14. Another Crate
CHAPTER 14
Another Crate
L ouise yawned and rubbed her tired eyes as she walked downstairs the next morning to let Rosie in.
“You look exhausted,” the maid said. “I heard what happened. Let me help with the cleaning down here.”
Louise was not at all surprised that Rosie knew about last night. Most of Hatfield must already know, and then in a couple more days at church everyone would be well informed.
Louise rubbed her eyes again and made a croaky, “Good morning.” It had taken her forever to get to sleep after the attack last night. Even after everyone who’d helped had gone home and she, Mrs Poole and Bernadette had a sip of brandy each to calm their nerves, she’d had trouble falling asleep.
Each time she closed her eyes, they sprang open. Not from reliving the fire, but from seeing Shaun Jackson’s delectable torso.
Suddenly she remembered to look down in case there were morbid leavings from Crafty and Pie. There were, so she mumbled something about fetching the ashpan and cloth.
“I’ll do that for you, Miss Louise,” Rosie said.
“You’re too kind,” Louise said, her eyes filling with tears. Rosie was such a boon to them, and ever since she and Bernadette had done Louise’s hair for the assembly, the maid had become so much friendlier to her.
Bernadette came down and lit the lamps, Mrs Poole soon following with some kindling and a tinder box to start the fire in the small stove. She was placing a fire where it belonged, safely away from anything else flammable and protected with a sturdy guard around it.
All the same, the sight of the flames made Louise twitchy at first.
It had been so easy to dismiss Shaun as being overly protective when he’d chased the arsonist away. But now that arsonist had come back and struck a blow. A badly aimed one, but still a blow. Would he get bolder still?
The shop door opened, making the bell tinkle. In walked the man whose naked chest had robbed her of any chance of getting back to sleep last night, with a crate of books on his shoulder.
“Good morning, Miss Baxter,” he said with all due formality for their audience.
As Louise steadied her heartbeat and replied a good morning greeting back to him, she then waited for him to greet the others. To her surprise, none came. The bookshop was silent. Louise turned around and realised everyone had quietly slipped away as soon as Shaun walked in.
Heat roared up her face, knowing they’d purposely left her alone with Shaun.
Shaun said, “This crate just arrived, so I thought I’d bring it in.”
“Please, down near the counter, I’ll grab the crowbar,” Louise said, doing her best to sound business-like.
With delight, she recognised the writing on the box’s labels as her father’s. As she cranked the top boards off and the nails sprang free, she begged the Lord above that her father had included a note or letter this time.
“I hope you were able to get some rest last night, after the attack.”
She popped the last few nails and put the crowbar aside. “Not a wink.”
“I was the same,” he said. “I’m starting to wonder if it might be a soldier, and maybe he got Hugh or John to let something slip? They’ve hired a couple more men as well, and they would have had to tell them what times we do patrols. Wouldn’t take much for the arsonist to deduce when we’re not patrolling.”
“Well, we wondered about that from the beginning.” The top of the crate was filled with rag scraps, her father’s preferred method for safely packing books. They in turn were very useful for collecting Crafty and Pie’s sloppy gifts. Louise plucked the rags out and picked up the first book. “But honestly, most of them do move on and go home. I think there would be very few who are still in town from the date of the first attack.”
“What if it was a soldier for whom Hatfield is home?” Shaun argued. “There must be dozens of them.”
Louise conceded that was true. “But then, why would he have such a desire to destroy his own town?” she asked.
Shaun sighed, leaning against the counter and folding his arms across his chest. That delicious, broad chest, which she’d got to see in all its naked glory last night. He wasn’t chiseled like one of the Greek statues she’d seen in illustrations, more thick with muscle, dark hair curling from a broad mat on his chest and arrowing down to a thin line which led all the way to his waist… and presumably lower.
Heat seared her face at the memory. I shouldn’t be thinking about that. She tried to focus on what he was saying, something about men whose reason had been broken by the horrors of war.
“And you think the only sign of such a broken mind would be a penchant for arson?” she asked sceptically.
“I… don’t know,” Shaun admitted. “Miss Baxter… Louise…”
The way he said her name made a thrill go through her, and Louise had to stop sorting books for a moment because her hands started trembling.
“Yes?” she said, her voice coming out thin and soft.
“I think you should leave.”
“I beg your pardon!” She had been thinking, hoping really, that he might ask if he could kiss her, but what was this?
“The bookshop. That’s twice you’ve been targeted. Three times if you count the fire shingle coming loose. I think you, Bernadette and Mrs Poole should move out, until the arsonist is caught. Lord Ferndale would be glad to host you, I’m sure…”
“Absolutely not!” Louise was horrified at the mere suggestion. She put her hands on her hips and scowled at Shaun. “Ferndale Hall is too far away. We wouldn’t be able to open the bookshop. And if the bookshop isn’t open, Cousin Joshua will be able to claim we’re not running the business out of the building!”
“Somewhere else, then, somewhere closer,” Shaun suggested. “The Red Lion - Mr and Mrs Haye think a lot of you, I know they’d find rooms…”
“You’re being ridiculous,” Louise said firmly. “This is my home. I’m not going anywhere.”
“You’re being stubborn!” He looked almost pleading. “Your safety, your life , is the most important thing here.”
“I’m not leaving and that’s final.”
Shaun shook his head slowly, his mouth setting in a thin line. “This discussion isn’t over.”
“Yes, it is.”
They were interrupted - again! - by Mr Thomas coming in with an armload of wood, and Louise thought glumly that the marvellous opportunity she’d been given to be alone with Shaun, maybe to be kissed, was once again going to be wasted.
For the next hour, the men busily constructed interior shutters for the small ground floor windows. They could be opened during the day to let some light in, but at night they could be bolted shut to prevent future attacks.
Removing the temporary timbers had the cold wind howling through, but it couldn’t be helped.
Louise settled herself behind the counter and decided to write to Marie. She would need to mention the fire, but chewed the inside of her cheek thinking how she might word it. Marie was too far away to be able to help, and might injure herself further if she tried to rush home before her ankle was strong enough. “Nothing to worry about, just an arson attack from a man who’s still at large and who is targeting us, according to Shaun,” would definitely send Marie into panic.
It would mean having to explain Shaun Jackson, who was causing Louise not to know up from down half the time!
In the end she had to write something, so settled on some bland wording and said everything was well in hand and the rest of Hatfield was watching over them.
Brutus and Ruth arrived to dust the shelves, which would need a little more work than usual because the fire last evening might have left soot or oil residue on the shelves. When the glazier arrived, the place seemed even more crowded than usual. The glazier measured the window and removed the shards of broken glass still stuck in the frame. Louise paid him in advance and he promised to have the new panes installed within the week.
Bernadette appeared with her basket of herbs and tonics, rugged up warmly against the weather. “I shall be back later this afternoon,” she said to Louise.
Shaun nodded a greeting to her and said, “Hold up. Take Riot or one of the Fox brothers with you for safety.”
Bernadette frowned and said, “I appreciate the gesture, but ah, a man travelling with me would cause more problems.”
Louise looked at Shaun, who was looking even more adamant than when he’d suggested they move out of the bookshop. Going over to him, she took his arm and drew him aside. “What’s this about?” she asked quietly.
Shaun glanced at Bernadette, who was standing by the door, apparently not leaving just yet. Looking back at Louise, he answered in an equally hushed tone. “I’ve been thinking. The bookshop being targeted twice has made me wonder if it’s someone with a grudge against one of you. Bernadette wanders about alone… and she’s only a bit of a thing.”
A cold feeling settled in the pit of Louise’s stomach.
“Can you think of anyone who might have a grudge against her? A rejected suitor, perhaps?” Shaun asked.
Not a rejected suitor, not that Louise could think of, but there were certainly men in town who might think they had a grievance against Bernadette. Allan Jefferies, who’d wanted to marry Sally Lewis enough to plant a babe in her belly against her will… and Bernadette had made sure that a marriage wouldn’t be necessary after all. And Allan was just the most recent name that came to mind.
She wasn’t going to tell Shaun any of this, not without discussing it with Bernadette first. Every woman in town knew what Bernadette’s herbs could do, and not even Phoebe Baxter would breathe a word of it to any man. A woman who dared break that code would likely find no help would come from a midwife when they most needed it.
“I can come, Bernadette,” Louise said. “Give me a moment to grab my coat.” She’d used her good winter coat to smother the fire and was using a thinner one that would have to do, despite the cold outside. It was just behind the counter and she grabbed her letter to Marie at the same time. Then she called out to Ruth and Brutus to mind the shop.
Shaun frowned at Louise and Bernadette. The youngest Baxter sister shifted her basket into her other arm, further away from his gaze. Louise delivered a bright smile his way and handed him her letter to Marie. “Would you mind getting this into the next post for me?”
“Of course,” he said automatically, and although he still looked confused, he didn’t ask any more questions.
Good. Bernadette’s business was women’s business. Men didn’t need to know about any of it.
The next day the Ferndale carriage arrived outside the bookshop around mid-morning. Brutus and Ruth were quite confident now to mind the shop so that Bernadette, Louise and Mrs Poole could visit Ferndale Hall, and Rosie came down to sit with the youngsters too in case they needed someone a little older and with more confidence to help out.
Riot Jones was keeping watch outside the shop, standing in the street and nodding to passers-by. Louise was surprised Shaun wasn’t with him, and she looked in the direction of Mrs Bell’s house to see if he was watching the street from his window.
The reason for Shaun’s absence became apparent when they arrived at Ferndale Hall. There was her protector, deep in conversation with Lord Ferndale.
Shaun smiled broadly when he saw her. “We meet again.” He took her hand and bowed over it most correctly.
“I was wondering why I hadn’t seen you this morning,” Louise said, realising even as she said it that she was not just wondering about it, she had been disappointed. She’d grown used to seeing him come in first thing, often before she’d even finished scraping up Crafty and Pie’s messes.
“I had to consult with Lord Ferndale. The lads I’ve hired are doing their best, but it’s a big town and a bigger district to cover. We need a bigger watch crew, and the fire engine is antiquated… there are much better models available now.”
“And Lord Ferndale will pay for it?” Louise glanced at the old baron, who was smiling genially as he listened to Mrs Poole chatter about something.
“Aye. He said it’s cheaper than rebuilding more barns, and you can’t pay enough to replace people, anyway.” Shaun’s face was sombre.
“That’s very true.” Louise suddenly realised Miss Yates wasn’t in the parlour to greet them. “Where’s Miss Yates, Lord Ferndale?” she asked.
“Florence wasn’t feeling quite the thing this morning. Sent word down with her maid she’d have breakfast in bed.” Lord Ferndale looked a little concerned. “I missed her smiling face at breakfast, she rarely stays above stairs like this.”
Bernadette was on her feet at once, and Louise followed her and Mrs Poole straight upstairs without waiting another moment. They were all very fond of the sweet old lady, and if there was anything they could do to help her feel better, there wasn’t a moment to waste.
“Hullo, my dears!” Miss Yates looked up with a happy smile as they almost burst into her bedchamber. Far from lying in bed looking pale and wan, she was sitting by the window, fully dressed, a cup of tea at her elbow.
“Lord Ferndale said you weren’t feeling well?” Bernadette said, a little out of breath from the rush up the stairs.
“Oh, Arthur, always making a fuss.” Miss Yates shook her head with a cheerful little chuckle. “I stubbed my toe on the chamber pot and thought to rest it from walking downstairs for a little while!”
“Florence!” Mrs Poole gasped, clutching at her heart. “You gave us all a fright.”
Miss Yates giggled a little and waved to the chaise opposite her. “My dears, really, do sit down. I shall send Anne for tea and cake.”
“And you shall let me look at that toe,” Bernadette said firmly. “Just in case you have done more than bruised it.”
“Very well, very well.” Miss Yates suffered Bernadette to look at her foot and wiggle her toe about while the others took their seats. “Now, Louise.” Miss Yates gave her a little smirk. “How did you find our other guest this morning? I saw Mr Jackson arrive a little while ago. Such a fine figure of a man.”
Louise could not help the slow red tide surging up her neck and onto her cheeks. “Mr Jackson seems very well,” she answered sedately.
“I think the livery stables rented him a cart horse, a great beast he rode in on this morning!” Miss Yates smiled meaningfully. “I shouldn’t wonder if he’ll buy himself a horse soon enough, with the amount of travelling he does about the countryside. I think Arthur might have a nice hunter he plans to sell which would be up to Mr Jackson’s weight; I might mention it.”
Mrs Poole said what Louise was thinking. “I’m not sure if that would be within Mr Jackson’s budget.”
Miss Yates laughed aloud. “Not within his budget? Good Lord, Alison, have I not told you yet? Arthur asked him about his circumstances. The man has a nice fortune to his name!”
Louise’s mouth fell open with shock.
Miss Yates eyed her with a widening smirk. “More than enough to buy a fine property… and support a wife.”
Louise’s blush, which had been fading, roared back up her cheeks as everyone looked at her and giggled.
“Why, I shall very much enjoy telling Phoebe Baxter all about that when I see her next week at the Hatfield Gardens Committee,” Mrs Poole said, clearly delighted, as Miss Yates’ maid brought in the tea.
“She finally got onto a committee then?” Bernadette asked.
“Yes, after we lost dear Mrs Flyte, may she rest in peace, we had a vacancy,” Miss Yates confirmed, before she turned back to Mrs Poole and said, “Indeed, make sure you tell her how much.” Miss Yates sipped her tea and smiled, looking very much like Crafty after getting into the cream. “Twenty. Thousand . Pounds.”