didnât think your question needed an answer. You seemed to be carrying on the conversation well enough on your own.â
Emily bit her lip. Jenna was right. Sheâd done little else since sheâd joined the younger girl here in the stables but fret over Peterâs arrival. âYouâre right. Iâm sorry. But I donât understand how they can all behave as if the last four years donât matter. Weâre just supposed to forget everything heâs done to hurt us, I suppose.â
âDonât you mean what âeâs done to âurt you ?â
âYes. I mean no. I meanâ¦Oh, I donât know what I mean!â With a frustrated huff, Emily tossed aside thecurrycomb and sank down onto a nearby stool. âDrat Peter Quick! The man scrambles my wits until I donât know which way is up.â
âMaybe you should be considering why that is.â
âI know why that is. Heâs a Bow Street Runner. One of the best, if the tales Iâve heard about him are true. If he finds out what Iâm doing, who knows how he might react.â
âWhy donât you try telling âim?â
The male voice had both women looking up in surprise to find a lean, gangly figure lounging just inside the stall, watching them with intent green eyes.
A cheerful young man with a shock of shaggy red hair and an open, freckled face, Miles Riley had been one of the original members of the Rag-Tag Bunch as well as one of Peterâs good friends. Like the other children, heâd grown up at Willow Park, but unlike them heâd decided to stay in Little Haverton once heâd come of age to strike out on his own. His affinity for animals, especially horses, had prompted Lord Ellington to offer him a job in the stables at Knighthaven, and aside from Jenna, he was the only person who knew Emilyâs secret. More than once in the past few weeks sheâd had cause to be thankful for the stable handâs help.
But now she found herself wondering at his sanity. âTell him? Miles, are you mad?â
The young man lifted his chin in a defensive manner. âWell, we certainly âavenât been able to discover a way out of this mess ourselves. Maybe âe can.â
âOr maybe he could toss us all in Newgate and throw away the key.â Emily shot to her feet again and began topace the stall, her movements agitated. âYou know how heâs changed in the past eight years, Miles. Heâd never understand why we chose this path.â
âI âate to admit it,â Jenna said, shoving her hands in the pockets of her breeches and taking a step forward. âBut maybe Miles is right. Maybe we should go to Peter.â
Emily shook her head. âI donât know, Jenna. Thereâs just no way to predict what he might do. Sometimes I think heâs forgotten his old life. What it was like to be hungry and desperate and willing to do anything in order to get by.â
Jennaâs face closed up. âBelieve me, you donât forget something like that.â
Emily felt a pang of sympathy as she looked at her friend. A former pickpocket herself, the girl had more than a passing acquaintance with both hunger and desperation.
As a child, Jennaâs very existence had been a daily struggle to stay alive. Her parents, Angus and Rachel McLean, were the caretakers of Willow Park now, thanks to the generosity of Lord and Lady Ellington. But at one time, the McLeans had simply been one of the hundreds of poverty-stricken families trying to survive in the rookeries of London. It had been Tristan who had offered them a home and a chance to make a better life for Jenna and their younger daughter, Gracie.
With an age difference of only two years between them, it hadnât taken long for Emily and Jenna to become fast friends. And though the younger girlâs brusque manner could be somewhat irritating, Emilycouldnât help but admire her