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I have been practicing, though, and I show Isla a few basic moves, which mostly consist of “keep the pointy end away from you” and “don’t let go.” As a cop, I know that the biggest danger of carrying a weapon is that someone with a whole lot more experience will get it away from you and use itonyou.
I’m demonstrating a thrust when laughter burbles up from the direction of the stables. I look over to see Simon leaning on a shovel, watching us.
“You truly have forgotten much, haven’t you?” he says as he walks over.
“Yes, I’m not as good at this as I once was.”
He laughs again. “No, you have forgotten that you do not know how to use it at all. It is merely a theatrical prop, to wave about at any who are not frightened off by your sharp tongue.”
I click my knife back into its handle. “I suppose you could do better?”
“I think Mrs. Ballantyne could do better without any training at all.”
I scowl at Simon, but he only laughs and puts out his hand for the knife. I hand it over. He takes it, flicks it out, and then turns to Isla.
“The first thing to remember, ma’am, is that you are not actually going to use the knife. You only wish for your opponent to think you will.”
“And if they call your bluff?” I say.
“Run.”
I glare at him.
“What?” he says. “Running is an excellent strategy.”
“It is, and so I would like you to demonstrate… after putting on a corset and five layers of long skirts.”
He taps the knife in my direction. “You forget, Miss Mallory, that I have worn both.”
“And run?”
“Like the devil himself was on my tail. When one’s very existence is considered an offense to man and God, one learns to run fast, in any outfit… or none at all.” He pauses and then blushes as he turns to Isla. “My apologies, ma’am. I did not mean to speak quite so freely.”
“You never need apologize to me,” she says. “But I do believe Mallory has a point. Even if I do not find my dress as encumbering as she does, I am not much of a runner. I would certainly hope that showing my knife would be enough, but if it is not, then I do need to be able to use it.”
He waves at us. “Carry on then.”
I glance over. “You’re going to watch, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely. I have not had such entertainment in days.”
I ignore him and resume the lesson. We’ve barely been at it five minutes before the door bursts open, Mrs. Wallace striding out, Alice following.
“What is goingonhere?” Mrs. Wallace bears down on me.
I lift the knife over my head. “It was a lesson, ma’am.”
“One I requested,” Isla says.
The housekeeper doesn’t seem to hear her, just keeps coming at me. “Are you trying to kill the mistress? Orgether killed? No one else is going to put up with your shenanigans if Mrs. Ballantyne bleeds to death in a ditch.”
“That is a colorful picture,” Isla murmurs.
Mrs. Wallace turns to her. “Oh, I can make it far more colorful, ma’am. Your fine self lying dead in a pool of blood because your housemaid decided to teach you how to wield a knife.” Her gaze drops to the blade in Isla’s hand. “Good lord. Where did you get that?”
Isla’s jaw sets. “It was Father’s. I have had it for years in a drawer, and now I wish to use it.”
“To do what? Kill wild beasts in the jungle? That is a hunting knife.” She plucks Catriona’s switchblade from my hand. “This is the sort of knife you want, not that monstrosity.”
