Page 56 of When You Rescued Me

“Ya don’t say.” The fisherman raised his hat slightly and scratched his wet head with an even wetter hand. “That’s troublin’.”

“It is,” Jealous agreed. “But if you gave us a description of the fellow who likely didn’t belong here last night, you’d be playing an enormous role in assisting the Royal Navy in their efforts to prevent any more fires from happening.”

“’Normous role, eh?” Despite his bent back, the fisherman seemed to stand a little taller. “Right then . . .” He furrowed his brow as though thinking hard. “Light-brown ’air. Scraggly, reached about t’ ’is collar. Short. Not much taller ’un me wife, and she’s five feet five inches. But ’e were slighter than ’er. Skinny fella. Built more like a boy than a man, but ’e had some whiskers. Nothin’ ya’d actually call a beard. More like ’e’d fergot t’ shave.” He studied Jealous’s and Samuel’s sodden boots. “’Is shoes weren’t the kind ya see in these parts. I noticed ’cause they made a clatter when ’e ran. Big brass buckle on the top o’ each one.”

“Was he carrying anything?” Jealous asked.

The fisherman’s face cleared. “As a matter o’ fact, ’e were. A bottle, it was. Ya’d ’ave thought it was brandy or rum or the like, but it smelled like turps. Made me wonder if ’e’d been lacquering one o’ th’ ships.”

“Mr.—” Jealous began.

“Ebeneezer Parkin,” the fisherman said. “But ya can call me Eb. Everyone ’round ’ere does.”

“Eb,” Jealous started again. “If I have my say, you’ll receive a medal from the Royal Navy for all you’ve done to help us.”

Eb grinned. “Well now, that’d be grand.”

Jealous chuckled. It was his first sign of good humor since they’d arrived in Bristol five hours before.

“Good day to you, Eb,” he said.

“Good day, Eb,” Samuel echoed.

“Same t’ each o’ ya,” Eb said, and then he turned to Samuel. “Look me up if ya ever want t’ try yer ’and at cod fishin’ in the Bristol Channel, Mr. Ross. We’ll choose a grand wet day, just like this one.”

“You almost had me persuaded, Eb,” Samuel said.

The old man chortled with laughter. “Go on with ya,” he said. “Find yerselves a warm fire an’ an ’ot meal. Ya look colder an’ wetter ’un me fish.”

Samuel was happy to comply, and to his relief, Jealous started toward the inn where they’d left their horses with long, rapid strides.

“Well?” Samuel asked when they were far enough from Eb to talk normally. “How helpful was that description?”

“He could have been describing half the men in England,” Jealous said.

“Half the short men in England,” Samuel said.

“Half the short men,” Jealous amended, “and of them, half of those who bought their shoes abroad, and of them, half of those who have experience with paint, lacquer, and turpentine.”

“And of them, those with a criminal bent,” Samuel added.

“Precisely.” Jealous marched on through the rain with new purpose in his gait. “After all that, I believe we may have narrowed our suspects down to a gentleman who should not be here at all.”

“What does that mean?” Samuel asked.

“That is precisely what I wish to find out when I look through the Bow Street records tomorrow afternoon,” Jealous said, avoiding a large puddle only to encounter another one.

Tomorrow afternoon. Samuel set his sights on the flickering candles in the window of the distant inn. They were in for a very early start and another long, hard ride if they were to arrive back at Bow Street by then, but Samuel would welcome returning to London sooner rather than later. Just so long as they had time to eat and dry off first.

Chapter 22

Hannah climbed into the carriage and watched as Prescott assisted her father in after her.

“You are sure about this, my dear?” her father asked when he was situated on the seat across from her, his cane lying atop his knee. “I would not have you make this journey if you have any trace of the headache that has confined you to your room these last few days. As you can see, with Prescott’s assistance, I could manage this journey very well alone.”

“I am much improved, Father. Truly.” Somewhat improved may have been a better description, but it would have been insufficient to persuade her father that she was well enough to join him at the wharf.

“Hmm.” Her father studied her face. Hannah mustered a smile, but his expression remained skeptical. “You still look pale.”