“Do not . . . do not fret? Emmeline, you cannot go to the Summit meeting, not now. Not after this!” Hester held the letter up and shook it.
“No, Mama, do you not see? The sender is a coward, someone who thinks to scare me away from the most monumental event in history concerning shifter rights!”
“I forbid it! The meeting will occur with or without you. There are others who can speak on the organization’s behalf.”
Emme opened her mouth to snap back but paused and inhaled, trying to control her racing heart. “Mama. I am the spokeswoman for the International Shifter Rights Organization. I have clawed my way past every barrier my enemies have set before me, and I will not be bullied.”
Hester looked at Emme, eyes flashing, and called out, “Barnesworth! Have the Horseless Traveler brought ’round front. Emmeline and I are going out.”
Movement at the door caught Emme’s eye, and she noted her stepsister, Lysette, entering the drawing room with her usual pause for dramatic effect. Lysette was Emme’s junior by three years but stood several inches taller than Emme’s own five feet and two inches. Her stepsister’s hair was blonde perfection, every curl in place, and she wore a lovely pale-pink ensemble that included a satin corset trimmed in silver ribbon.
“Why, Mother, what has happened?” Lysette’s large blue eyes flicked from Emme to Hester, and Emme’s nostrils flared of their own volition.
“Nothing.” Emme turned to her mother and lowered her voice. “I shall see to it. Please, leave it be for now.”
Lysette floated to Hester’s side and placed a hand on her arm. “What could possibly be causing such an uproar?”
Emme snatched the paper from her mother’s hand. “My personal correspondence. Please do not concern yourself with it.”
Ignoring Lysette, Hester grasped Emme’s arm, shoved her toward the door, and out into the hall with surprising strength.
“Mama—”
“Not a word,” Hester enunciated through tight lips. “Barnesworth!”
The butler automaton, humanlike in appearance and movement, appeared from the cloak room with their wraps. “My lady. The Traveler is nearly ready.”
“Mama,” Emme tried again as Barnesworth helped her mother and then her into her wrap. “I want you to think for a moment. You are rushing to judgment—”
“A fine thing for you to say, young lady—you who rush into absolutely everything!”
Emme frowned as Hester nudged her out the front door and down the short walk to the street. “Not two minutes ago you were praising me!” She knew she should have enjoyed the moment while it lasted.
Hester Castle O’Shea had built a small empire with her sister, Bella Castle Cooper, and Castles’ Boutique was one of London’s premier clothiers. She’d done so with determination and focus, traits now directed full blast at Emme.
“Mother, where are we going?” Emme took the ’ton driver’s hand and climbed into the vehicle, scooting over when her mother charged in behind her.
Hester smacked the switch that alerted the driver to proceed and then looked at Emme, her lips tight. “To the Yard.”
“Wh . . . where? Why?” Emme’s heart thumped. “That is the last place I want to go!”
Hester glared at her. “Is Detective-Inspector Reed looking for you again?”
“He is always looking for me. Mama, that man thinks I am responsible for every crime in London.”
“Nonsense. Though you cannot deny your past acts of mischief have not painted you in an innocent light.” Hester flipped the Talk switch and shouted to the driver, “Go faster!”
Emme briefly closed her eyes. She gripped her mother’s hand and looked into her tense face. “I am fine. I shall be safe. I can protect myself; do you not remember who my cousin is?” She smiled and squeezed her mother’s fingers. “Isla has taught me how to fight like an East End pugilist.”
Hester’s scowl deepened. “I told Bella we left you children alone too much. I just . . . It was necessary to build the business when we were both widowed, and we hoped we were doing the right and proper thing to support you all.”
“Come now, don’t be silly. We all survived childhood and are none the worse for wear.”
To define Emme’s upbringing as “unconventional” would be apt. Her mother and aunt had poured every moment and shilling into creating the shop, and although nannies had come and gone, Emme’s cousin, Isla, had been the one to truly take the reins and care for both Emme and Isla’s young sister, Melody. Their good friend, Hazel Hughes, now Mrs. MacInnes, had rounded out the small group, and they had experienced much more freedom than many other young ladies did.
Her mother sighed and sat back in the cushioned seat as the Traveler wound its way into the heart of London. She retained her hold of Emme’s hand and looked out the window, though Emme could clearly feel her mother’s sense of guilt. Emme felt a familiar pang of resentment that not only had her mother been largely absent for years building the business, but then she’d married an odious, oafish man with multiple daughters, changing their family forever. Even so, she did not like to see Hester’s sadness.
Emme was a young woman of twenty-three who had pushed her way into circumstances and pursuits that a more attentive mother might have curtailed. Bittersweet though it was, her mother’s inattention had provided benefits that far outweighed any negative consequence.
Of all the times for Hester to tighten the parental reins. Once they were actually at the Yard, Emme would have to diffuse her mother’s panic, downplay the emergency, perhaps slip the threatening letter away from her mother and conveniently lose it. She wasn’t stupid, however. The letter was a clear and graphic threat on her life, making sinister reference to the Ripper’s handiwork and describing in detail exactly where Emme’s bedroom was and what it looked like.
But Emmeline Castle O’Shea had been fighting her own battles for a long time; she was not in unfamiliar territory. She would simply make
