THE System OF THE WORLD

Monmouth Street

THE SAME TIME

The Mob are outragious every where when they think themselves provok’d.

-The Mischiefs That Ought Justly to Be Apprehended from a Whig-Government, ANONYMOUS, ATTRIBUTED TO BERNARD MANDEVILLE, 1714

FROM THE STABLES of Leicester House, Joha

Caroline frequently turned round to look back towards Leicester Fields. Joha

“When I made the plan, I had no way of knowing on what day it might be set into motion,” Joha

“Hanging-Day is not until Friday, is it not so?” asked Caroline. It was Wednesday evening.

“Indeed. Tomorrow evening I should expect a crowd gathering along the route,” said Joha

Now ordinarily, not being able to see into Broad St. Giles’s would have been accounted some small act of Grace. It was not precisely a street, and not a square, but a kind of drain-trap plumbing High Holbourn (which ran off to the right, toward the City) to Oxford Street (left to Tyburn Cross). As a district of Greater London it no doubt had a history and a perfectly legitimate reason for existence; but as a conduit for traffic between Tyburn and London it was a lamentable improvisation. A few kegs of gunpowder detonated in the slum to the north side of it would create a direct through line uniting the two thoroughfares, and relegate Broad St. Giles’s to a stagnant ox-bow lake, alienated from the main stream; but such improvements still lay in the future as Joha

Tonight, however, not being able to get a clear view of what lay ahead was perilous. The district seemed more than normally crowded tonight. People-mostly roving tribes of young men-formed a slack eddy around the foundations of the alms-house. They did not appear to be bound for anywhere, unless Trouble could be considered a Destination; and some were already staring at Joha

“Why so many people-the hanging?”

“Too soon, too soon-oh, if we asked one why he was here, he might claim it was for the Hanging-March-”

“But to believe it would be naive,” Caroline said. “You think then that it is as Dr. Waterhouse warned us.”

“Yes-the Whigs and Tories have used the Hanging as a pretext to move their sympathizers-whatever you care to call them-”

“Militia?”

“Perhaps a little less than militia and a little better than the Mobb. I don’t know. At any rate they are here, getting ready to light bonfires-”

“Look, they have done it already,” Caroline said.

They had reached the place where the way broadened out, just before the front court of the alms-house. Off to their right, a bonfire had been kindled. It must have been carefully laid, and lit only a moment ago, for it suddenly flared very high, lofting a storm of incandescent twigs and leaves into its smoke-tower. It stood in the center of Broad St. Giles’s, which was a good hundred feet wide there.

“That is meant to be a gathering-beacon for some faction or other, I’ll wager,” said Joha

Caroline snapped her head round so sharply that her wig-an unfamiliar article-went askew on her head. She clapped a hand on it to hold it in place while she looked up and across the square, tracing the gaze of the man on the black horse. Immediately she saw a man standing on the roof of the alms-house, perched on the ridge, and keeping one hand on a chimney for balance. This fellow scrambled round as quickly as he could without falling, turning his back on Monmouth Street to gaze north across Broad St. Giles’s and east to one of the street-ends that spilled into that side of it.

“Charles! Come, come!” Joha

Caroline was begi