Page 19 of Pride and Prejudice Resolutions

"Wait," Robert interrupted. He stepped forward, waving his cane. "This is highly irregular! We require an inspection! How do we know it is real? It could be glass! It could be paste!"

"It ain't paste!" the Butcher shouted.

"I demand an assay!" Robert cried, his voice pitching up into the rafters. "I demand a jeweller! I demand competence!"

The Butcher turned his glare on Robert. "Sit down, you peacock, or I'll have my man break your legs."

The heavy-set guard took a step towards Robert.

Richard uncrossed his arms. He stepped in front of his brother, blocking the guard's path.

"Touch his ridiculous coat," Richard said, a pleasant smile on his face, "and I will feed you your own teeth."

The atmosphere in the room shifted from tense to combustible. Men reached for bottles. Chairs shifted.

Darcy kept his eyes on the box. The Butcher was distracted by the shouting match. His hand had lifted slightly from the emeralds.

"Now," Robert shouted.

It was not a conversational "now." It was a command.

Robert spun around. He grabbed the nearest patron—a small, bewildered man drinking gin—and hauled him upright.

"He touched me!" Robert shrieked, flinging his wine into the man's face. "The cad! The villain! He has insulted the honour of Viscount Keathley!"

The wet, confused patron sputtered. "I never!"

"He is a French sympathizer!" Robert bellowed, flipping a nearby table. Coins and cards went flying. "Death to the Republic! Brawl!"

Pandemonium erupted.

It was instantaneous. In a room full of drunk, angry men who had lost money, Robert's invitation to violence was accepted with glee. A bottle flew through the air and smashed against the wall. A chair disintegrated. Two men started punching each other for no reason at all.

The Butcher turned his head towards the noise.

"What the—"

Darcy moved without thinking. He lunged across the table. His hand closed around the cool, hard metal of the snuffbox.

"Hey!" the Butcher roared, realising his mistake. He grabbed Darcy's wrist.

Whack.

Richard appeared. He brought the pommel of his sword down on the Butcher's knuckles with a sickening crack.

The Butcher howled, releasing his grip.

"Run!" Richard shouted, grabbing Darcy by the collar and hauling him backward.

The room was a swirling vortex of violence. Robert was in the centre of it, fending off the guard with his cane, laughing maniacally.

"En garde, you oaf!" Robert shouted, parrying a blow and rapping the man sharply on the nose. "That is for the bad wine!"

"Go!" Richard shoved Darcy towards the door. "Get the box out!"

"But Robert—!"

"I am fine!" Robert yelled, ducking a flying tankard. "Go! I shall cover the retreat!"