15. Where There’s Smoke
CHAPTER 15
Where There’s Smoke
F rustration gnawed at Shaun at how long the arsonist remained at liberty. When the next Sunday rolled around, he accompanied the Fox brothers to the Catholic service at St Peter’s, to see if he could spot any people who might fit the same frame as the arsonist he’d chased away from the bookshop that night.
As much as he could describe the culprit to his men, he felt sure he’d know him if he saw him. As far as he could tell, Shaun had been the only one who’d seen the blackguard so far, not that it had been a very good look in the dark.
One man in church appeared to fit the bill, but as the man turned around Shaun quickly realised he was far too old, as he had a cane beside him. Definitely not the athletic young man he’d chased away.
After the service, he chatted with the Fox brothers as they walked back towards the Red Lion.
Hugh asked, “Does he have a horse? Is that how he’s getting about? He almost has to, eh. The distances he’s covering… a long way for a man afoot.”
“Good point,” John said. “We should see if there are any missing from the stables.”
The news put Shaun on edge. The arsonist was playing with them, changing up his habits to keep them unsure of when he’d next strike.
Cunning as a rat.
He farewelled the brothers and went back to his room at Mrs Bell’s so he could sleep for a few hours. He jammed a nail into a candle, about half an inch from the top, so that when it melted the wax as it burned down, the nail would fall away and hit the tin candle holder, waking him up.
This became his routine, staying awake all night watching over the bookshop, checking in on Louise in the morning, then grabbing a few hours’ sleep during the day when there were far too many people out and about for the arsonist to do anything without being seen.
There seemed to be a fire every other night. A barn or an old cottage on the far edges of town, but completely different sides of Hatfield. It was sending the volunteer firefighters batty, as they were getting no sleep either. They were running all over finding the fires and then trying to put them out before it spread anywhere else. They also had jobs to perform during the day, but lack of sleep meant many were making mistakes or injuring themselves.
This in turn kept Doctor Rasley far busier than he was used to, and he was getting grumpy as well. The town simply wasn’t functioning the way a town should with so much uncertainty and fear.
On his way to check on Louise the next morning, he saw Riot out the front of the bookshop, on guard as usual. Was it selfish of him to want to guard the Baxters while other buildings were going up in flames?
“Morning, Riot,” he said. “I appreciate your diligence, but you don’t have to guard the bookshop during the day. I’m sure they’re safe in broad daylight, with all the passing traffic.”
“Morning, Mr Jackson,” Riot replied, with a slight blush. “Miss Louise… the Baxters are important to you, so that makes them important to me.”
Shaun felt heated embarrassment spread up his face. Was he so easily readable these days? He truly was losing his touch, spending so long not solving a case. “I appreciate your concern, and I’m sure the Baxters do too.”
A tall man walked past while Shaun was talking to Riot, and entered the bookshop. Shaun turned his head to watch him go, concluding regretfully after a moment that although the man was the right height, he was much too broad-shouldered and walked flat-footed, unlike the slender, agile arsonist. Not the man I’m looking for.
There was something familiar about the man, however, and Shaun spared a moment to think about where he’d seen him before.
The assembly! That was it. The man was the farmer who’d danced with Louise - who’d made her laugh.
And now he was going into the bookshop.
Where Louise was.
Shaun walked away as Riot was mid-sentence, leaving the Welshman staring after him in astonishment.
Mr Stratforth - Shaun remembered his name now - was leaning against the counter smiling down at Louise as Shaun hurried into the bookshop after him. Louise’s gaze flicked to Shaun and she nodded slightly, in a gesture he’d come to learn meant, “I’m with a customer, I’ll get to you in a minute.”
Shaun stood awkwardly for a moment, unsure what to do with himself. Unsure of even why he’d rushed into the shop after the farmer. He didn’t for a moment think Louise was in any danger. Not from this oaf, who was awkwardly asking if Louise had any books on dairy farming in stock. It was on the tip of Shaun’s tongue to sarcastically ask if the man didn’t already know how to look after his cattle, but Louise wouldn’t thank him for being rude to a paying customer.
Louise fetched a book and showed it to Mr Stratforth, their heads bent much too close together for Shaun’s liking. He couldn’t watch. In the end he turned around and walked out of the shop again without waiting, before he said or did something stupid.
“Jealousy’s an ugly thing,” Riot said, and Shaun turned his back on the too-astute Welshman and stomped off down the street.
He found himself outside a shop he rarely frequented, the haberdashery, where the ladies of Hatfield bought their fabrics and ribbons and who knew what folderol. The shop had a larger window than most and he paused, caught by something displayed inside it. After a moment he pushed the door open and entered.
“Can I help you, Mr Jackson?”
He wracked his brain for the lady’s name; he’d met her at church a time or two. Mrs Brownlee? That was it.
“Good morning, Mrs Brownlee. I, ah, that cloak in the front window. Is that for sale?”
“It is indeed.” The lady smiled at him. “We don’t sell much pre-made clothing, but I make a piece occasionally for display.”
“It looks quite long…”
“Easier to make a piece too long and take it up than find it’s too short for the lady who wants to buy it!” Mrs Brownlee chuckled richly.
“I was wondering if it would be long enough for Miss Louise Baxter.” He looked more closely at the cloak as Mrs Brownlee took it off the dummy it was hanging on and offered it to him. It was a thick, quality wool, a practical dark blue colour, and had several mother-of-pearl buttons down the front and slits a lady might push her hands through to use them.
“I should think it might be, at that.” Mrs Brownlee looked amused.
“Hers was ruined in the fire at the bookshop the other night,” Shaun said hurriedly. “I… thought to replace it for her.”
“That’s very generous of you, Mr Jackson. What a kind gesture. I’m sure I could let you have it for a good price, considering…”
He was sure she could. They haggled briefly, and he pulled some coins from his pocket and counted out the agreed price before Mrs Brownlee wrapped the cloak in some brown paper for him and tied it with string.
With the package under his arm, he made his way back up the street, hoping the stupid farmer would have taken his book and gone by now.
He nodded to Riot again as they passed each other. By this point Rosie had arrived and was also greeting Riot, with a cheerful “Bore da,” which had the Welshman smiling broadly.
When he entered the bookshop, he’d hoped Mr Stratforth would be long gone. No such luck at all. The farmer and Louise were having an animated discussion, and when Shaun walked in, Louise immediately said, “You should tell Mr Jackson everything you can remember.”
Parcel under his arm, Shaun stood there as the farmer relayed his tale.
“The lad was almost tall as me, he was,” the farmer began. “Caught him trying to throw something on the roof. Ran over and called him out, then he turned and collected me on the head. Had some kind of cudgel. Knocked me out cold! By the time I came around he was long gone and the roof was alight. Others must have seen the flames because they rallied round quick and we got it out. There’s damage aplenty, but not so bad as it could have been.”
Shaun’s blood ran cold. Jealousy forgotten, he put the parcel on the shop counter and interrogated the farmer with more questions.
“Did you get a good look at him?”
Mr Stratforth shook his head solemnly. “That I did not. He was wearing a cloak with a hood and it covered much of his face. But it were a man, I could tell by the shape of his jaw, and his height, near as tall as me! Slim fellow, but strong. When he hit me I blacked out and didn’t see which direction he ran off in.”
Shaun huffed out a breath. The arsonist was becoming even more dangerous, carrying weapons to disable and potentially kill people if he gave it enough force.
“How is your head?”
“It does ache, I’ll give you that. Lad was strong.”
“You should get Doctor Rasley to check you over, you might need laudanum to get you through it.”
Bernadette walked in then with a small stoppered bottle in her hand. “Here you go, Mr Stratforth. I’d appreciate it if you could return the bottle when you’re done.”
“Much obliged, Miss Bernadette. And you too, Miss Louise, for the suggestion of your sister’s tonic. I hear Rasley’s working all hours treating people with burns and other injuries because of that blackguard, s’cuse my indelicate language. Young Miss Bernadette must be run off her feet helping folk too.”
“I like helping people,” Bernadette said with a pleased look.
“Well, I’m sure this will help,” the farmer said, bidding all of them farewell.
Rosie came in and greeted them, then took the stairs to begin helping Mrs Poole with the cleaning.
Shaun searched through his thoughts, wondering if there was some kind of connection between the fires, Bernadette and the doctor. It didn’t seem possible, but he couldn’t rule anything out.
Were people going to Bernadette instead of the good doctor? He’d certainly been in high demand since the fires had started. It couldn’t be the doctor himself doing the crimes, he was too short and stocky, not to mention old. Nowhere near tall enough to hit Farmer Stratforth on the side of the head or agile enough to run away afterwards. Perhaps the doctor had hired someone to do the dirty work, in order to lift himself into higher esteem amongst the townsfolk?
He was sending himself mad with these theories. Investigating accounts and badly-added books had been so much easier and faster to figure out!
The package on the counter remained where he’d put it. Goodness, where was his concentration?
“Ah, I got you this,” he said, giving the parcel to Louise.
“Oh!” Louise’s surprised expression delighted him. She carefully untied the string and unfolded the brown paper. “Oh my goodness!” she said, lifting the cloak up. A moment later she moved over to the wall lamp to get a better look. “This is lovely!”
“You ruined your good coat, and the one you’ve been wearing is far too thin. If I’d been better at my job, you still would have had your old one to keep you warm.”
“You are very kind,” she said, beaming as she held the cloak up.
He could tell she was making sure the shoulders were wide enough before she tried it on.
“If it’s not a good fit, Mrs Brownlee is happy to make adjustments,” he offered.
Louise hugged the bundled cloak to her chest for a moment.
“Shall I help you get it on?”
She blushed deliciously and nodded.
He held it ready for her and she slid in one arm, then the other and he adjusted it onto her shoulders. This close, he caught a scent of lavender and lemons, and his brain very nearly shut down.
“This is a very good fit,” she said. “And it will keep me so warm.” She made a slow twirl so he could take in the sight of her.
He stuck his palms to the side of his body to stop himself reaching out to her.