlewood would prove to be very influential in the country's future, and that Wesley should join the Spenceans.
They'd discussed it at length in a private room in the inn over a new brick of opium he'd purchased from Nathaniel Ashby. Afterwards, Darcey heightened his senses and pleasure in the way that only she knew how to do. Now Wesley was a little foggy as to exactly why she thought he should join the Spenceans.

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