Daniel made his way around the Royal enclosure to the grounds where costermongers’ carts had been placed and barrels and boards set up to create impromptu pubs. Getting away from Lady Juliette and her friends could not happen quickly enough. What a mess he’d made of what should have been a simple note pass.

He had to skirt the protestors, who had been sequestered to an area away from the tournament. That they hadn’t been ushered completely out of the park surprised Daniel. Usually such gatherings were broken up and dispersed quickly. Still, they had been pushed far away from where the Prince Regent and his friends could see or hear them.

Sir Bertrand Thorndike stood before one of the makeshift bars, tipping back a mug of ale. Around him, men clapped and cheered, urging him on. With a flourish, he turned the empty cup upside down and slammed it on the board. A quick swipe disappeared the foam clinging to his upper lip, and he gathered the coins the bettors had tossed onto the counter. With a good-natured grin, albeit sloppy, he touched his hat brim and lurched a few steps.

“Whoops. No, no, I’m fine.” He gently pushed away the hands that shot out to help him. “I’ve got important business, gentlemen, but if you’re still here when I’m finished, I’ll stand a round of drinks for you all.”

Again he tipped his tall hat and bowed from the waist, losing his balance and toppling into a pair of ladies purchasing sweets from a nearby cart. They scowled and drew away from him, and he shrugged.

Daniel let him go, following at a distance. They were supposed to meet somewhere in the park, but Daniel would take his cues from Sir Bertrand. He’d made enough gaffes for one day.

Two young men broke off from their compatriots as Sir Bertrand passed and came up one on either side of him as he took the path toward the Stanhope Gate.

Daniel’s senses heightened. Pickpockets or robbers? He reached under his cloak for his truncheon and quickened his pace. He needn’t have worried. The moment one of the men pulled a knife from his waistband, Sir Bertrand struck with deceptive quickness, all traces of inebriation evaporating. He locked his fist around the man’s wrist and wrenched it and the knife high behind the man’s back. He grabbed the back of his collar, and with a sweep of Bertrand’s right leg, knocked the fellow facedown onto the ground. Sir Bertrand took possession of the weapon before Daniel had crossed half the distance.

The thief’s companion assessed the situation and fled. Better a live dog than a dead lion, Daniel supposed, letting him go.

“What is our city coming to that a man cannot amble in a public park without encountering cutpurses?” Sir Bertrand studied the knife while keeping his knee firmly on the back of his captive.