Chapter 13
Simeon stepped into his townhouse and was immediately greeted by his butler. “Evening, milord. Justice Ford and Officer Pembrooke are in your study.”
“How long have they been waiting?”
“More than an hour.”
Extending his top hat to him, Simeon said, “As usual, if you hear shouting coming from my study, please do not be overly concerned.”
“I never am, milord,” his butler replied, his lips twitching.
Simeon proceeded to his study and saw Justice Ford, the Bow Street magistrate, sitting in an armchair with a snifter in his hand. Pembrooke was sitting across from him with a frown on his face.
As he walked further into the room, the tall, aged Justice Ford huffed. “It’s about time, Wentworth.”
“I had a previous engagement,” he stated, seeing no reason to expand on it.
Shifting in his seat, Pembrooke remarked, “No doubt it was with the beautiful Miss Pearson.”
“If you must know, I had a meeting with Lord Downshire,” he said, walking over to the drink cart. He decided to omit that he’d spent well over an hour with Miss Pearson in the gardens.
Justice Ford took a sip of his drink. “Lord Revett has demanded I issue a warrant for Miss Pearson’s arrest.”
“What?” Simeon roared. “Why would the House Secretary be interested in arresting Miss Pearson?”
“Technically, it’s for a Mr. David Blackmore, but we both know who that truly is, don’t we?” Justice Ford asked, raising his snifter towards him.
“How did you discover her identity?” he inquired.
“I have informants all over London, and a well-positioned one inside The Morning Post,” the magistrate said. “It’s only a matter of time before Lord Revett discovers her identity, as well.”
Pouring two snifters of brandy, Simeon inquired, “Again, why does the House Secretary want Mr. Blackmore arrested?”
“Apparently, Mr. Blackmore submitted an article to The Morning Post, and it was picked up by the newspaper. It’s running in tomorrow’s papers, and it clearly details the atrocities the constables committed during the demonstration,” the magistrate explained.
“Furthermore, it paints Justice Keats in a bad light as the magistrate who issued the warrant for Hatcher’s arrest, which we have since learned was under Lord Revett’s direction. ”
Simeon put the lid back onto the decanter. “That still doesn’t explain the call for her arrest.”
“The article will no doubt rally support for the Anti-Corn Law rebels, and Lord Revett is attempting to squash the growing movement. The Tories don’t want any more riots and civil unrest over the Corn Laws.”
“Perhaps, then, they should recognize that the Corn Laws are hurting our people.” Picking up the two snifters, Simeon walked over and extended one towards Pembrooke. “Besides, Lord Downshire would never allow his ward to be arrested.”
“True, but Lord Revett doesn’t know that Mr. David Blackmore is a pseudonym for Miss Pearson,” Justice Ford confirmed. “At least, not yet.”
Sitting down next to Pembrooke, he asked, “Is that why you’re here? To inform me of the warrant?”
“No,” Justice Ford said, placing his snifter on a table. “I’ve just come from meeting with an informant, and he’s informed me that the Anti-Corn Law rebels are rapidly growing in numbers. The people are stirring because of the barbaric treatment at the last peaceful demonstration.”
“As well as they should,” Simeon remarked. “The constables treated the people unfairly.”
“It’s rumored that the Anti-Corn Law rebels are going to rally again, but this time, at Grange Gardens,” the magistrate said.
Pembrooke sipped his drink. “I am not overly concerned. Grange Gardens, much like Ranelagh, is a luxurious pleasure garden and has always offered a myriad of entertainments in the form of musicales, fireworks, and balloon rides. Most people cannot afford the ticket prices to enter the gardens.”
“I don’t believe the Anti-Corn Law rebels intend to pay to gain entrance,” Justice Ford drawled.
“Most likely, they will descend upon the venue and fill the extensive walks, private arbors, and Chinese pavilions. They’re trying to rally support for their cause, and they will overwhelm the pleasure garden. ”
Knitting his brow, Simeon commented, “Riots are occurring all over Britain in response to the passing of the Corn Laws. Why is Lord Revett targeting the Anti-Corn Law rebels?”
“Because they’re more organized than the other groups,” the magistrate explained. “They’re also arguing for Parliamentary reform. Their numbers are vastly growing, and that is disconcerting to Parliament.”
“They should be more concerned that people are starving because of the high cost of grain, famine, and chronic unemployment,” Pembrooke muttered.
Justice Ford gave Pembrooke a stern look. “Need I remind you that we are officers of the law? We uphold the laws, regardless of our personal convictions.”
“Understood, sir,” Pembrooke said.
“I disagree,” Simeon proclaimed, placing his empty snifter on the table.
“You what?” Justice Ford shouted.
Ignoring the magistrate’s heated gaze, he pressed forward with his thought.
“I’m beginning to see things differently, and I refuse to proceed blindly anymore.
I have sat in the House of Lords and have heard both sides of the arguments.
The Corn Laws only benefit the landowners, and not the people.
I intend to become more vocal on the matter in Parliament. ”
“Are you quitting as a Bow Street Runner?” the magistrate asked.
“I intend to work this case.”
“But after that?”
Running his hand over his chin thoughtfully, Simeon answered, “I haven’t thought it through completely yet. However, my priorities are beginning to shift.”
“Is it because of the beautiful Miss Pearson?” Pembrooke asked innocently.
“Perhaps, but not in the way you’re thinking,” he answered honestly. “Miss Pearson and I are just friends, but she has offered me a unique perspective of my burdens.”
Lowering his drink to his lap, Pembrooke inquired, “Why is Miss Pearson your friend, but I am not? We’ve worked together for nearly five years.”
“Because I like Miss Pearson,” he paused, “and I barely tolerate you.”
Pembrooke chuckled. “Well said, Wentworth.”
“You two are fools,” Justice Ford said. “May we focus on the case?” When they both nodded, he continued. “We need to keep Miss Pearson safe until this warrant goes away.”
“Agreed. Lord Downshire intends to move her to an undisclosed location,” he shared.
“Good,” the magistrate responded with a bob of his head. “And I want you both at Grange Gardens to help keep the peace during the rally.” His eyes narrowed. “Do not engage the people unless they give you probable cause. We don’t want another riot on our hands.”
“Just to clarify,” Pembrooke hesitated, smiling, “you would like me to work with Wentworth as partners on this case.”
Justice Ford gave him an annoyed look. “Didn’t I just say that?”
“I just wanted to hear it out loud,” Pembrooke replied, giving Simeon a smug smile.
Simeon grunted. “I work better alone.”
“That’s rubbish,” the magistrate contended. “Regardless, we need to keep a close eye on the Anti-Corn Law rebels and an even closer eye on Justice Keats and his barbaric constables.”
“Understood,” Simeon replied. “I wouldn’t put it past them to do something underhanded again to stop the rally.”
“Indeed.” Justice Ford rose. “Now if you will excuse me, I’m afraid I have another pressing matter I must contend with.” He tipped his head. “Evening, gentlemen.”
After the magistrate left the room, Pembrooke turned towards Simeon. “Would you care to join me at White’s for supper and some drinks?”
“Thank you, but no.” Simeon rose and walked over to his desk.
“You always say no,” Pembrooke said. “It would be fun.”
Looking down at the ledger and paperwork waiting for him on his desk, Simeon tapped his finger on top of the closed ledger. He was debating. He hadn’t been to White’s in years. But he had a lot of work to catch up on.
The image of Emma came to his mind. He would much rather spend the time with the charming Miss Pearson, but that was impossible. Perhaps he could do something that would please her.
“Why are you grinning like a bloody fool?” Pembrooke commented.
Wiping the grin off his face, Simeon glanced up from his books. “I have a letter I need to write.”
“A letter?” Pembrooke asked, awkwardly standing. “And who is this letter to?”
“My family.”
The sun was still low in the sky as Simeon rode in his coach towards Grange Gardens near Chester Square.
He yawned as he leaned his head back against the plush bench.
He’d spent most of the evening drafting a letter to his parents.
Eventually, he wrote a simple, but sincere letter.
He truly wanted to make amends with his parents, and he hoped they were receptive to the idea, as well.
The thought of telling Emma about posting the letter made him smile. Why did the mere thought of seeing her smile cause his heart to soar? She was quickly filling a void in his heart; a void he’d thought was impenetrable.
Is that wise, he wondered. Would his heart ever recover if Emma didn’t feel the same about him? He already knew the answer. No. Perhaps it would be best if he cut ties with Emma now. It would be much easier.
The coach came to a stop, and he lifted the curtain covering the window.
He peered out and saw men and women flocking towards Grange Gardens.
There were so many protestors that they practically encircled the coach, hampering any chance of forward progression.
Putting his hand through the open window, he unlatched the door.
“I’ll walk the rest of the way,” he announced, stepping down onto the worn cobblestone.
The driver tipped his head in acknowledgement. “Very good, milord. I shall wait for you out front.”