Another intriguing question to add to all the others on which she’d found herself dwelling. Before having her reticule snatched, she’d been enjoying the morning, drinking in unique experiences the likes of which she had only ever imagined. Ariadne in particular would have been envious, she knew. She would probably even have been jealous of Emma’s being set upon by thieves.
Just before first light, she’d set out from the estate on foot, not daring to take one of the horses for fear of alerting the staff. With her small portmanteau in hand, she’d made her way toward what she hoped was the main road. After all, London couldn’t be so very far away, she’d assured herself. A few miles at most.
Having lived for the past few years in a remote and wild part of Scotland, she was well used to walking. Countess Hortensia encouraged exercise among the students, claiming that a healthy body begat a healthy mind. Emma wasn’t certain of that, but she’d never complained, enjoying the freedom that came with the fresh air.
After nearly an hour of walking, she’d finally caught a glimpse of the city in the distance, mildly dismayed to see how many miles she still had to go. But providence soon shone its happy light upon her in the form of a farmer and his wagonful of earth-scented, brown-skinned potatoes. At her wave, he’d stopped and soon agreed with a good-natured smile to give her a ride into London.
Realizing after a moment that the man expected her to climb up without any assistance from him, she rallied quickly and clambered into the wagon’s homely wooden driver’s box. Her skirts hampered her a bit, but somehow she managed, settling next to the farmer without further delay. Then, with a flick of the reins, they were off.
She’d never ridden in a wagon before and found it a surprisingly intriguing experience, the country air refreshing against her cheeks, the sun shining gamely down onto her bonneted head. Smiling to herself, she turned her face to its golden rays to drink in the autumn morning while she listened to the older man tell her all about his life as a farmer.
Gradually the city rose up around them, the streets growing increasingly congested with people and horses and vehicles the deeper into London they journeyed. She watched it all with an enthusiasm that made the farmer laugh.
“Firs time ter the city?” he asked.
“Yes,” she admitted. “Can you tell?”
He laughed again. “Aye, a bit. I’ll have ter let yeh down here,” he said, bringing his team to a halt.
Here proved to be the market at Covent Garden, a bustling hodgepodge of commerce and humanity jammed into a tight cluster of streets.
“Yeh’ll be awright now, will yeh?” the farmer questioned, his bushy eyebrows drawing close. “Yeh’ve people ter meet?”
“Oh yes,” she told him brightly. “I shall be residing with a friend here in the city.”
His concern relaxed. “Good, then. A mite girl like yerself shouldn’t be wandering around alone. Get yerself a hack ter take yeh to yer people.”
“I shall,” she promised. “Thank you for the ride.”
With warm smiles, she and the farmer bade each other good-bye.
Intending to do as he had advised, Emma set off in search of a hackney cab. But before she had gone far, her attention was diverted by the sheer bounty of goods being offered for sale—fresh and dried fruits, vegetables, meats, cheeses, breads, and more—the contents of each stall more tempting than the last.
At the sight of such a vast array of delectable-looking fare, her stomach gave a hungry growl, reminding her that she had missed breakfast that morning. Worse, she had barely touched dinner the evening before. At the sight of so much food, she found herself suddenly ravenous.
Wandering idly through the market, she bought a small sack of walnuts, a wedge of tart cheese, a thin slice of salty cured ham, and a crusty golden loaf of bread. A succulent pear that proved as delicious as it was juicy rounded out her impromptu meal, which she ate as she strolled. She forgot all about finding a hackney cab, too entranced by the sights, sounds, and scents of the market and the people gathered within it to worry over such mundane necessities.
She’d finished eating and was tucking a handkerchief back inside her reticule when she’d suddenly been surrounded by a pair of teenage boys. Their matted hair and filthy clothes elicited a moment of pity, but then she read the menace in their hard, calculating eyes and shivered with alarm. They tried to crowd her backward into one of the nearby alleys, but when she didn’t immediately obey, one of them tore the silk reticule off her arm instead and ran. The other tried and failed to take her valise, which she clung to like glue. She’d shouted after them. Then, when it became obvious no one planned to help her, she had given chase, outraged to have been accosted in so open and crowded a place.