The big African spoke. ‘Dunno. One minute we were working and the next, there was a bang.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘The shed just went up. There was no warning, no time.’ He shook his head.
‘The building was a chicken coop.’ Emma explained to Ren, filling him in. ‘Some of the chickens were outside, but we likely lost at least twelve.’
Ren nodded. It could have been worse. As fires and damages went, this was minor; Just chickens and a shed. The loss would be an inconvenience, but they would recover from it. It could have been the hay, the cows, the food staples, human lives even. Fires were dangerous to a farm’s prosperity.
The business of the fire satisfied for the moment, Ren turned his attention to the newcomer. Ren stuck out his hand when it became apparent Emma wasn’t going to make introductions. ‘I’m Ren Dryden, Merrimore’s cousin.’
The stranger shook his hand, smiling. He was a strong man, tall, probably in his early forties. ‘I’m Sir Arthur Gridley, your neighbour to the south. It looks like you’ve come just in time.’ He gave Emma a sideways glance of friendly condescension that perhaps explained her reluctance to make introductions.
‘Our Emma’s had a struggle of it since Merrimore passed away. It has been one thing after the other for the poor girl. She’s had quite the run of bad luck: a sick horse the other day, the broken wagon wheel last week, trouble with the equipment at the mill. We’ve all tried to pitch in, but Emma’s stubborn and won’t take a bit of help.’
Emma’s mouth hardened into a grim line. Ren wondered what she disliked most, being talked about as if she weren’t here or having her weaknesses exposed to an outsider. Or maybe, on second consideration, it was Gridley she was most opposed to.
The man seemed nice enough, certainly eager to be neighbourly but Ren noticed Emma had stepped closer to him during the exchange. Closer to himself or away from Gridley? Perhaps there was more there than met the eye. He’d have to follow that up later. Right now he had an explosion to solve. ‘I’m going to walk through the ruins and see if I can’t unearth any signs of what might have started the fire. I’d welcome any assistance.’ He’d let Gridley prove himself. After all, Emma didn’t much like him at the moment either. She might have an aversion to men in general or just to men who posed a threat to her authority.
Ren moved towards the remains of the chicken coop, Gridley on one side, Emma on the other. ‘Look for anything that might have triggered an explosion: a wire, a fuse, a match. I don’t think the fire had time to get too hot, clues have likely survived.’
He’d meant the instructions for Gridley, but Emma moved forward, ready to brave the ashes. Ren stuck out an arm, barring the way. ‘Not you, Miss Ward. What’s left of your slippers won’t last. Hot or not, any residual ash could burn right through those flimsy soles. I need you to talk to people, they know you. Perhaps someone might remember some strange activity around the coop before the explosion.’
She shot him an angry glare. He wasn’t scoring any points in his favour with this latest directive, but she went. Did she go out of acquiescence to his request or as a chance to be away from Gridley? His curiosity would liked to have seen what she’d have done if Gridley hadn’t been there.
Digging through the rubble was more difficult than expected. Ren had thought it would be fairly easy to determine the cause of the fire—after all, the coop hadn’t been that big to begin with once the smoke had cleared and there wasn’t that much debris.
Ren pushed back his hair with a dirty, sweaty hand and looked around him. They were nearly done and nothing had shown up. Gridley waved at him a few feet away and strode over.
‘I think I’ve found something,’ he called out loudly enough to draw attention. He held up a small bundle of grey cloth. The people working near him gasped and moved out of the away with anxious steps. Out of the corner of his eye, Ren saw Emma hurry towards him.
Ren took the item from Arthur Gridley and turned it over in study. ‘What is it? It looks like a child’s doll.’ A poorly made one. It was nothing more than cloth sewn into a crude resemblance of a human form.
Gridley and Emma exchanged glances laced with challenge. Emma’s voice conveyed a quiet anger when she spoke. ‘It’s obeah magic. This is a bad-luck charm.’ She shot an accusing glare at Gridley.
Gridley blew out a breath, sounding genuinely aggrieved. ‘I’m sorry, Emma. It’s the last thing you need.’ He stepped forward to put a consoling hand on Emma’s arm. This time Ren didn’t imagine her response. She moved out of reach, stepping on the toes of his boots as she backed up. Gridley’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, opting instead to pretend he didn’t notice the slight.
‘This doll didn’t start the fire,’ Ren put in, drawing them away from whatever private war waged between them. He fingered the doll. Something wasn’t right, but his mind couldn’t grasp it.
Gridley gave a harsh laugh. ‘I’m not sure it matters what started the fire. I’m not even sure it matters only a chicken coop burnt down. It’s not the fire that’s damaging.’ He nodded to the huddle of people forming behind the big African. ‘Emma’s likely not to have any workers in the morning. Obeah magic is powerful and they believe in it.’
The tension between Emma and Gridley ratcheted up a notch. Gridley shifted on his feet and Ren flicked a covert glance over his person, noting the telltale beginnings of tightening trousers. Gridley tugged at his coat front in the age-old effort to disguise a growing arousal. For all of Gridley’s bonhomie, Ren would wager his last guinea Emma didn’t care for her neighbour as much as the neighbour cared for her, if caring was the right word. He wasn’t convinced yet that it was. There were other less flattering, less worthy words that recommended themselves.
The big African approached tentatively. ‘Miss Emma, no one wants to go back to work today. The healers need time to purify the farmyard, to make it safe again.’
Gridley spat on the ground and prepared to respond. ‘Now you listen here, you’re making a working wage—’
Emma interrupted firmly, her anger directed openly at Gridley. ‘This is my place. I will handle any business that needs handling.’ Ren had to give Emma Ward credit. Even in a tattered gown, she commanded authority. She’d acquitted herself well today in the face of a crisis.
Emma stepped forward towards the foreman, distancing herself from him and Gridley. ‘Peter, tell everyone they can have the rest of the day off. They may do whatever they need to do. But make it clear, they are to be back at work tomorrow. If the harvest fails, we all fail and failure doesn’t pay the bills.’
‘You are too generous with them,’ Gridley warned in low tones. The man was treading on dangerous ground. Couldn’t he see Emma was spoiling for a fight? Maybe a fight was what he wanted. Perhaps it was the presence of conflict that fuelled his desire. Some men were like that.
Emma’s chin went up in defiance and Ren didn’t think much of Gridley’s chances. ‘It is my mistake to make then. The last time I checked, it was my name on the deed, not yours. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go home and clean up.’
Ren laughed to himself as he gave Emma a leg up on the horse. She’d neatly dismissed Sir Arthur Gridley and Gridley had been furious over it. Perhaps he’d been expecting an invitation to tea? Or perhaps not, given Emma’s overt dislike of him. There probably hadn’t been invitations to tea for quite a while. Such dislike didn’t grow up overnight or without cause.
Ren wasn’t laughing when she did the same thing to him back at the house, the sun starting to set in the sky. She wanted a bath and would it be all right, given the excitement of the day, if she took dinner in her rooms?