Wanted: One Scoundrel by Jenny Schwartz

handed Jed his coat and wrapped the boy in a carriage rug.
    “Take him home,” Jed said. “I’m close enough to the boarding house. I’ll walk.”
    “Fine.” But her eyes were bright with concern. She looked beyond him and picked a familiar face from the crowd, the Smith household’s factotum. “Francis, could you see my friend home?”
    “Sure and I will, Miss Esme.”
    “S-s-sir, I m-must know your name,” the boy interrupted.
    “Jedediah Reeve.” He allowed his hand to be shaken for far too long. The hero worship in the boy’s dark eyes embarrassed him.
    “I am Gupta S-Singh, and I thank you. You saved my life, Mr. Reeve. I will not forget. And you, s-sir.” He turned to the man with the rowboat.
    Esme ended the scene, directing Gupta Singh into the gig and scattering spectators as she set off at a smart trot.
    “Lovely girl, Miss Esme,” Francis said. “We’d better do as she says and get you home.”
    “I can manage.”
    Francis just grinned and kept pace with him, the message clear: what Miss Esme wanted, Miss Esme got.

Chapter Six
    Jed half expected Esme to come and check on him at the boarding house. Instead, she sent Dr. Palmer, who grumbled.
    “Lot of fuss about nothing. A dip in the river’s not going to hurt a strapping lad like you, not even in the middle of winter. And I see you’ve got the right medicine.” He looked approvingly at Jed’s glass of hot toddy.
    “Mrs. Hall doesn’t believe in drinking, but Francis informed her I was a hero.” Jed raised the glass. “Hence the toddy.”
    “Good luck to you.” The doctor snapped his bag shut. He studied Jed as he sat comfortably in his trousers and dressing gown by a roaring fire, his feet propped on the fender.
    The cuckoo clock on the wall whirred, then completely failed to chirp the hour.
    “I disabled it,” Jed said.
    “Yes, give me a decent grandfather clock any day.” But Dr. Palmer spoke absently. “I’m traveling to Perth, tomorrow. If you care to travel with me, I’ll put your name down at my club.”
    Jed raised an eyebrow. Club sponsorship was a far greater issue than a mere introduction to the governor. “I appreciate the offer, sir. Forgive my curiosity, but is it a favor for Esme or a reward for my jumping in the river?”
    “Ha! When Esme introduced you at Friday’s afternoon tea, I didn’t know what game she was playing. None of us know you from Adam. But I think she has the right of it: Nicholas Bambury is stirring up the authoritarian, aristo elements, the ones who want the rich to become richer and the disenfranchised to resemble slaves.”
    “That’s harsh. Slavery is—”
    “I know what slavery is,” Dr. Palmer interrupted. “I’ve treated men for infections when their backs were opened by brutal whippings. I’ve seen the marks of manacles and the devastation of rape. Our society has a chance to rise above such things, to give all people the right to freedom, dignity and security. I’m damned if I’ll stand aside and let such hopes rot so men such as Bambury can increase their wealth.”
    “I admit I don’t admire the man.” Jed swung his feet off the fender and leaned forward. “But what is it you think I can do?”
    “Speak in opposition. Remind people of other values. Bambury whirled in on the glamour of his Eastern family name and has stroked egos and wooed men to think of themselves, of their own advancement. He’s stoking an unhealthy sense of elitism. There are good men here who don’t agree with him, but like me, they have responsibilities that keep them from giving the time to politics that is required. Bambury is politicking full-time. If Esme is prepared to fund you to do that—and I’m guessing she is—then you have my support.”
    “Ah.” Jed stood and put the empty toddy glass on the mantel. “You know, I didn’t come to Swan River to enter politics. Engineering is my field. I’ve been following the work of Nikola Tesla—”
    Dr. Palmer interrupted, uninterested