Prim had not given much consideration to their dining plans, although her stomach grumbled in protest. At home, she would have eaten by now.
Mostly, she had considered all the many things she should like to see at Vauxhall. She had read so much about the pleasure gardens. It was the spectacle of all spectacles. She knew one evening would not allow for every attraction. Prim needed to consider what she wanted to see and do the most before the night ended.
“Oh! We should make our way to one of the acrobatic demonstrations. I understand there are contortionists and tightrope walkers, too.” Taking another sip of ratafia, Prim scanned the tavern again, marveling at the array of people—all ages and sizes. Prim had never seen such a variety of dresses. At one corner table, a lady wore a bright purple jacket and matching striped trousers. Her legs were crossed elegantly as she conversed with her companions and smoked a pipe.
“Oh, and we must not miss the fireworks,” Olympia chimed in.
Prim could not stop studying her surroundings. It was a banquet for the eyes.
At a nearby table, another lady wore a turban with peacock feathers dancing high in the air at least twenty inches above her head. A young man beside her continually swatted at one of the drooping feathers, earning glares and sharp words from her. The rest of their table mates, like so many of the tavern’s patrons, hooted at the singer, calling out song requests.
As entertaining as it was, Prim was ready to venture outside. She knew the Gardens to be vast. There was much to do and the night was waning. “Let’s finish these drinks and then return to the row and see what else is afoot,” she suggested.
Olympia nodded and resumed drinking.
Primrose returned her attention to the stage and the impressive flutists who far outshone the singer.
Suddenly a shriek carried over the performers and the general din of the tavern. Prim jerked, startled, and searched for the source, glimpsing a man going down in a sudden blur, knocked from his chair to the floor by another man.
The lady who had been sharing the table with him jumped from her seat and launched herself at the offender with no thought to decorum or personal safety. She was a virago, a veritable Boudicca.
Prim could only gawk at the woman as she locked one arm around the howling man’s neck in a stranglehold and pulled him by the hair with her other hand. His body twisted and flailed in a frenzied attempt to escape, spinning them both into a nearby table and sending those occupants crashing from their seats to the floor.
It was a cascade effect at that point.
More people fell into each other, colliding and then pushing one another.
Tables overturned.
Pottery and dishware shattered.
Women screamed. Men hollered. Fists swung.
It was an utter melee. And amid the riot of people, she spotted a familiar face. Her stomach twisted.
A wretchedly familiar face.
“Olympia!” She seized her friend’s hand and tugged her down, taking them both under the shelter of their table.
Olympia shrank close to the pedestal base as a dish shattered near her slippered foot, spraying them with shards that, thankfully, did not penetrate through their voluminous skirts.
“I think we need to try for the door.” Olympia started to stand, but Prim yanked her back down to the dirty floor.
“We can’t go. I can’t,” she hissed. Now there was suddenly more to fear than getting maimed in a brawl.
“What are you talking about?”
“I can’t be seen. Violet’s betrothed. He’s here. Redding is here!” Her hand flew to her domino, as though needing to assure herself it was still in place. “Perhaps he won’t recognize me.”
Olympia winced. “How many times has he been in your company?”
Prim bit her lip and contemplated the question.
She might not be included at many adult functions, but he was her sister’s fiancé. There had been many occasions when they shared the same space. “Half a dozen. Perhaps more,” she offered, “But he usually ignored my presence—”
“If he comes face-to-face with you, he will know you at once.” Olympia pointed to her head. “That hair of yours is far too distinctive.”
A woman screamed. Prim flinched and dug her fingers into the pedestal base of their table as though it could anchor her in the swelling chaos.
A body landed near their table. It was a man. A woman sat atop him, slapping him over and over with her reticule. It looked painful. The man grunted from each and every blow.
Still squatting, Prim shuffled around the table’s base, crowding closer to Olympia, trying to get as far as she could from the violence erupting inches away from her.
Crack.
Their table suddenly splintered. The remnants shattered around them, leaving them exposed and vulnerable. They couldn’t remain hunkered down on the floor, out in the open like this. It wasn’t safe. They had to stand lest they be trampled.
People were stampeding. Bodies bumped into them with no consideration. Hands shoved. Elbows jabbed. Shoulders butted into her, spinning her around.
Prim struggled against the pandemonium, clinging to Olympia’s hand, but suddenly they were ripped apart. Helpless to fight it, Prim was swept up in the current. Even as she was dragged along, she strained and searched for a glimpse of her soon-to-be brother-in-law. Best to know his location so as to avoid him.
Again, she spotted him.
He was laughing and having a jolly time as bodies tangled in battle around him. His companions punched and kicked, taking as many blows as they delivered. Redding snatched a bottle of wine from a nearby table that was miraculously not yet overturned.
Grinning like an idiot, he tucked himself under the table and took several deep swigs from the bottle of wine, observing the fray as though taking in a performance at Haymarket.
He really was a fool, and soon to be a member of her family.
Just then, the dolt turned his face in her direction and she squeaked, dropping low again, which resulted in her being knocked over amid trouncing feet.
She cried out and brought her knees up to her chest, ignoring the fair amount of ankle she was no doubt revealing. She covered her head, trying to protect herself from the bodies thrashing all around her.
Splendid.
She’d not been here even an hour and her night had devolved into this. It would all come to an end when she was crushed to death on a tavern room floor.
Someone’s boot struck her in the shoulder blade. “Ouch!” She rubbed at the afflicted area.
This was far from the adventure she had envisioned.
“Olympia!” she cried out, hoping her friend was faring better.
Suddenly, she was swept up off the ground by arms far too strong and big and masculine to belong to her friend. Prim squawked, her legs thrashing.
“Easy there, Miss,” a gruff voice assured her. “I’ll get you out of here.”
“I am quite capable of walking,” she protested even as some of the panic ebbed out of her. She was no longer under direct threat of being crushed, at least.
She ceased to struggle as she scanned for Olympia.
Where was her friend?
Prim twisted her neck around, desperate to locate Olympia. Fortunately, her canary-yellow gown stood out in a crowd and Primrose spied her across the tavern. Far across the tavern.
Somehow they’d grown quite distant from each other—and seemed to be growing only farther and farther away as Prim was being carried. “Olympia!”