Chapter 10 #2
“Our prisons can’t handle this influx of people, and you know it,” Simeon argued. “Whose authority are you working under?”
“Justice Keats, the district magistrate.” Constable Stone’s eyes focused on Janet’s wounds. “You can go, Runner, but I’m taking these ladies to the Bridewell prison in Westminster for a spell,” he asserted, reaching out to grab Emma’s arm firmly.
“I don’t think so,” Simeon growled, knocking his hand to the side.
Reaching for the dagger in the waistband of his trousers, Constable Stone wasn’t even bright enough to consider Emma a threat. She came around Simeon and jabbed the constable in the throat, causing him to fall onto his knees.
“Let’s go,” she admonished.
The sound of a pistol cocking behind them made them all stop in their tracks. Simeon put his hands up and turned in the direction of the sound. A man dressed in a brown suit was holding a pistol, and it was aimed at Emma.
The man’s glare intensified as he watched her. “You’re under arrest for striking an officer of the law.”
Keeping his hands up, Simeon said, “I am a Bow Street Runner, and this young lady is my partner.”
The man gave him a look of disbelief. “Bow Street Runners do not hire women. We both know that women do not have the mental fortitude to handle such work.”
“Regardless, you don’t want to arrest this girl,” he attempted again.
“And why is that?” the man scoffed.
Slowly, he lowered his hands and took a step closer to the man. “That is Miss Emma Pearson, and she is the ward of the Marquess of Downshire.”
His pistol wavered slightly at Simeon’s words, but then the man ran his eyes down the length of Emma’s gown. “She doesn’t look like a lady to me.”
Simeon heard a loud slap behind him, followed by Emma crying out. He turned and saw that Emma had a hand over her reddened cheek, and Constable Stone was gripping her other arm tightly.
“This one goes to Westminster Bridewell, and it doesn’t matter if she’s the queen of England,” Constable Stone said.
“Then I’m going with her.” Simeon approached Constable Stone and knocked his hand off Emma’s arm. He kept his voice low and controlled. “You are going to pay for your ill-treatment of Miss Pearson, constable. I guarantee it.”
A hint of fear came into his eyes, and Constable Stone was wise enough to step away from Emma.
“Get into the wagon,” the constable said, pointing towards a wagon not far away.
“Are you all right?” he asked, leading her towards the wagon.
Emma looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “I have never been slapped before.”
A surge of protection coursed through his body, and he found raw anger building up inside of him at the sight of her tears. He knew he could take out the five constables milling around the wagon, who were arresting people at their discretion. However, his main concern needed to be Emma’s safety.
Simeon had no doubt that Pembrooke had witnessed the attack and knew he would contact Justice Ford, the magistrate of Bow Street, to sort this mess out.
As he assisted Emma and Janet into the carriage, he heard a shot fired in the direction of the stage.
He turned his head and saw people running in the opposite direction, attempting to flee the violence.
Men and women were laying on the ground, bloodied and bruised as the constables continued to attack the unarmed people.
This was a travesty, and he couldn’t wait to speak to Justice Keats about his supposed warrant and questionable tactics.
Emma and Janet were huddled up in the corner, and Simeon sat down next to Emma. He placed his arm on her shoulder, and she leaned into him.
“Do you think I am truly going to prison?” she murmured.
Surprising even himself, he kissed the top of her head. “Not on my life.”
The wagon was filled with mostly women, and a few bruised and bloodied men. Everyone was silent as they rode the short distance towards Westminster Bridewell, one of the worst prisons in London.
The wagon jerked to a stop in front of a decaying stone structure with iron bars over the windows.
The glass in many of the windows was broken out.
Simeon jumped out of the wagon and came around to start assisting everyone out of the wagon.
When it was Emma’s turn, he heard horses’ hooves pounding on the cobblestone, getting increasingly louder.
He turned his head and saw the black-crested coach of the Marquess of Downshire barreling towards the prison. Before it came to a complete stop, the door opened and a stone-faced Lord Downshire stepped out. His eyes sought out Emma, and he visibly relaxed when he saw her.
Without hesitation, Lord Downshire headed straight towards Emma and pulled her into a tight embrace. He murmured something into her hair before he released her and stepped back. Immediately, his eyes narrowed, and his hand came up to touch her reddened cheek.
His eyes snapped up, and he addressed Constable Stone, who was standing guard near the wagon. “Who in blazes struck my ward?”
Constable Stone visibly froze with trepidation before saying, “I did. She was resisting arrest…”
Downshire spoke over him. “You had the audacity to arrest my charge. For what?”
“For… uh… striking an officer of the law.”
Taking a commanding step closer, Downshire proclaimed, “I could see why. I, too, would like to strike you for your complete and utter incompetence.”
A pudgy, short man with a receding hairline walked out of the prison’s main door and approached Downshire cautiously. “May I ask what the problem is, milord?”
“This imbecile,” Downshire pointed at Constable Stone, “falsely arrested and assaulted my ward, Miss Emma Pearson, and I demand her release at once,” he declared forcefully. “If not, I vow that I will get the Prince Regent himself to demand her release.”
“I assure you that will not be necessary,” the man rushed to say. “I am Mr. Beacon, the director of Westminster Bridewell. I would like to formally apologize for Constable Stone’s mistake.” The man bowed. “Your ward is free to go with my apologies.”
“Not good enough,” Downshire proclaimed, again pointing towards Constable Stone. “This man had the nerve to lay his hand on my ward.”
Mr. Beacon turned towards Constable Stone. “I will recommend to Justice Keats that you should be fired immediately.”
Downshire walked over to the group of people near the wagon. “May I suggest that all these people be released, as well, because of this man’s incompetence.”
“Excellent idea, milord,” Mr. Beacon remarked. He turned his attention towards the group. “You are all free to go, with my apologies.”
Downshire turned his heated gaze towards Simeon. “Wentworth,” he growled, “get in the coach.”
Simeon escorted Emma to the coach. Once she was situated, he sat across from her. He noticed she was wringing her hands in front of her.
“It’ll be all right,” he assured her.
Her brows dipped inward. “I’ve never seen Luke so angry.”
The coach door was wrenched opened, and Downshire came to sit down next to him with a clenched jaw.
Emma spoke up, hesitantly. “I am so…”
“Not now, Emma,” Downshire said, interrupting her. “I am so incredibly disappointed in you.”
A soft sob came out of her lips as she turned to stare out the window.
Downshire turned towards him and asserted, “I’m still debating about killing you, Wentworth.”
“Fair enough,” Simeon replied. “I deserve that.”
A grunt was the last noise they heard out of Downshire until they arrived back at Caddington Manor.
For what seemed like hours, Emma kept her gaze on her lap as Luke paced back and forth in his study, ranting and raving about all the awful things that could have happened to her today. He was furious, and he had every right to be. She had deceived him.
Rachel was sitting next to her, and she could see the disappointment on her features, as well.
She had made a terrible mistake going to Templeton Square, and she was grateful that Luke had interceded when he had.
After all, she had no desire to go to prison.
Even the courtyard in front of the prison smelt horrid.
Luke stopped pacing and leaned back against the desk. His piercing gaze landed on her. “Explain to me what you were thinking, Emma.”
Slowly, she raised her eyes until she met her guardian’s. “I wanted to do research for my article for The Morning Post.”
“That is asinine!” he declared. “You could have been seriously hurt today, or worse, killed.”
Her eyes sought out Simeon, who was sitting across from her in an armchair. Just meeting his gaze provided her with much reassurance.
“I understand,” she murmured.
“Have you done any research other than just today?” Luke questioned with a frown.
Emma winced. “I attended a meeting for the Anti-Corn Law rebels at a public house.”
Luke’s expression went hard. “You attended a meeting at a public house,” he repeated slowly. His hardened gaze turned towards Simeon. “Dare I presume that you took her to this meeting?”
“I did,” Simeon answered. “I ensured she was kept safe.”
“Blazes,” Luke muttered under his breath, crossing his arms over his chest. “What do you think your brother or father would say about your actions today?”
“They would be furious,” she answered honestly.
“You put yourself at risk, you put Wentworth at risk,” Luke started. “For what? To make two pounds for an article.” He huffed. “I will give you ￡1,000 if you stop this ridiculous notion of writing articles.”
Feeling bold, she replied, “It’s not about the money.”
“Then what is it about?” Rachel asked softly from the chair next to hers.
Squaring her shoulders, she met Luke’s firm gaze. “Surely, you must agree that I don’t fit in with this family.”
“Emma…” Rachel gasped.
Emma turned towards Rachel. “My brother died to give me this life, but I have done nothing to earn it. I am ordinary in every sense of the word.”
“That is not true…” Rachel attempted.