Page 89 of An Alleged Rogue

“It won’t do the horses any good in this terrible air,” Mr. Hadford said.

“I realize that.” Adam worked to keep his voice even. “But I believe those flames are coming from Dunsbourne Manor.”

Mr. Hadford jolted upright in his seat. “Good heavens, man! Why didn’t you say so right away?” He reached for his walking stick and rapped on the side of the carriage. Immediately, the vehicle picked up speed.

Adam’s thoughts raced along with the carriage wheels. Perhaps he was mistaken. There was plenty of woodland surrounding the house. But if that were the case, the fire would be higher on the hillside. They were close enough now that he could see flames licking the sky. Please, God, he prayed silently. Protect the people at Dunsbourne Manor. Keep Emily safe. Let me get there in time.

“If the fire is on your property, I shall drop you off and go directly to Charwell Park to rally men to assist with putting out the blaze,” Mr. Hadford said.

Adam took a steadying breath. “Thank you, sir. That would be most helpful.”

They were turning onto the drive that led to his home. As soon as they rounded the bend, he would know. The wheels spun on the gravel, but the silence in the carriage was complete. Mr. Hadford’s seat creaked. Adam leaned forward, his eyes glued to the view through the window. And suddenly, there it was. The house loomed out of the darkness, shrouded in smoke but mercifully intact.

“It’s not the house, Dunsbourne. It must be the orchard.”

Gratitude clogged Adam’s throat. His home was safe. At least for now.

“You will forgive me if I exit abruptly.”

“The sooner you leave, the sooner I can go for help.”

Adam caught hold of the door handle and pulled. The carriage was still moving, but he pushed the door open and leaped out. The moment his feet hit the ground, he started to run. He rounded the front of the house. A quick glance told him the stable and cart shed were dark. The orchard, however, was ablaze.

Voices reached him, indistinguishable and faint. Smoke swirled in the breeze, shifting the shadows and making his eyes water and his throat ache. But he kept running, heading directly for the largest fire on the far side of the orchard.

Half a dozen trees were burning. As Adam drew nearer, he could pick out the silhouettes of people flitting in and out of the fire’s glow. He broke through the trees onto the narrow strip of land where the tumps had lain. The mounds were gone. Dark marks, wet and muddy, replaced them. Beyond them, people were lined up a few feet apart from the blazing trees, across the public footpath, and into the river. Adam headed directly toward the man beneath the blazing apple tree.

“Henry! What happened?”

The old gardener started. “Lord Dunsbourne!” He had to shout to be heard over the roaring of the flames above. “Thank the ’eavens you’ve come.” Henry looked back down the line. The bucket was still two people away. “Someone set fire t’ all the tumps. We got ’ere as fast as we could, but there’s no betterin’ this blasted wind.”

Someone set fire to all the tumps. The words entered Adam’s heart with crushing force and sent his mind reeling. Who would do this? Had the rumors circulating about him truly become so malicious they had spawned personal vendettas?

A bucket arrived. Adam took it from Mrs. Foster and tossed the water at the tree, then handed the bucket off to the housekeeper again, who ran back toward the river without a word.

“We need more buckets!”

“Oliver and Miss Hadford were bringin’ ’em. They left the stables ahead of me, but we ain’t seen ’em since.”

Adam stared at him through the smoke, his heart taking yet another hit. “Miss Hadford is in the orchard?”

Henry coughed. “She was. But I don’t know what’s become of ’er. Or Oliver, fer that matter.”

“Has no one looked for them?” There was no hiding Adam’s escalating alarm or rebuke.

“No, m’ lord. We’ve been battlin’ this fire fer all we’re worth. There’s just not enough of us—” Henry’s voice broke. He coughed—a protracted, racking cough that had him doubled over and gasping for air.

Adam reached for the man’s arm and eased him into a sitting position on the ground. Heaven help him. Why was he berating the man who was giving all he had to save the orchard?

“Forgive me, Henry. You have already done so much.”

Another bucket arrived. Adam reached for it, tossed its contents at the tree, and passed it off again. The effort was little more effective than if he had spat at the flames. A handful of people and a few buckets of water may have been enough to douse the tumps, but they were no match for this rapidly growing conflagration. He could only pray that Mr. Hadford’s help would arrive soon.

A woman shouted. Someone broke away from the bucket line and began running toward the trees. Emily. The diminutive figure wearing a gown could be no one else. Adam chased after her, his long stride rapidly eating the distance between them.

“Emily. Wait!”

Her footsteps faltered, and she turned her head. “Adam!” she cried. He heard the relief in her voice, but she kept moving. “Hurry! Oliver and Phoebe are missing, and I think I saw someone in the trees over there.”