“Train your instincts to anticipate your opponent’s moves,” Mrs. Peabody had instructed. “Then strike, using his strength against him.”
Livy and her instructor circled one another, the other Willflowers watching on. The hours of drills helped Livy to notice when Mrs. Peabody shifted her weight to the left. Livy instinctively parried the oncoming right punch, then the left punch that followed. She issued her own offensive, aiming a sidekick to her opponent’s front leg, throwing the other off-balance. She took that opening to strike the other’s chest, sending Mrs. Peabody sprawling onto the mats.
Livy leaped on top, stopping her punch a hairsbreadth from the other’s head. Mrs. Peabody looked at the fist above her, and her golden eyes gleamed with respect.
At the sound of applause, Livy looked up.
Charlie had entered the sparring chamber and was standing next to Glory and Fi.
“Well done,” Charlie said. “You are making excellent progress, Livy.”
“Thanks to Mrs. Peabody’s instruction.” Rising, Livy offered her hand to her teacher, who rose with the grace of a ballerina and the efficiency of an assassin.
Mrs. Peabody inclined her head. “You are a quick study, Lady Olivia. Much like Lady Fayne.”
“Hopefully you will emerge from Mrs. Peabody’s training with fewer bruises than I did,” Charlie said with a rueful smile. “But the important thing is that you will know how to fend for yourself if danger arises.”
Charlie had emphasized the importance of safety throughout. While Mrs. Peabody had concentrated on physical combat and conditioning, Hawker had trained the girls in the use of weaponry. He also showed them useful skills such as lock-picking and employing “sticky fingers.”
Charlie, herself, was in charge of developing the girls’ mentation skills. She taught them that the core of investigation lay in the ability to observe through the senses. She showed them how to note even the most minute details and then applied her lessons in real-life settings.
One afternoon, she took them to Burlington Arcade, an exclusive shopping area off Piccadilly, and assigned each of the girls a passerby. The task was to glean as much information about the target as possible without being noticed. Livy had surprised herself with the number of tidbits she’d collected, including her target’s name, address, banking institution, birthdate, and favorite tea blend.
The Willflowers also honed their problem-solving abilities. Charlie summed up the main strategies as falling under one of three categories: finesse, flee, or fight. In acting out various scenarios, it became clear that the girls had different strengths. Fiona was the best at finessing, Glory at making a quick getaway, and Livy…well, she’d developed a fondness for Mrs. Peabody’s techniques.
“What lesson do we have next?” Livy asked with an eagerness that she’d never felt in all the years at Southbridge’s.
Unlike the finishing school, Charlie imparted knowledge that was of interest to Livy. Yesterday, they’d spent half a day practicing different accents, from Cockney to Scottish (Livy had a leg up on the latter). The day before, they’d paid a visit to a shop owned by Mrs. Quinton, a talented African modiste and friend of Charlie’s. The Angels had been ushered into a backroom, where Mrs. Q, as she was known to intimates, outfitted them with her innovative designs, which included parasols with hidden blades, dresses with detachable skirts and trousers beneath, and reticules with secret compartments.
Livy couldn’t wait to see what was next.
“It’s time for luncheon, actually,” Charlie said.
“Capital.” Glory grinned. “I’m starved.”
Changing back into their usual attire, the girls followed Charlie out of the training chamber, which was located in the building behind the main house. They stopped at the next room to exchange cheery hellos with the “Janes.” The three women, all named Jane, were expertly embroidering handkerchiefs and writing pamphlets.
Someone had to do the work of the “charity,” after all; Livy was grateful it wasn’t her.
Livy and the others crossed the cobblestone courtyard to access the main house, her home for the next month. Her family had departed for Scotland yesterday, and while she’d been teary-eyed bidding adieu to her parents and brothers, she was also brimming with excitement at her newfound freedom and the adventures ahead.
It was almost enough to distract her from thoughts of Hadleigh. Almost.
Pushing aside the maudlin thoughts, Livy entered the dining room, a high-ceilinged space with pristine plaster moldings and sumptuous forest-green curtains fringed with gold. The table had been cozily set for four: Charlie and Livy took the head and end seats respectively, and Fi and Glory the ones in between. After the rigorous exercise, Livy was famished, and silence reigned as the women tucked into the delicious repast of consommé, sliced meats, pickled vegetables, cold puddings, and freshly baked rolls.
“I hope you do not mind if we discuss some business,” Charlie said.
“I don’t mind.” Livy bit into a buttered roll, nearly swooning at its crusty goodness.
“Me neither.” Fiona helped herself to a slice of ham. “Mama is coming to fetch me at two o’clock for a fitting at the dressmaker’s, and I don’t want to miss anything important.”
Although Fi and Glory managed to stop by Charlie’s almost every day, they still had to carry on with their regular activities. As did Livy. She found it the oddest thing, training to be an investigator while living a debutante’s life. In between sparring and target practice, she’d gone to luncheons and balls. When Lord Sheffield had come to call unexpectedly one afternoon, she’d had to hurriedly change out of a disguise she’d been perfecting. Luckily, before Livy rushed off to meet Sheffield, Charlie had plucked off the fake mustache still glued to Livy’s upper lip.
Livy felt like she was leading a double life, and it was exhilarating.
“I believe you are ready for your first case,” Charlie said.
“By Juno, we have a case?” Glory’s hazel eyes sparkled; perched on her shoulder, Ferdinand II twitched with excitement. “Who is
