Chapter 5
Simeon was questioning his life choices…
again. He owned a highly profitable merchant company and had amassed a sizeable fortune.
Still, he maintained his position as a Bow Street Runner because he needed a distraction from Martha’s memory.
Solving crimes and socializing with miscreants gave him the reprieve from his thoughts that he craved.
And yet, here he was, standing in front of Caddington Manor, waiting for a peculiar debutante to make an appearance so he could escort her to a garden party. He hated garden parties. Well, to be fair, he hated any type of social gathering.
The Marquess of Downshire’s crested coach came to a stop on the paved courtyard as the door to Caddington Manor opened. An older, nicely dressed woman with white hair exited first, walking down the few stairs before spinning back around.
“Are you coming, dear?” she asked in a kind voice.
Simeon turned his gaze towards the door to see Miss Pearson step out of the manor with a bright smile on her face. He took a moment to admire her fair, oval face, and comely figure, but a vision of Martha flitted through his mind, causing his mood to turn sour.
Miss Pearson’s smile dimmed when she saw him. “Mr. Martin,” she said, her voice strained, “what a pleasure to see you again.”
He wanted to laugh at her blatant lie, but instead replied, “I have agreed to stay on as your guard until another can be secured.”
“Well, I hope you enjoy garden parties,” she teased, walking gracefully down the steps.
“I do not.”
She stopped in front of him, and he detected the aroma of rosewater. “Then we have something in common, Mr. Martin.”
He lifted his brow. “Every lady enjoys garden parties.”
“I am not a lady,” she replied as she brushed past him.
“You look like a lady to me.”
“Looks can be deceiving,” she said over her shoulder as she accepted the footman’s offered hand.
Glancing up at the main door, he saw Lady Downshire smiling, holding a baby in her arms as she waved down at him.
He tipped his hat to acknowledge her, and her smile grew.
The Beckett family was quite odd. Some were agents of the Crown, some were obnoxiously cheerful, and they all held secrets.
Secrets that weren’t his business to know.
Simeon walked up to the carriage and stepped inside. “Ladies,” he said as he sat down on the opposite bench.
The older woman smiled back at him. “Aren’t you a handsome young chap?”
He shifted in his seat uncomfortably as he saw Miss Pearson bring her gloved hand up to her lips to cover a growing smile.
“I am Mrs. Morton,” the woman said, introducing herself.
He didn’t smile at the nice woman, but he didn’t frown either. “I’m Simeon Martin, ma’am.”
His lackluster introduction didn’t seem to bother the woman, and she pressed on. “I understand that you will be guarding Miss Pearson from that sneaky Mr. Lockhart.”
“We don’t know if Mr. Lockhart is behind this,” Simeon responded, amused despite himself.
“Back in my day, this whole situation would be rectified with a steely round of fisticuffs,” Mrs. Morton declared, punching the air in front of her.
Miss Pearson giggled at the antics of her chaperone.
Removing his top hat, Simeon placed it next to him on the bench. “I understand that Mr. Lockhart was a suitor of yours.”
The smile dimmed from Miss Pearson’s lips. “That’s not accurate. We grew up together, but Peter was a year older than my brother, David. From a young age, he had it in his mind that we would marry, but I continually rejected his courtship.”
“May I ask why?” he asked.
Simeon noticed that she’d begun wringing her hands together in her lap.
“Peter was a bit possessive, and he was known to have a nasty temper. He never struck me, but it was rumored that he struck the maids at his home if they displeased him,” she explained.
“If you hadn’t become the ward of Lord Downshire, would you have married Mr. Lockhart?” he asked directly.
“No,” she answered without hesitation. “My father owned a store in town, and I planned to work there to support myself.”
Fearing he misheard her, he repeated, “You planned to work?”
“I am fully capable of working, Mr. Martin, and I do not appreciate the censure in your tone,” Miss Pearson huffed.
“My apologies, I just assumed that a lady of your station…”
“My station?” Miss Pearson pressed her lips together, drawing his attention to their crimson color.
“Before I became Lord Downshire’s ward, I was just a constable’s daughter.
My boarding school taught me the usual subjects, but my father paid extra for me to be taught plain and fancy needlework, music, drawing, dancing, and French.
Furthermore, I learned the skills that would allow me to find employment, if I ever needed to. ”
“Which boarding school did you attend?”
“Westmoreland House Boarding School in Witney,” she informed him.
He stared back at her in disbelief. “You went to Westmoreland House Boarding School?”
Miss Pearson gave him a baffled look. “I did.”
“My younger sister is there now, at the cost of thirty-five guineas a year.”
Her brow lifted. “I daresay that my father did not pay that inflated amount.”
“Do you know how much your father did pay?”
Miss Pearson shook her head. “I do not. But I know he did not have the funds to pay a fee of thirty-five guineas.”
Simeon adjusted his jacket. “Was your father’s shop profitable?”
“I assume so.”
“But you don’t know for sure?” he pressed.
For a quick moment, Simeon saw irritation flash in her green eyes, and he knew he’d pushed her too far with his line of questioning.
“Lord Downshire has been gracious enough to handle my father’s business deals. I encourage you to direct your questions to him,” she replied, turning her gaze out the window.
The carriage came to a stop in front of a stately townhouse.
The door was opened, and Mr. Martin exited the carriage first so he could assist the ladies.
However, the moment Miss Pearson placed her gloved hand into his, he felt a jolt of something indescribable.
He waited until her foot was on the ground before he drew back his hand, not understanding what had caused that reaction.
Miss Pearson gave him a tentative smile. “We will be inside for at least a few hours. I’m not entirely sure what a Bow Street Runner does, but you are welcome to rest your eyes while you’re waiting.”
Placing his hat on his head, he replied, “A Bow Street Runner does not take naps while on assignment.”
“Pity,” Miss Pearson teased as she followed Mrs. Morton up to the iron gate. A footman opened the gate, and they stepped inside.
Once he saw Miss Pearson walk inside the townhouse, Simeon started walking around the property, looking for anyone that might be surveying the surrounding area.
The townhouse sat on the corner within a few blocks of a rough section of town.
It always amazed him how closely the wealthy and the poor lived, but they had little or no interaction.
A stone wall ran along the back of the property, and it appeared to be fairly easy to climb, assuming the need arose.
Simeon had just turned the corner when he heard a noise coming from the back of the property.
He took a step back, shielding himself, as he waited to see if the noise repeated itself.
He was surprised when he saw Miss Pearson appear on the top of the wall and was even more surprised when he saw her climb down with slow but sure movements. What in the dickens was she doing?
Miss Pearson glanced both ways before she started walking down the pavement away from Mrs. Gupper’s townhouse. Staying far enough away to avoid detection, he followed her as she turned onto Bosky Street where the streets narrowed, the buildings were darkened, and the odor of excrement was pungent.
To add to his confusion, she stopped a scruffy older man on the street, and she appeared to ask him a question.
The man pointed further down the street.
She smiled and continued on her way, appearing blissfully unaware of the commotion she was causing among the men milling about.
They were eyeing her as if she was a piece of candy.
Did this woman not have a lick of sense?
Miss Pearson gripped her reticule tightly in her hand as she approached The Tubby Wench public house. To his horror, she gripped the handle and opened the door.
Forget keeping himself concealed, he thought, as he charged towards the door, I need to save this madcap woman!
The moment Emma opened the door to the clamorous pub, she knew that she hadn’t fully thought this through.
Raggedly dressed men filled the small, dimly-lit hall, and a few scantily clad women were pushing through the crowd to serve drinks.
Between the smell of ale and the odor emanating from the dirty-faced men, a foul, putrid stench engulfed the hall.
A few men glanced her way, with a lecherous gleam in their eyes, causing her to shudder in fear.
Emma realized that the one bullet in her overcoat pistol would not be sufficient to protect her against these men and their vile intentions.
Now was not the time to question herself, she thought.
She would accomplish what she came here for and then figure out the rest later… assuming she made it that far.
Banishing that wayward thought, she approached the crude bar and waited for a round-faced barkeep to acknowledge her. She waited and waited as he filled tankard after tankard of ale, barely sparing her a glance. Finally, she found her voice and spoke up.
“Excuse me, sir.”
He huffed. “You’re wasting your breath, lady. I’m not serving you a drink.”
Looking down at the grime-coated tankards, Emma was thankful for that. “I just want to ask you a question.”
The man stilled with a tankard in his hand. “Why?”
“I was hoping you might know a man named Jerome.”
Lowering the tankard to the table, he repeated his question. “Why?”