“He’s been raving about a woman helping him,” the officer says.
“I’m not raving, young man! She shoved me through the door just as the second eruption occurred. I heard her scream out. I would have been hurt much worse if it weren’t for her, Declan!”
“Who is she?” Declan asks.
“I don't know, but she was in pain. I couldn’t see. The smoke and fire were too much for me.” Matthew slumps back, coughing heavily, and they quickly tend to him, scaring Declan.
Once they clear him to leave, he sends for a doctor and arranges for a carriage to drive him home just as the snow starts.
After seeing his grandfather home and sitting with the doctor, Declan returns to the workshop to check in with the Captain of the fire department and the Police officer. He gives a statement, and they ask to speak to his grandfather the next day to take his account regarding the woman.
“Two of our firemen reported speaking to a maid. She led them to your grandfather.”
“A female voice tried to help open the doors. Do you think she had something to do with the fire?” Declan asks.
“It's possible, or she was a witness. Either way, we need to speak to her.”
The next few hours are spent cleaning up and assessing the damage.
“Lord Sheridan?”
“Yes.” He turns, dropping the shovel of burnt debris into a bin. “Do you know the cause yet?”
“Yes, Sir. We think it was started in the back corner. Unfortunately, the fire rolled up the walls and inside, igniting the solvent fumes. The second explosion occurred when the flames reached the shelves.”
“I see. Is the building a total loss?”
“No, Sir. You lost a third of the shop. The building should be sound. Mostly water damage and flame. I would suggest having it shored up. The furniture store was left unscathed. You were lucky, Lord Sheridan.”
“Lucky? How so?” Declan asks as he stares at the destroyed back corner of the workshop. His new piece was damaged, and the debris and black soot cover everything in a soggy murky tar.
“I believe this fire was set intentionally, outside. If it had been inside longer, we could have been looking at a catastrophic fire like the one in California.”
“Intentionally set? What makes you think that?” His dark blue eyes are wide with shock, followed by anger.
“Walk with me.”
Declan follows him to the side of the building and stares at the scattered charred remains of a woodpile.
“We are trained to look for accelerants, and this fire started here. A woodpile is never a good idea.”
“I understand that’s why we keep the scrap pile wet down, that’s what the barrel of water is for. To avoid fire.”
“Lord Sheridan, that’s not water, it’s oil.”
“What!” he stares in shock.
“Why would someone fill the barrel with oil?”
“I’m not sure, Sir, but I’d say you have some enemies.”
“I see, thank you for all you’ve done. I’ll speak to the Police tomorrow about this.”
Chapter 6
“You did what?” Dillon asks as she strips the maid’s uniform off and helps her change into a clean dress. Her maid uniform is ruined. Thankfully, she keeps clothes in Dillon’s guestroom with her trunk.
“Place your hand in this bowl, it will help with the burn,” Elliot says softly.
“Thank you,” she hisses as she lowers it into the water. She sits and lets him tend to her hand. “Dillon, I had to try to warn them.”
“Yes, but you could’ve been hurt…”
“She is hurt, Dillon,” her husband snaps, “now’s not the time.”
“I'm sorry, you're right. How bad is her leg?” Dillon wrings her hands with worry.
“I’m fine. Just patch it up so I can get back to the house before they do!” London glances at the clock, fighting back nausea.
“You’re lucky Elliot was here,” she drops a hand on his shoulder as he peels back the cloth and looks at her leg.
London hisses when the fresh air hits the burn. “Oh,” she groans, and tears threaten. London breathes slowly, struggling to control the pain.
“I need my other bag,” Elliot hurries from the room up the stairs in their brownstone to the second floor.
“I’m sorry, Dillon, but I didn’t know where else to go,” she sniffs.
“We’ve been friends for years, London. You can always come to me,” she sits beside her and grasps her good hand.
Elliot returns with a small glass jar of salve. “This is burn ointment. It should help alleviate some of the pain. Use it on your hand and leg twice a day. Your layers helped prevent a deeper burn on your leg. You were lucky, but your hand is worse. Don’t pop the blister forming on the palm. It is a protective layer.”
“I understand,” sweat beads on her forehead, and she bites her lips while he spreads it on her lower leg.
Dillon tries to distract her by talking about her students while he treats her hand and wraps it. She’s teaching and loving it. Elliot nods at her, “That’s all I can do for now. I would give you something for the pain,”
“No. You know that I can’t work on morphine. I have to get back.” London tries to stand, but Dillon stops her with a hand on her arm.
“We've been talking, London, and we want you to know you are welcome to move in with us.”
London stands and shakes her head. “No, thank you. I’m almost at my goal.”
“If your plans fall through, you will always have a place with us,” Elliot insists. “Thanks to your investment tips, we are in a much better place financially. We owe you.”
“No, your friendship is
