Page 3 of To Heal a Broken Earl
“Yes. I remember her. She’s the nice lady who always gives me lemon biscuits,” Katie said, a tiny smile breaking through.
“That’s right, sweetie,” Emma said, forcing a cheerful note into her voice. “I’m sure Lady Beadle will have plenty of biscuits waiting for you.”
Thank goodness she knew Lady Celia Armstrong and her aunt, Viscountess Millicent Beadle, Emma thought as they reached the stable.
She knew it was only a matter of time before the fire exploded into a full inferno, probably engulfing everything, including the stable and her beautiful carriage house. “Stay close while I saddle the horses, Katie,” Emma said.
“What about Mama and Papa? They won’t know how to find us,” Katie whimpered, clutching her little doll tighter.
Emma hadn’t even seen her pick up the doll—but Polly was almost always tucked under the child’s arm.
“Polly wants Mama,” Katie whispered.
Emma crouched down, tapping the tip of Katie’s nose. “Polly needs to be a brave little dolly—just like you, poppet,” she said gently. “I know you can reassure Polly that your mama and papa will find us. I promise.” She gave Katie’s hand a soft squeeze. “Can you do that for me? Can you help Polly be brave just like you?”
Katie nodded solemnly. “Yes, Auntie Emma.” She hugged Polly close and whispered into the doll’s ear, “Everything will be all right.”
As Emma saddled the horses, questions swirled through her mind.How did the fire start? Who is the strange man that Katie was talking about?Then there were the tragic stories of a recent slew of fires that had plagued London.
Just last week, a townhouse went up in flames, killing an older couple inside. There had been no identifiable cause, except arson—and to her knowledge, no suspect, no motive. Emma had seen the burned-out shell of a house herself as she, Celia, and Lady Beadle drove past on the way to the orphanage, where they volunteered every week. The sight had been shocking and deeply disturbing.
Unwilling to succumb to the emotions and the tears that threatened to overwhelm her, Emma focused on her task. She quickly slipped the halters on the two horses housed in the stable. Even though she wouldn’t need it tonight, she strapped her sister’s favorite saddle onto her mare and saddled Martin’s gelding for the ride ahead. Lady Beadle lived a short distance away. Once they arrived safely, Emma would send word to Celia and Martin. In her short time here, Lady Beadle and Celia had become dear friends—and Emma trusted that they would know what to do.
She lifted Katie onto Martin’s horse and swung up behind her, steadying the child in front of her. Gripping the lead rope for her sister’s mare, Emma urged the gelding into motion. Together, they headed to Curzon Street and safety.
But moments later, the hairs on the back of her neck prickled, and a shiver raced down her spine.
Someone was watching them.
But who? Where?
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw him.
A man stood in the shadow of a streetlamp, leaning against a tree, his hat pulled low over his brow. He wore a great black cape, the hem stirring slightly in the breeze.
It’s him—she knew it.
The man Katie had seen at the window.
The man who had started the fire.
We need to get out of here. Now.
Dimly, she heard the distant shouts of men and women, the frantic ringing of alarm bells. Emma pulled Katie closer against her and urged the gelding to a faster pace, keeping a tight grip on the reins.
They had seen the arsonist.
Worse—he had seenthem.
~*~
Chapter Two
No. 14 Upper Brook Street
Near Grosvenor Square, Mayfair
London, England
