Chapter 8 #3
The warmth of his breath on her ear was immensely distracting, but she was able to concentrate enough to acknowledge his words. Not daring to move her face, she murmured, “How awful.”
Thankfully, Simeon stepped back, and she leaned over to sign her name. She completely agreed with this petition. She extended the quill to Simeon and noticed that he placed the quill down on the table without signing his name.
“May I have your attention,” a man’s voice shouted from the front of the room.
Turning her gaze, she saw Jerome standing next to a taller man, who was lean and dark, with sideburns growing down to almost his jawline. “Mr. Hatcher, our esteemed orator, wants to say a few words,” Jerome stated.
The man stepped forward. “Thank you for coming tonight and signing the petition. I hope that everyone plans to attend the peaceful demonstration in Templeton Square tomorrow. I’ve met with other districts, and they will be marching through the streets of London, as well.
We hope our demonstration will garner more support for the cause, and we can gain more signatures for our petition. ”
A collective cheer went up around the room.
Mr. Hatcher put his hands out to silence them.
“Do not bring weapons of any kind. We do not want to give the magistrates or constables any just cause to resort to violence.” His intense gaze traveled over the crowd.
“Our families are starving because of the wealthy landowners passing these Corn Laws. The laws were passed even with riots outside of the House of Lords. Violence is never the answer, but we need to do something. We must act.”
As Mr. Hatcher started pacing in the front of the room, he urged, “If you have any coins to spare to help the cause, please consider donating them. Anything that we don’t use will go to buy bread for our next meeting.
With any hope, that bread will feed the families that are struggling to put food on the table. ”
Emma glanced over to a table near the front and saw a large pile of loaves of bread.
She noticed that a few people approached it, and each ripped off a section of bread.
The way they savored the bread in their mouths caused her heart to mourn.
How she took for granted the bread on her tray every morning.
Jerome made his way over to her with Mr. Hatcher by his side. Stopping in front of them, he made the introductions. “Miss Emma, may I introduce you to Mr. Graham Hatcher.”
She tipped her head graciously. “Mr. Hatcher. You are truly a gifted orator.”
Mr. Hatcher smiled kindly at her. “Thank you, my dear. I heard that you wished to speak to me about the cause.”
“It’s true,” she said, reaching into her pocket and retrieving the pound note.
Accepting the note, Mr. Hatcher bowed. “Thank you, Miss Emma. Your generosity will help feed a large group of people.”
“I read the petition and heard you speak about the peaceful demonstration in Templeton Square, but is there anything else I should know about the Anti-Corn Law rebels?”
“May I ask why?” Mr. Hatcher asked, giving Simeon a baffled look.
Simeon stepped forward and answered for her. “I plan to write an article for the morning newspaper about the Anti-Corn Law rebels, but sometimes my cousin,” he paused, glancing disapprovingly at her, “is overzealous. I assure you that it will be most favorable.”
“Splendid news,” Mr. Hatcher replied. “I must admit that at first I thought Miss Emma was writing the article.” He let out a dry chuckle. “Which, of course, is ludicrous.”
“A woman writing newspaper articles. Can you even imagine?” Simeon let out a loud laugh.
Emma pursed her lips as she watched the two men converse about the Anti-Corn Law rebels, and Mr. Hatcher barely acknowledged her while explaining their mission.
Once Mr. Hatcher stepped away, Emma crossed her arms over her chest and muttered, “That was rather insulting.”
Simeon nudged her shoulder and kept his voice low.
“Dear cousin,” he teased, “you can’t go around telling people you are a writer for the newspaper.
If you say that, it confirms that you are of higher social standing than them because you can afford the luxury of a morning paper, not to mention the leisure and education to write.
Or they’ll consider you mad because women aren’t hired by the newspaper agencies.
Either way, neither are good for our assignment. ”
Reluctantly, Emma knew that he had a point. She lowered her arms and asked, “Cousins?”
“We arrived together so, it’s logical that we would be related.”
“Good point,” she said as someone brushed past her. “Should we tarry any longer?”
Simeon’s alert eyes scanned over the room. “I think we got all that we came for.”
“I can’t wait to attend the demonstration tomorrow,” she said, heading towards the door.
Increasing his stride, Simeon arrived at the door first and opened it up for her. In a hushed voice, he asked, “How do you propose leaving Caddington Manor during the middle of the day without detection?”
A wry look of mischief crossed her face. “I am practically a spy, remember?”
Letting out a frustrated sigh, Simeon drawled, “No, you are not. I’m concerned that you truly believe you are.”
Laughing, she replied, “Call on me tomorrow at ten, and we will go on a carriage ride.”
“A carriage ride?” he asked, giving her a puzzled look. “That is your genius plan?”
Accepting Simeon’s proffered arm as they headed down the pavement, Emma remarked, “I haven’t worked out all the details yet, but I’ll find a way to go to that demonstration.”
“Perhaps it’s best if you sit this one out,” he asserted. “After all, a rally is no place for a lady.”
Emma admired the gas lights along the pavement before saying, “Mr. Hatcher says it is a peaceful demonstration, and I have no doubt that other women will be attending. Women desire change too, not just men.”
“Fine, but after tomorrow, no more sneaking out or attending demonstrations,” Simeon grunted. “Just write your blasted article and be done with it.”
She smiled at his brash tone. “Thank you, Simeon.”
“For what?” he asked, stopping on the pavement.
“For being my guard,” she hesitated, “and my friend.”
“I hate to disappoint you, but we are not friends.” Simeon resumed leading her along the pavement. “My job is to guard you, not befriend you.”
What a stubborn, vexing man, she thought. Keeping pace with his increasing stride, she attempted again. “Fine. Thank you for accompanying me to the meeting this evening.”
“You are welcome,” he said, barely sparing her a glance.
Taking a moment to admire his handsome face, she boldly asked, “Why am I not your friend?”
“What?”
“I said ‘why am I not your friend’?” She stopped on the pavement and removed her arm from his. “I consider you a friend.”
With a clenched jaw, Simeon turned to face her. “Friends are liabilities.”
“I disagree. Friends can be your greatest assets.”
“They are,” he hesitated, shifting his gaze over her shoulder, “until they die.”
She stepped closer to him. “Who did you lose, Simeon?”
An enraged look came over his features. “No! You have no right to ask me those questions!” he exclaimed, earning a few scowls from people passing by. “My life is my own. I have a right to maintain secrets!”
Taking a step back, Emma stared at him with wide eyes. “I am sorry… I… uh…”
“You are an infuriating chit,” he declared. “I would never have a friend like you.”
Tears pooled in her eyes, and her lower lip started to tremble as she murmured, “I’m sorry you feel that way.”
“No more words,” Simeon stated in a firm tone as he held up his hand to secure a hackney.
Once she was in the hackney, Emma kept her back rigid and pretended that his sharp words hadn’t cut her deeply. He was right, of course. She had no right to ask him personal questions, but she truly had considered him a friend.