Chapter 11
Pembrooke came to stand next to him. “I question the validity of your plan.”
“I think it’s brilliant,” Simeon replied, not bothering to spare him a glance. “Besides, I don’t have time to wait for an appointment. If Justice Keats is in his office, he will see us.”
Pembrooke gestured towards the front door. “After you.”
They entered the building and were approached by a brawny man wearing no jacket, with a pistol tucked into the waistband of his trousers.
“You blokes lost?” the man grunted, placing his right hand on the pistol.
Reaching into the pocket of his waistcoat, Simeon pulled out his calling card. “Please inform Justice Keats that I would like a moment of his time,” he said, extending the card.
The man accepted the card reluctantly and read it. Immediately, his head snapped back up. “Yes, milord. I will inform Justice Keats of your arrival.”
Once the man had stepped away, Pembrooke chuckled. “I have never seen you play that hand before.”
Simeon gave a one-shoulder shrug as he removed his top hat. “I’ve found that my title has opened up doors, whereas being a Bow Street Runner typically slams the door shut.”
The man reappeared from a side door and said, “Justice Keats will see you now, Lord Wentworth.”
“Thank you,” he replied as he moved towards him.
They stepped into a small office with a lone window, with weathered, papered walls, and a simple rug. An older gentleman sat behind a desk and greeted them with a frown more than a smile. He had dark hair, woven with gray, and deep frown lines between his eyes.
The man rose from his chair. “What brings the Viscount of Wentworth to my office today?” he asked, pointing towards two chairs in front of his desk.
Unbuttoning his jacket, Simeon sat down. “I was at Templeton Square today, and I saw some atrocities on behalf of the warrant that you issued, Justice Keats.”
Keats returned to his seat, appearing undisturbed. “May I ask why you were at Templeton Square?”
“It’s no secret that I work as a Bow Street Runner,” Simeon shared. “I was there on official business. However, Constable Stone struck my female companion and arrested her for resisting arrest.”
With a frown, Keats commented, “That’s most unfortunate. I’ve taken Mr. Beacon’s recommendation and fired Constable Stone for his deplorable actions today. His conduct was not becoming an officer of the law or this office.”
“And what of the others’ actions?”
“Pardon?” Keats replied.
Simeon considered the justice of the peace for a moment. Either this man was a simpleton and he truly did not know what took place at Templeton Square, or he was involved in the corruption. He would need to proceed cautiously.
“Under the warrant you issued, the constables attacked unarmed men and women as they attempted to arrest the orator of the protest,” he explained.
Justice Keats sat back in his chair. “I assure you that is not what happened. Those men and women were bearing arms, and my constables were merely protecting themselves.”
“That’s rubbish. I was there,” Simeon contended. “Your constables started hitting people with batons as they made their way towards the stage. Only after people were bloodied and bruised did the fighting break out.”
Threading his fingers over his waist, Justice Keats remarked, “It’s against the law to hit an officer of the law. Those people’s actions were criminal.”
“Out of curiosity, how long did you suppose those people would suffer injustices before they fought back?” Simeon asked.
“Careful. It almost sounds if you are a sympathizer of the Anti-Corn Law rebels and their aggressive tactics,” Justice Keats remarked dryly.
Attempting to keep his voice controlled, Simeon replied, “The only aggressive tactics I saw were your constables executing your warrant.”
“Why exactly are you here, officer?” Justice Keats asked indifferently.
Simeon narrowed his eyes at the impertinent magistrate. “I prefer Lord Wentworth, if you don’t mind,” he stated in a steely tone. “I am here to discover who ordered you to issue a warrant for Mr. Hatcher’s arrest.”
“It was of my own volition,” he responded. “We needed to squash the growing demonstration, which demanded I issue a warrant for the arrest of the orator.”
“But it was a peaceful demonstration,” Pembrooke objected. “There were no incidents until your constables arrived.”
Justice Keats sighed impatiently. “Gentlemen, you’re wasting my time…”
“Did Sheriff Blundell pressure you to write that warrant?” Simeon asked, speaking over him.
“He did not. We discussed the case, and both acknowledged that the Anti-Corn Law rebels were becoming too strong in numbers,” Justice Keats explained.
“If we’d continued to let the people gather, riots would have erupted all over London.
” He leaned forward and rested his forearms onto his desk.
“I would think that Bow Street Runners would prefer not to have riots.”
“Now that you have arrested Mr. Hatcher, what do you intend to do with him?” Pembrooke asked.
“Eventually, he will be granted a trial, but we shall wait until these rebels dissipate before we order one,” the magistrate said in a bored tone.
“Do you intend to make an example out of him?” Pembrooke asked.
“I do.”
Rising, Simeon inquired, “Pray tell, what if you’re wrong, and by arresting Hatcher, you’ve stirred the flame of rebellion even more?”
“Then, we shall squash them, one by one,” Justice Keats asserted, looking up at him. “I was under the impression that you’re a Tory.”
“I am,” Simeon replied, placing his hat on top of his head.
“Tories are for the Corn Laws, not against them,” Keats pointed out.
Simeon stepped forward and tapped the desk with his finger. “I’m on the side of right, whatever side that may be.”
“That is a dangerous way to live,” Keats said.
He let out a light huff. “No more than allowing innocent people to be attacked for attending a peaceful demonstration.”
“I would proceed cautiously, Lord Wentworth,” Justice Keats advised. “Powerful men want this rebellion to be squashed.”
“Which men?”
Justice Keats scoffed. “You’re a fool for getting involved.”
They continued to stare at each other with contempt until Pembrooke tugged on the sleeve of Simeon’s jacket. “Come, Wentworth. We have another meeting we must attend.”
Reluctantly, he broke his gaze from Keats. “Of course.” He tipped his hat towards the magistrate. “I personally will ensure that Hatcher is treated fairly in the court system.”
Keats rose from his desk slowly. “Are you implying that he won’t be?”
“I apologize,” Simeon started dryly, “I wasn’t implying anything. I am boldly stating that I question your integrity in this matter.”
“How dare you come into my office and speak such blatant untruths,” Keats declared. “Who do you think you are?”
Simeon straightened to his full height. “I am the Viscount of Wentworth, a peer of the realm, and a decorated Bow Street Runner. I have every right to speak to you in such a manner.”
He spun around and left the room, ignoring the guard standing outside of the door.
Without saying a word to each other, Simeon and Pembrooke flagged down a hackney, and sat across from each other.
It wasn’t until the hackney had eased its way into traffic when Pembrooke lifted his brow. “Do you want to explain what happened with Justice Keats?”
“That man is corrupt.”
“I agree. But what can we do about it?”
“What magistrate issues a warrant for the arrest of a man during the middle of a peaceful demonstration?” Simeon removed his hat and placed it on the bench next to him. “It was almost as if he was sending a message.”
“What message?”
“I don’t know,” he replied honestly, “but I intend to find out.”
Pembrooke stretched his legs in the cramped hackney. “May I suggest we seek out Justice Ford later. Perhaps he might have insight on what Justice Keats is attempting.”
Simeon nodded and closed his eyes. “Wake me when we arrive at my townhouse.”
He almost smirked when he heard Pembrooke mumble, “Lords have it rough.”
Simeon had just stepped out of his carriage at Caddington Manor when he heard pounding horses’ hooves on the cobblestone. He turned to see Lord Jonathon and Lord Lansdowne reining in their horses.
“Afternoon, Wentworth,” Benedict greeted, dismounting his horse.
He tipped his hat. “Afternoon, Beckett. Lansdowne.”
“We just arrived back from visiting Totternhoe,” Jonathon said as he handed off the reins to an awaiting footman. “Benedict and I found some alarming information about Lockhart.”
“Which was?” he asked eagerly.
Lansdowne gave him an amused look. “Patience, Wentworth. Downshire will want to hear this as well.”
A few moments later, Simeon followed the men into Downshire’s study.
Downshire looked up from his desk and his eyes landed on him. “Wentworth,” he growled. “Don’t you have your own home to go to?”
“I do,” he replied, smirking, “multiple homes, in fact.”
With a shake of his head, Downshire remarked, “At least you didn’t bring Emma flowers this time.”
“This time?” Benedict asked, his brows lifted. “Are you courting Emma?”
“No, no, no… I am not,” he insisted. “Those were apology flowers.”
“Interesting,” Jonathon muttered.
“There is nothing interesting about it,” Simeon assured them as he walked over to a camelback sofa and sat down. “Emma and I are just friends.”
“You’re friends now?!” Downshire exclaimed, dropping the quill onto the desk.
Benedict glanced curiously between Downshire and Simeon. “It appears that a lot has transpired since Jonathon and I left for Totternhoe. Perhaps it would be best if we start with what we discovered about Lockhart.”
“Proceed,” Downshire said, sitting back in his chair.