Chapter 6
Emma watched in frustration as her dagger sailed past the target… again. She let out a loud, unladylike grunt. What was she doing wrong? How did Eliza make it look so easy?
Adrien’s jovial voice came from behind her. “Perhaps she doesn’t see the large, chalked circle on the tree.”
“I fear that she might be partially blind,” Benedict replied in a concerned voice.
Standing next to her, Eliza glanced over her shoulder and gave the men an exasperated look. “Your commentary is not appreciated.”
“Well, I never!” Adrien declared in a haughty tone.
Turning around to face the men, Emma asked, “What am I doing wrong? My throwing stance and grip are perfect.”
“You’re too tense,” Benedict observed.
Adrien chimed in. “You’re throwing the dagger with too much force. Just a moderate throw will be sufficient if you have the correct stance and grip.”
She glanced over her shoulder to look at the target. “I have been trying to hit the target all morning with a single rotation dagger throw.”
“Would you like to try again?” Eliza asked as she handed her another dagger. “Don’t fret. It will just take time. A single rotation throw is much more difficult than the half rotation throw.”
Relaxing her stance, Emma gripped the dagger at its hilt and eyed the target. She threw it with moderate force and was rewarded when it hit the tree, albeit not on target. In response, she jumped up and down, clapping her hands. “I hit the tree!”
“Well done, Emma,” Eliza praised. “Now, go collect the daggers and join us for breakfast.”
Emma practically skipped the ten feet towards the cluster of trees.
She had been practicing all morning and discovered that throwing daggers did not come easily to her.
It required a lot of concentration, but she had to keep her body relaxed.
Frankly, it didn’t make a lot of sense. But that didn’t matter, because she’d finally hit the tree on a single rotation toss.
Reaching down, she picked up the three daggers and then proudly retrieved the dagger sticking out of the tree. She hurried back towards the veranda and placed the daggers on the table.
“May I come back tomorrow for more practice?” she asked as she stepped over to the buffet table.
Eliza sat down on a chair. “You are always welcome, you know that.”
Her back was to the group as she placed food onto her plate. “I am grateful for this training, especially after I was forced to hit a man in the face with my pistol,” she shared, placing a piece of toast on her plate.
Her words were met with a deafening silence. She turned towards the group, and they were all staring at her.
Benedict was the first to speak, and his words were slow and deliberate. “Why did you have to hit a man in the face with a pistol?”
Emma scrunched her nose. Perhaps telling them that detail had been unwise. Everyone’s eyes tracked her as she walked over to the table. “I went to a public house in hopes of securing an interview with a member of an Anti-Corn Law rebel group.” She smiled victoriously. “And I was successful.”
Eliza’s lips parted. “What were you thinking? It’s never safe for a woman to be anywhere near a public house, especially a refined lady.”
Sitting down in the chair, she began to defend herself. “I just went into The Tubby Wench…”
“The Tubby Wench?” Adrien groaned, speaking over her. “That is a hotbed of criminal activity.”
With a clench jaw, Benedict asked, “Where was Wentworth?”
“Who?” she asked.
His frown deepened. “Lord Wentworth. The Bow Street Runner assigned to protect you.”
“I thought his name was Simeon Martin?”
Benedict nodded. “It is. But he is also the Viscount of Wentworth.” He eyed her curiously. “Did he not inform you of that?”
“No, he did not,” she murmured, feeling a bit uneasy discovering that piece of information had not been revealed to her. If he was lying about his title, what else was Mr. Martin lying about?
Adrien placed the plate down on the table and sat down. “Regardless, where was Martin when this all happened?”
“Right next to me,” she answered.
Eliza’s brow lifted. “He went with you into the public house?”
She shook her head. “No, not exactly. I climbed over Mrs. Gupper’s stone wall, walked the few blocks to the public house, went in, and met my contact. I had failed to notice that Mr. Martin had followed me. When I realized he was there, he offered to escort me home.”
Eliza’s gaze grew stern. “That was a foolhardy thing to do, Emma. You could have been killed… or worse.”
Lowering her gaze towards her lap, she nodded her understanding. It hadn’t been entirely wise on her part, and it could have ended much differently if Mr. Martin hadn’t intervened when he had.
Adrien chuckled, breaking up the tension. “Who would have thought that our sweet Emma had it in her to walk brazenly near the rookeries.”
“I, for one, did not,” Benedict said, turning his head towards the lawn. “If we hurry and eat breakfast, we could practice some more defensive moves before you leave.”
Emma brought up her gaze and smiled, grateful for the change in topic. However, that did not last long. For the rest of breakfast, she filled them in on what she had learned and the details of her harrowing escape.
It was much later when her coach pulled up in front of Caddington Manor. She exited the carriage, but her steps faltered when she saw Mr. Martin was standing next to one of the columns. By the frown on his face, it was clear that he wasn’t pleased to see her.
“Where have you been?” he demanded.
“I was having breakfast with Lord and Lady Lansdowne,” she responded, smoothing out her gown.
His eyes focused on her ungloved hands. “Why do you have dried blood on your fingers?”
Hiding her hands behind her back, she replied, “I was doing some target practice.”
“Do you often go over to the Lansdowne’s townhouse for breakfast?”
“I do,” she revealed. “I’ve gone every morning since we arrived in Town.”
He lifted his brow. “And Lord Downshire approves of this?”
Emma smirked. “Define ‘approve’?”
“What time do you leave in the morning?”
Turning her gaze in the direction of the sun, she said, “Typically, I try to arrive at dawn. Lady Caroline is an early riser and runs that household ragged with her energy in the morning.”
“Ah, that would explain it,” he replied, drawing back her gaze. “I didn’t think any respectable lady would be out of bed before nine in the morning.”
She placed a hand on her hip. “I believe I already explained that I am not a lady. I am just a country miss that used to wake up before dawn to do my chores.”
“Be that as it may, my job is to guard you, and I am unable to accomplish that task if you wander off whenever you see fit.”
“I see,” she replied, stepping closer to him. “You want me to keep you abreast of my comings and goings.”
“Yes, so I may accompany you.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Do you want honesty between us, as well?”
“I do.”
“Well, is there anything that you would like to tell me, Mr. Martin?” she asked, drawing out his last name.
“Not that I can think of.”
Emma stepped closer, challenging him. “Nothing?”
“Nothing.” His face was expressionless, giving nothing away.
“I see,” she sighed as her eyes trailed over his blue jacket and white waistcoat. She immediately noticed that he was dressed in finer articles of clothing this morning. Interesting, she thought.
Stepping back, she said cheerfully, “I am going to freshen up, and then I’m heading into town to visit Miss Cosette’s Dress Shop. You are welcome to join me, Mr. Martin.”
He bowed. “I’ll be waiting.”
Emma watched him for a moment. Why would a viscount work as a Bow Street Runner? She couldn’t wait to interview him. This man had secrets, and she couldn’t wait to discover all of them.
Simeon watched as Miss Pearson entered Caddington Manor. Her behavior was odd, but that was to be expected. She was a most unusual young lady. Yet, he had an uneasy feeling that she knew more than she was letting on.
The entrance door opened, and Lord Downshire’s frame filled the doorway. He looked down at Simeon with an exasperated look. “May I ask why you are loitering outside my townhouse?”
“I am here to guard your ward,” he announced, leaning his shoulder against a column.
Lord Downshire glanced over his shoulder. “I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, but Emma is safely inside Caddington Manor.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“I can tell that you are extraordinarily busy guarding my ward, but may I have a moment of your time?” Downshire asked, stepping back. “My brother dropped off the agency’s report on Mr. Lockhart this morning.”
“This morning?” he repeated in disbelief as he jogged up the few steps. Did all of the Beckett family rise at this extremely early hour, he wondered.
Downshire chuckled. “My sister-in-law, Hannah, just had twin girls. No one sleeps in their house.” He closed the door behind him. “It would be best if we had this conversation in my study.”
“As you wish,” Simeon said, following closely behind Downshire.
Once they stepped into the study, Downshire closed the door and walked over to his desk. He reached for a file and sat down on his chair.
“We have a problem,” he stated, removing a paper from the file. “Mr. Peter Lockhart is nowhere to be found.”
Simeon straightened in his chair, fully alert. “He’s gone? I thought he worked as a solicitor in the village of Totternhoe.”
“He does… or, he did, until recently,” Downshire explained. “Three weeks ago, Lockhart locked up his home and office and rode out of town.”
“Where did he go?”
Downshire shrugged. “Agents interviewed Lockhart’s neighbors, but they could give no additional insight.” He gave him a pointed look. “Did you have a chance to read those letters?”
“I did,” he said, removing the stack of notes from his jacket pocket and placing them on the desk. “There was nothing in there to indicate he would go off half-cocked.”