Chapter 9
Reaching his hand out the window of the hackney, Simeon opened the door and waited until it came to a complete stop before he stepped down onto the pavement. He extended the driver a few coins and hurried up the steps of his brick townhome in Mayfair.
He opened the door and slammed it shut. “Confounded, insufferable woman,” he muttered under his breath as he walked across the entrance hall towards his study in the rear of his home. Why was Emma plaguing his thoughts?
After he had secured a hackney, they traveled in silence to Caddington Manor, which is what he had wanted…
silence. But then the stubborn girl refused his assistance as she exited the hackney and wouldn’t even glance in his direction when she climbed over the fence.
He knew he’d hurt her with his sharp words earlier, but why did she insist on being his friend?
She had no right! Why could she not leave it be?
His tall, stoic butler stepped out from the library. “Mr. Pembrooke is in your study, milord,” Mr. Baxter informed him.
Acknowledging his butler’s words with a grunt, Simeon didn’t slow his stride until he arrived at his study and had closed the door behind him. His fellow Bow Street Runner, Officer Edwin Pembrooke, sat on an armchair with a snifter in his hand.
Pembrooke took a long sip of his drink. “It took you long enough to drop off the girl.”
Ignoring his friend, Simeon walked across the room to the drink cart and poured himself a brandy.
“I must admit that she is a pretty little thing.”
Simeon took a long sip, not feeling a need to contradict Pembrooke’s words.
“Good heavens, Officer Martin,” Pembrooke admonished, “sometimes I feel like I would have a more informative conversation with a settee than you.”
Turning to face him, Simeon leaned back against the wall. “Sorry. I have some things on my mind.”
“It wouldn’t be a beautiful, brown-haired, young woman, by any chance would it?”
He frowned. “No… yes, actually. But only because she is maddening.”
“Aren’t most women?”
Not amused by his friend’s teasing, Simeon pressed, “Miss Pearson is the most vexing woman I know. She climbs walls, defends herself from ruffians, and chats incessantly.”
Pembrooke chuckled. “I agree that she is unconventional, but I must admit I am confused about why you find her so vexing.”
Bringing the snifter up to his lips, he asked, “Why are you here anyway?”
“Justice Ford wants an update on the Anti-Corn Law rebels,” Pembrooke explained. “He wants to know if he needs to issue any warrants ahead of the demonstration tomorrow.”
Simeon swirled the drink in his hand. “No. I was at the meeting, and Mr. Hatcher intends for the demonstration to be peaceful.”
“You believe that?” Pembrooke asked, lowering his drink to his lap.
“I do. These demonstrators are angry about the Corn Laws, but I don’t believe they’ll resort to violence.”
Pembrooke studied him for a moment. “Sheriff Blundell is pressuring Justice Ford to issue a warrant for the orator. He wants this uprising squashed.”
“It’s hardly an uprising,” he declared, placing his empty snifter down on the drink cart.
“There is talk that upwards of four thousand people will march to Templeton Square.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Simeon sighed. “I understand, but I do not perceive this group to be a threat to the Crown… yet.”
“I believe you,” Pembrooke said, sitting back in his seat. “Now about your other assignment.”
“Go to the devil,” he growled.
“I would prefer not to.” Pembrooke smirked. “I understand you were spotted laying on top of Miss Pearson near Gunther’s yesterday.”
He let out an exasperated huff. “A carriage was barreling towards us, and I shoved her out of the way. Unfortunately, I tripped on her skirts, and I landed on top of her.”
“I’ve noticed that you haven’t posted the banns yet.”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but Miss Pearson rejected my proposal,” he grumbled.
Pembrooke let out a loud, drawn out laugh. “I knew I liked this girl. She’s choosing a life of spinsterhood over marrying you.”
“She’s doing no such thing,” he contended. “Miss Pearson is well connected, and I have no doubt that the Beckett family can save her reputation.”
“That will be no small feat. She has had a rather unfortunate series of accidents befall her,” Pembrooke said, suddenly serious.
Simeon pushed off from the wall. “They were no accidents. Mr. Peter Lockhart is behind this.”
“Who?”
He came to sit down across from Pembrooke. “Lockhart is mad, and he truly believes that Miss Pearson belongs to him. I have a few friends looking into this…”
“What friends?” Pembrooke asked. “Because I happen to know for a fact that you don’t have any friends.”
“We are quasi-friends.”
Pembrooke gave him a curious look. “Are these other friends Bow Street Runners?”
“No. Will you drop it?” he asked firmly.
Pembrooke put his hands up in front of him.
“We need to get into our criminal system and find out all that we can about this Lockhart.”
“What do you hope to find?”
Simeon shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“I will look into it.”
“Thank you.”
Bringing his hand up to his chin, Pembrooke rubbed it thoughtfully. “You seem out of sorts, Martin.” He paused, before adding, “At least, more than usual.”
“I am fine, Pembrooke,” he remarked dryly.
“Ford wants us to officially work the Anti-Corn Law rebels assignment together,” Pembrooke informed him, his words starting off slow.
He clenched his jaw. “I work alone. I do not have a partner anymore.”
Sighing, Pembrooke lowered his hand. “Jared died over a year ago at the hands of The Cursed Lot gang. No one blames you for his death.”
“I blame myself!” he shouted. “He was my partner, and my friend.”
“He chose to work undercover as a customs official in Gravesend. He knew the risk! Blazes! We all know the risks associated with this job,” Pembrooke asserted.
Simeon refused to yield. His last partner had been found dead, floating face up in the River Thames. He wouldn’t do that to anyone again. “I work alone, and that’s final.”
“You caught the men responsible for Jared’s death,” Pembrooke pressed. “They hung for their crimes.”
He scoffed. “Does their death suddenly bring Jared back?”
Pembrooke gave him a look filled with pity. “I will relay the message to Ford, but he won’t be pleased.”
“Regardless, I sent you a missive about the meeting planned tonight,” he attempted.
“You wanted me there in case things went awry, not to be your partner.”
“It’s true,” he commented. “I can ensure my own protection, but I wanted an additional set of eyes to help keep Miss Pearson safe.”
Pembrooke grinned. “You two appear close.”
“We are not. I am assigned to guard her, nothing more.”
His smile grew. “I saw you smiling when you were talking to her.”
“I don’t smile.”
“True, your normal resting face is between a grimace and a scowl, but when you are with Miss Pearson, you occasionally smile.”
“Please leave,” Simeon said, rising from his seat. “I have had my fill of you for the moment.”
Pembrooke rose and jested, “These moments are special to me, as well.”
“You will look into Lockhart?”
“I will, and I will continue to trail you until you acknowledge that I am your partner.”
“It won’t happen.”
Tugging down on his paisley waistcoat, Pembrooke didn’t seem perturbed by his rejection. “I will wear you down, just like a good pair of Hessian boots. We will be partners soon enough.”
Simeon watched as Pembrooke walked out of his study. He was the closest thing he had to a friend. They had worked a few cases together when he was a new recruit, but then he had been partnered with Jared.
His partner’s death had been his fault. He knew it.
It didn’t matter what everyone else thought.
Jared had been working undercover as a customs official and had left him a note saying that he was on to something big.
However, he had been tracking a shipment of contraband and was staking out The Cloven Hoof public house. The next morning, Jared was found dead.
Simeon winced as he poured himself a drink. He had failed his friend. He should have been there to help him. He blinked back his tears of remorse. He was bloody awful at keeping people safe. He deserved to be alone. He wanted to be alone!
Emma’s crestfallen expression came to his mind as he slammed his glass onto the cart, spilling his drink on his hand.
His sharp words had hurt her, and he’d seen the pain in her eyes.
He could have apologized, but he was angry.
She had no right to ask those questions.
But, on the other hand, he had no right to yell at her like that, either.
He was raised better than to yell at a woman in such an appalling fashion.
Simeon knew he needed to apologize, despite every fiber of his being telling him not to. He would do it tomorrow, and he hoped the apology would be better than his marriage proposal had been.
Emma sat at her dressing room table as Peggy styled her hair into a chignon.
Simeon’s words echoed through her mind. “I would never have a friend like you.” What a terrible thing to say to someone.
She had a lively personality, and she had no problem making friends…
until now. Which was fine with her. If Simeon didn’t want to be her friend, then she didn’t need him as her friend either.
Her lips twitched in amusement. She sounded as if she was back at the early days of her boarding school.
“Are you all right, miss?” her lady’s maid asked, breaking through her thoughts.
Emma smiled at Peggy’s reflection in the mirror. “Just woolgathering, I suppose.”
“You aint’ dreaming about that handsome Bow Street Runner, are you?” she teased, placing the final pin in her hair.
“Heavens, no,” she declared as she turned in her seat. “Mr. Martin is rude and big-headed.”
“I see,” Peggy replied, but clearly she did not, judging by the smile on her face.