Chapter 5 #2
Emma took a step closer to the bar and lowered her voice. “I want to ask him a few questions about the Anti-Corn Law rebels.”
Giving her an exasperated look, the barkeep tossed a rag over his shoulder as he yelled, “Jerome!”
A thin man, no older than she, dressed in a faded shirt, trousers held up by twine, and boots that had more holes than tread, ran up to him.
“Yes, sir,” he asked breathlessly.
The barkeep jabbed his thumb towards her. “This lady wants to speak to you.”
Jerome turned his attention towards her. “How may I help you, ma’am?”
“I’m a friend of your sister’s.”
His eyes grew wide and fearful. “Oh no. Has something happened to Peggy?”
Emma shook her head. “No, not at all.” She took a step closer, attempting to keep their conversation private. “Peggy is my lady’s maid, and she told me where I could find you. I was hoping to ask you a few questions.”
“Ye’re Miss Emma Pearson,” Jerome responded knowingly, his eyes darting around the room. “Ye shouldn’t be here. This place is dangerous for any woman, but especially for a respectable lady such as yerself.”
“I wanted to speak to you about the Anti-Corn Law reb…”
“Say no more,” he declared forcefully. “Are ye mad?”
She frowned at his aggressive tone. “I am not. I want to interview…”
Her words were stilled when he grabbed her arm and led her towards an unoccupied corner of the room.
He remained close and kept his voice low.
“It’s not safe to speak here. Bow Street Runners could be in this very room.
” He glanced nervously over his shoulder.
“I can’t risk talking for too long. This job is the only thing keeping me and my family from starving. ”
Emma pulled out three shillings and extended it towards him. “I would like to pay you for your time.” She could see the regret in his eyes as he accepted the coins in his red, blistered hands.
“It ain’t right that ye are paying to speak to me, but I thank ye for your generosity, Miss Pearson.”
“You’re doing me the favor,” she assured him.
He deposited the coins into his pocket. “What do ye want to know?”
“I’m writing an article about the Corn Laws, and I wanted to meet with a few members of,” she hesitated, “the rebels.”
Jerome sighed as he looked up at the rafters. After a moment, he brought his gaze back down. “I’m sure the members would be willing to speak to you, assuming you’d be willing to make a small donation to the cause.”
Emma felt her excitement growing, but she worked to keep her face expressionless. “That would be my pleasure.”
“We’re meeting tomorrow night at nine,” he revealed. “We meet in the upstairs hall.”
“I’ll be here,” she assured him.
Jerome perused her gown and remarked, “It might be best if you borrowed a gown from my sister. It may help you blend in better.”
“I think I shall.”
Shifting his gaze over her shoulder, he said, “Make sure you bring your guard with you, as well. This is a bad part of town during the day, but it becomes downright devilish at night.”
She gave him a puzzled look. “I didn’t bring a guard with me.”
“Really? Then who’s he?” he asked, pointing over her shoulder.
Emma followed the direction of his finger, and her heart stopped when she saw who he was pointing to. Mr. Simeon Martin. And judging by the scowl on his face, it was clear that he was not pleased to see her, either.
Mr. Martin walked slowly over to her, his step emanating power and confidence, and he didn’t stop until he was in front of her.
“Miss Pearson,” he growled, “what in blazes do you think you’re doing?”
Bringing her hand up to her chest, she feigned outrage. “Language, Mr. Martin. My delicate constitution cannot handle your vulgar choice of words.”
Mr. Martin clenched his jaw so tight that a muscle pulsated under his right ear. Perhaps it was not the right time to tease the man, she thought, as she took a step back.
His hand reached out and grabbed her arm. He turned his gaze towards Jerome. “Is there a back door to this public house?”
Jerome nodded. “There is. Follow me,” he said, leading them through the crowd.
Mr. Martin kept a firm hold on her as they followed behind Jerome. She gave him a side glance. “I can walk perfectly well on my own.”
“I have no doubt about your walking ability. It’s your sanity that I call into question,” he huffed.
They reached a closed door in the rear of the room. Jerome pulled out a key from his pocket and unlocked it.
“Go, before anyone sees you,” he encouraged.
Mr. Martin led her into the dimly lit alley, and her kid slippers slipped on the grime-coated ground. She brought her hand up to cover her nose.
“What is that horrid smell?” she asked.
“Urine and excrement,” he answered without sparing her a glance.
They had just stepped out of the alleyway when three men pushed off from the wall of the public house and approached them.
They were all of similar height and were covered in a thick layer of filth, but that’s where the resemblance stopped.
The first man had a dark face and restless eyes, whereas the second man had a shapeless face with large, pale eyes, and the last man had a long, pointy nose.
Mr. Martin released her arm and corralled her back behind him. “Step aside,” he ordered.
The dark-faced man chuckled. “I don’t think so, mate.”
“I am not your mate,” Mr. Martin replied, his hands forming into tight balls.
Large, pale eyes landed on her, and she could see lust in them. “We just want the girl,” he said with a leer.
“The girl is with me,” Mr. Martin asserted. “Let us pass.”
The man with the pointy nose started cracking his knuckles in an exaggerated fashion. “You may leave, but not with the girl.”
Emma fumbled with her reticule and pulled out her overcoat pistol. She tucked it against her side. She would never be a willing participant to what these men wanted. She would die first. Besides, she wasn’t the helpless woman they thought her to be.
The first man swung at Mr. Martin, and he ducked easily. While he was low, he punched the assailant in the stomach, causing him to double over. Another man lunged at Mr. Martin as the third grabbed her arm and yanked her towards him.
Taking her pistol, Emma slammed it into his face, causing his large, pointy nose to gush blood. She reared back again and hit him in the side of the head. This time, he crumbled to the ground.
Mr. Martin was still fighting with the assailant, both throwing punches at each other. She removed the dagger from the pocket of her gown and plunged it into the man’s leg. He roared in pain and reached for the wound as she yanked it out.
Without saying a word, Mr. Martin grabbed her hand, and they started racing down the street. He didn’t stop until they arrived at the stone wall outside of Mrs. Gupper’s townhouse.
His breathing was labored. His eyes were closed. But Emma knew that she had fueled Mr. Martin’s anger, and she couldn’t rule out that he might take that out on her. She slipped her hand out of his hold, took a step back, and held firmly to her pistol.
Mr. Martin opened his eyes, his unrelenting gaze latching onto hers. “You foolish, witless girl…” he started.
“Stop!” she ordered. “You have no right to speak to me like this.”
His mouth dropped. “No right? You almost got us killed back there!”
“I did no such thing,” she retorted. “In fact, I would like to point out that I took out two of the attackers, and you only took out one. I believe a thank you would be in order.”
“Thank you?” he growled. “You want me to thank you?”
She shrugged. “It would be the polite thing to do.”
Advancing towards her, his eyes sparked with fury. “What exactly was so important that you risked going into a public house in that part of town?”
She tilted her chin to look up at him. “It matters not.”
“You are unbelievable!” He pointed towards the ground. “You will tell me this instant what you were doing at that public house.”
“I will not,” she answered, returning his ire.
Mr. Martin spun back around and took a few steps away. She heard him muttering curse words under his breath, and she pressed her lips together to refrain from smiling.
He turned back around and surprised her by asking, “Will you please tell me why you went to The Tubby Wench?”
Despite his boorish tone, Emma now knew that she had no reason to fear Mr. Martin. She even felt safe around him. Which was odd, especially since he insulted her constantly. She placed her pistol back into the reticule around her wrist.
“As I mentioned previously, I intend to write an article for the newspaper about the Corn Laws…”
“Which is rubbish.”
Emma raised an eyebrow. “Thank you for that,” she remarked dryly. “By going there today, I have arranged for a meeting with the members of an Anti-Corn Law movement.”
Mr. Martin stared at her in silence for a long moment. Finally, he inquired, “When?”
“I don’t think so, Mr. Martin. If you recall, you weren’t willing to help me when I asked earlier today.”
“That’s different,” he stated, stepping closer to her. “These rebels are dangerous.”
“Do you believe starving, desperate men to be dangerous of their own volition?”
“Clearly.”
She frowned. “Men, women, and children are starving because of the high price of bread. The poor are suffering so the landowners can line their pockets. Whom, may I ask, is the guiltier of the two?”
“Are you saying the ends justify the means?”
Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, she clarified, “I’m saying, that there are two sides to every story, and it’s important to know both sides before casting judgement.”
He stiffened a little, his face settling into hard lines. “Your logic isn’t entirely faulty.”
“Was that a compliment, Mr. Martin?” she mocked.
A brief smile came to his lips, but it happened so quickly that she feared she’d imagined it.
“I propose a bargain,” he stated.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she replied, “I’m listening.”
He took a step closer to her, bringing him within arm’s length. “We go to this meeting… together,” he hesitated, “and I will allow you to interview me.”
Emma studied his blue eyes as she attempted to gauge his sincerity. Could she trust him? Or would he betray her at his first opportunity? He appeared genuine, which irked her for some unknown reason.
“I will agree,” she paused, holding her hand up, “but I request five separate interviews.”
“Two,” he countered.
“Three.”
“Deal.”
She held out her gloved hand, ignoring the blood splatter on the white fabric. “It appears that we have struck a bargain, Mr. Martin.”
He accepted her hand. “It does, indeed, Miss Pearson.”
Mrs. Morton’s voice came from the other side of the stone wall. “Emma… it’s time for you to come back to the garden party.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Morton,” she acknowledged, dropping his hand.
Mr. Martin eyed her with suspicion. “Mrs. Morton knew that you were leaving?”
Emma laughed. “I expect better from you, Mr. Bow Street Runner.”
She walked over to the stone wall and quickly climbed up it. Once she dropped on the other side, Mrs. Morton whispered, “Did you have a good adventure?”
“I did,” she confirmed. “I truly did.”