Page 56 of The Unfortunate Debutante
Simeon leaned closer to her ear. “Have you not asked Downshire to explain your inheritance to you?”
She shook her head. “I have not. His solicitors are handling my financial matters, and I trust Luke completely.”
“As well as you should, but you should have some concept of your inheritance.”
Tilting her head towards him, their eyes locked. “From the moment Luke and Rachel brought me back to their home, I’ve never wanted for anything. Love, money, attention…” Her voice drifted off. “It’s been like a dream for someone like me.”
“Someone like you?”
Emma gave him a tentative smile. “I’m a nobody, a country bumpkin. Yet, because of my brother’s sacrifice, I’ve been given everything.” She shifted her gaze away from him. “I’ve done nothing to deserve it.”
With compassion swelling in his breast, he reached out and placed his finger under her chin, turning her to face him. “I want you to listen to me very carefully, Emma,” he started. “You are not a nobody. You are a beautiful young woman,” he paused, “and are admirably unique.”
A sad smile came to her lips. “You may not have noticed, but everyone in the Beckett family is extraordinary, and I don’t fit in with them.”
“That’s rubbish,” he declared, pleased when a soft laugh escaped Emma’s mouth. “You already have one article published in The Morning Post. Has anyone else in the Beckett family accomplished that feat?”
“No, but Rachel wrote a book, and Eliza is…”
He released her chin but remained close. “Don’t compare yourself to anyone else. Go at your own pace and believe in yourself. Because I do,” he hesitated, “and I don’t normally believe in people anymore.”
Emma’s face softened. “Thank you, Simeon. That means a lot.”
He gave her a curt nod and straightened to his full height. Why did he feel the need to praise the girl? He already knew the answer. He spoke from his heart. Something that he used to do a lot more when he was younger… with Martha.
Simeon knew he had become jaded over these past few years, but more so when Martha married another. Could he even remember who he used to be?
A loud, collective cheer came from around the men and women assembled together in Templeton Square. Glancing towards the stage, he saw Mr. Hatcher stepping up to the podium. He put his hand up, and everyone went quiet.
“My brothers and sisters, I have been told that our numbers are nearly four thousand today. The members of Parliament will have to stand up and take notice of our growing movement!” Hatcher exclaimed. “The Napoleonic wars are over! The blockade that Britain had put into place to stop goods from coming into the continent is gone! However, the greedy British farmer and landowner doesn’t want to drop the price of corn and other grains. They only care about profit, and they don’t care about our starving children at home.”
A roar of grumbling came from the assembly, and Hatcher put his hand up to quiet them. “The Corn Laws state that no foreign corn will be allowed into Britain until domestic corn reaches a price of eighty shillings per quarter.Eighty shillings!That is nigh impossible.”
Hatcher stepped away from the podium and started pacing across the stage. “Landowners are getting rich on the high bread price. Except for the rich, everyone is suffering from these high prices. Some are on the brink of starvation, and for what? So, the landowners can have more coins?”
Simeon noticed that a large group of about fifteen brawny men were starting to approach the assembly, with wooden batons in their hands, and they all seemed to be focused on Hatcher.
Hatcher didn’t seem to notice as he continued his speech. “Workers are being fired because their employers can’t afford to pay them. They must choose between feeding their own children or having additional workers, and now these men can’t find new jobs. There are none! The Corn Laws have caused panic amongst the people.”
Simeon watched as this group of men started knocking people out of their way with batons as they approached the stage. What were they thinking? He turned towards a man near him, who was holding a baton in his hand. “What is the meaning of this?”
The stone-faced man sneered at him. “Mind your own business.”
“Or what?” he challenged.
The man spat near his feet. “Or I will force you.”
Stepping closer to the man, Simeon towered over him, and declared, “On what authority are these men here disturbing a peaceful protest?”
“We have a warrant for Mr. Hatcher’s arrest,” the man remarked dismissively as he eyed his clothing, obviously viewing him as unimportant.
Simeon clenched his jaw. “Then wait until after the demonstration. This is a peaceful protest.”
“There’s no such thing,” the man said, tapping the baton in his hand. “Why should you care?”
He met the man’s gaze and held it. “I’m a Bow Street Runner.”
“It appears to me that you are sympathizing with these rebels,” the man stated.
