Page 64 of Betting on a Duke
“N-n-no one.”
He grabbed a fistful of his hair and forced the boy to look at him. “I said, don’t lie to me. You’re going to pay for your crimes. Don’t you want the person who hired you to pay for his? I’ll say it again. Who hired you?”
The boy broke down and sobbed. “My ma’s sick. My pa’s dead. It’s just me and my ma. I needed the coin.”
“If you tell me, I guarantee you that your ma will be taken care of.” Ramsbury pulled his head up again. “So what will it be? Confess or lie?”
“The same lord who paid me to spread the gossip about the duke. He told me what side of the house to burn.”
Samuel heard Clarice gasp beside him. He entwined his hand with hers and squeezed, hoping to give her strength to face the truth.
“I only know his name because I overheard someone call him. It’s Port something. That’s all I know.”
“Portsmouth,” Samuel spat out.
“That’s it,” the boy hissed.
Ramsbury said, “I’m going to lock him inside one of the stalls and have someone watch over him. We need to talk to the constable.”
Clarice approached Anna and took her hand to offer support. “I’m so sorry for what my father did.”
Anna took a deep breath and cleared her throat. “You had nothing to do with it. Your father did.”
Samuel approached Anna and Clarice, both shivering in their nightclothes. He knew how they felt—he was chilled to the bone, not only because he wore nothing but underclothes but also from the realization that Portsmouth was responsible. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that the man had also killed his family. He may not have been the one to hold the torch that had ignited that fire, but he was growing more and more certain that he’d hired them. It was too much of a coincidence. He’d failed to kill him with his family, so he’d tried again. Oh, dear God, what kind of person would risk killing others to reach the one he wanted? What about his own daughter? Had she ever meant anything to him?
If Samuel had had any substantial amount of food in his stomach, he knew it would have come up. “Come, let’s get you ladies to the house. It may be smoky and smell of burning wood, but there must be a room in the west wing that we can go to and be safe.”
“There is a small salon there,” Anna said. “There’s a door at the beginning of the wing. We can enter there.”
“With any luck, the kitchen is not in danger of fire, and the cook can prepare a tray with hot coffee and tea while we wait for the constable’s arrival,” Samuel remarked.
Anna followed Samuel and Clarice through the door she mentioned. All three of them paused and looked down a long hall, whicheventually opened into the main entry, trying to see any damage or any sign of fire. Smoke hung in the air. Samuel would be alert in case the fire spread. “Which door?”
“Second on the right.”
The room was shut, so when they entered, it was smoke-free and had only a slight smell. Or that could just be the soot and smoke stuck in his nasal passages.
“If you see or hear any sign of fire, get out. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He left them on the sofa together, wrapped in a throw he found. He picked up a discarded shawl and draped it across his shoulders to cover his chest. He carefully made his way down the long corridor to the main entry. He didn’t dare to go down the corridor to the entrance to the east wing. But so far, he hadn’t come across any fire damage. Instead, he made his way to the back of the house to the kitchen. The cook and several kitchen maids were already preparing the morning meal, heating water, and steaming coffee as if nothing was amiss, though a bit early to be sure. When Mrs. Mather saw him, she clutched her chest and gasped. “Your Grace. Thank Christ you all escaped the fire unharmed. What can I get you?”
“Forgive my appearance. Could you prepare a tray? We are expecting the constable.”
She bobbed a curtsy. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“Deliver it to the salon in the west wing. But mind you, the fire is still smoldering in the east wing. Be safe and aware. Get out if you see any sign the fire is spreading this way.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Samuel, clutching the shawl, hurried from the kitchen and rushed to the salon. He laughed when he thought about the look Mrs. Mather gave him when she saw his lack of clothing and the green and pink shawl he used to try and hide what he could.
Entering the salon, he found Ramsbury, who wore clean breeches and a shirt—but by the baggy fit, definitely not his—comforting Annaon the settee. Clarice had moved to a chair, and he sank down in the one next to her and looked at Ramsbury. “I don’t suppose you and Anna had clothing in any other rooms in the house besides the east wing?”
Ramsbury managed a brief grin. “I already sent my valet and Anna’s maid to the attic where we store our out-of-season clothing. And of course you must both borrow whatever you need.”
“Thank you,” Clarice said, still shivering.
“Did the boy confess anything else?” he asked.
“Just what he told us the first time. Oh, but yes. There’s one more thing. When Portsmouth approached him at the Pheasant Inn stables, where the boy works, about setting the fire, he recognized Kirkland, hit him over the head, tied him up, and left him locked inside an empty horse stall. I sent one of the footmen to free him, take him to the Red Lion Inn, and have them tend to his injuries and ensure his safety.”
