over the exploitation of the working classes by the aristocracy," Burton declared. "Are labourers no better than insects, in your view?"
"Richard!" Milnes cried, turning to face the newcomers. "How good to see you! How long have you been standing there, and - by George! - why is that bestial face of yours covered in blood? Don't tell me you've been in yet another scrap? Are you drunk? Hallo, Swinburne!"
"We're perfectly sober."
"I'm a little hungover, actually," the poet added.
"You poor things! Hunt, old horse, supply these good fellows with a tipple at once. Large ones! It's a medical emergency! Murray, fetch a basin of water, there's a good chap."
Burton and Swinburne collapsed into big leather armchairs and gratefully accepted the proffered drinks.
"What happened?" Bendyshe asked. "Did you get caught up in the public disorder like Brabrooke?"
"Brabrooke? What happened to him?"
"He was hit over the head with a spade. A crossing cleaner attacked him out of the blue, for no good reason."
"He's all right," said Bradlaugh. "He has a mild concussion and a nasty laceration but he'll be on his feet again in a couple of days."
"Poor old Brabrooke!" Swinburne exclaimed.
"So you were in the thick of it too, hey?" Milnes asked.
"Somewhat," Burton answered. "We were at Speakers' Corner when the fracas began."
"Ah ha!" Bendyshe shouted gleefully. "So you started it, hey? Was young Swinburne giving a public performance? Is that what set them off?"
"The performance wasn't from Algernon. It was from the Tichborne Claimant."
"Gad!" Milnes exclaimed. "That character is certainly stirring up a hornets' nest."
"He is. We managed to extricate ourselves, but then, on the way here, we were set upon by a prostitute."
The men burst out laughing.
"Ha ha!" Bendyshe yelled triumphantly. "Surely beastly Burton hasn't been trounced by a terrible trollop?"
"I can assure you that it was no laughing matter. And less of the 'beastly,' if you don't mind."
"She was half crazed," Swinburne said. "And she was lashing at us with whips!" He grinned and shuddered with pleasure.
"But what on earth did you do to set her off, dear boy?" Milnes asked.
"Took his shilling's worth and the shilling as well, I'll wager!" Bendyshe guffawed.
"Not a bit of it," Burton grumbled. "We were on our way here and got caught up in it through no fault of our own."
"The unwashed masses have gone mad," opined Murray, who'd just reentered the room with a basin of warm water in his hands and white towels draped over his forearms. "It's this Tichborne character."
"Yes, Milnes was just saying," Bradlaugh offered.
"The Claimant's become some sort of figurehead," Murray continued. "To the lower classes, he represents everything that's bad in an aristocrat and everything that's good in a working man, all wrapped up in one extremely bulbous bundle. It's patently absurd. Here, wipe the blood off yourselves. You look perfectly horrific."
"It occurs to me," said Burton, "that a symbol cannot gain such potency unless there's a real desire for it. Another port, if you please, Henry. I appear to have swallowed mine in a single gulp."
He picked up a towel, dipped a corner into the water, and began to rub it over his face. He looked up at Richard Monckton Milnes. "As a matter of fact, the Tichborne situation is what we've come to talk to you about. The Claimant seems to have acquired a bodyguard of Rakes. Do you have any idea why?"
"Has he, indeed? That seems rather peculiar!"
"That's what we thought. What are the Rakes up to these days? Who's their new leader?"
"I'm afraid I can't cast much light on the matter. The veil of secrecy surrounding the faction has never been more impenetrable. The new leader is a Russian, I believe, and arrived in this country early in February. Who he is, where he's staying - those are questions I can't answer."
"He?" said Burton. "Or she?"
"Hmm. I couldn't say. A woman, though? Doesn't that seem rather unlikely? What I can tell you is this: since he - or she - took over, the Rakes have been holding seances around the clock."
"Well now, that's interesting! Are they trying to communicate with someone who's died? Laurence Oliphant or Henry Beresford, perhaps?"
"I don't know, Richard, but if they are speaking to the departed, then I doubt that it's their former leaders they're conversing with."
"Why so?"
"Simply because the Rakes who were closest to Oliphant and the Mad Marquess have been rather on the out and out these months past. The new regime has been assiduous in sidelining the old."
"So who's close to the new leader? Can you