Saturday, August 09, 2008

No Rest for the Wicked: Part Fourteen

Day dawned to find Greyminster Park in silence, not even a trace of the events of the night before. Sparrowhawk and the Green Man had manhandled the villains into a wheelbarrow, and disposed of them, leaving even Lady Sylvia unaware of the rough-house. In the elegantly appoined breakfast room, the year could almost have been 1930, and the upper-classes still very much possessed of the upper hand. Lord Ambrose wore a blue rosette on his tweed jacket already, while Lady Sylvia was idly looking over an election leaflet.

"You haven't been selected yet, bro," she told him, "so why have you printed all your stuff?"
"My dear girl," Lord Ambrose drawled, "whether I am selected or not, I shall be contesting this seat. I have been asked to do so to end the tyranny of a circle which dominates this corner of England, whatever their declared creed may be. I stand against the leaders, so-called of this community..."

"I know the speech, bro." Lady Sylvia laughed. "You don't need to convince me. After all, I don't even have a vote here."
"Sylv." Lord Ambrose shook his head. "You are a rather silly girl, even though you work for the Green Man. This is serious, my own struggle against the forces of evil. And you are coming with me, whether you like it or not. I've got to go to the station to meet my would-be agent later, and you are coming with me."
Which was why, about an hour or two later, Lady Sylvia was standing outside the minister which gave its name to the division, surrounded by members of her brother's committee. She now wore a rosette and blue suit. In light of her brother's unmarried status, she was filling the space normally occupied by the candidate's wife.

"Rather fun, isn't it, dear?" a lady with grey hair addressed the young aristocrat in tones just as refined. "You know, this is probably the best chance we've ever had of taking this seat from the Socialists. I remember 1983..."

"I don't," Lady Sylvia smiled impishly. "I was born a year later..."
The woman stepped back, spluttering, and Lady Sylvia chalked up another reason why she'd never become a politician. Which served as something of a consolation for the lovely aristocrat. Her heart went out to her brother, as he was forced to shake hands with every person who presented themselves to him.
Until she saw one man pull a knife and rush forward suddenly.

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