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T here was no legitimate reason for their supper to be glum. Crispin forced a smile and reminded himself that he’d achieved what he’d set out to accomplish. He’d been well aware of the fact that he could do nothing about the situation once his quest was complete. But being aware and being able to accept were two different things.

He regretted being cross with Birdy but had not yet apologized. Rather than consoling him, her compliments had made him feel weak, impotent. She praised him as one would a puppy who had managed not to piss on the rug. Or maybe it was genuine. He couldn’t tell.

He was unaccustomed to praise of any kind. He’d learned long ago from his father that praise was quickly followed by a reprimand, an insult lest he get prideful, or outright punishment for any outcome that was less than perfect no matter how hard he tried. It was, of course, according to his father, all for his own good.

He vowed to not repeat the behavior with his own children. The thought reminded him he’d not yet discussed the possibility of children with Birdy. As far as he knew, she’d never had her courses. Perhaps she was barren. He’d never thought to ask and wasn’t certain it mattered anymore. Whether or not children came along, they were still a family.

“We should celebrate,” he said at last. “Supper at the Fish Head? I’m going out on a limb here and guessing they’re serving some type of fish.” Speaking the words brightened his mood. His sister’s child was alive and being cared for. Mary-Alice had asked him to find the baby and they had done so. He’d accept that victory.

“You’ll win that bet,” Birdy said, as a smile brightened her face. “Anything but eels. I’m not fond of them.”

“No one is fond of eels,” he teased. “It’s a desperation meal. One rung up from starvation.”

“Then let us eat like Poseidon tonight.”

“We dine like gods,” he said, able to laugh genuinely.

Sticking his head out the window, he yelled up to Mr. Johnstone, “Tonight we shall dine like gods at the Fish Head, my good man. Will you join us?”

“Yes!” It was Luke who replied. “I’m starving.”

“He’s a clever lad, isn’t he?” Crispin turned to Birdy again. “He can read and write according to his father.”

“I’ve enjoyed his company. I’ll be sad when we have to part ways with the Johnstones.”

“I haven’t even thought about what to do next,” he said somberly. “London doesn’t seem safe. I’m not welcome at any of my father’s estates. I’m guessing this isn’t the life you imagined when you became Lady Morgan.”

“I am not unhappy with my life. We’ll make plans tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” he agreed. “Because tonight we dine like gods.”

“A heavenly meal,” Luke exclaimed as he pushed his plate away.

“I’m stuffed as a haggis,” Mr. Johnstone chimed in, despite the mostly full plate in front of him.

“To our success.” Crispin raised his mug and waited for the others to follow suit. “We came, we saw, we…safely retreated.”

“Success,” Birdy said, raising her mug of ale to match his.

“Good on us,” Luke said, raising his mug as well.

“Aye,” was all Mr. Johnstone added.

After the dull clunk of mugs meeting for their toast, Crispin swallowed down the warm ale. Tomorrow he’d consider their long-term plan. For tonight, they’d return to their four-room castle and rest.

The hearty meal left everyone sated and sleepy. The coach was hastily stored while Luke tended to the horses. As the sun slipped beyond the horizon, they were all tucked into their beds.

“Sleep well, Lady Morgan,” Crispin said as he leaned over to kiss Birdy goodnight. He was too tired to initiate lovemaking and hoped she wouldn’t think he was still angry.

Eyes springing open when Birdy bolted upright beside him, Crispin shook off his sleepiness. Quickly realizing what had awakened her, he grabbed for his clothes. The horses were restless. Not screaming, but more restless than they should be at this time of night.

“Something’s not right,” she whispered into the darkness as the sound of the horses punctuated the night air.

“I’m going out there,” Crispin replied, pulling on his trousers.

“I’m coming with you.” Birdy threw the blanket aside and reached for her dressing gown and her knife.

“It’s probably nothing,” he said. “You should sleep.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he caught his first whiff of smoke. “ Damn ,” he said, rushing to the window to find nothing out of place. Behind him, Birdy became a flurry of activity as she dressed and threw their belongings on top of the blanket.

“Go!” she yelled. “Find Luke and Mr. Johnstone. I’ll be right behind you.”

Hesitating only a moment as he considered throwing her over his shoulder, Crispin grabbed her by the arm. “I’m not leaving you.”

“I’m ready.” She gathered up the ends of the blanket and dragged the parcel to the door. “Hurry!”

Once assured she was away from the house and out of danger, Crispin ran into the stables, coming face to face with a wall of fire in the corner behind the coach. Nearly blinded by the white-hot flames, Crispin knew buckets and rags would be useless. Tendrils of fire were already snaking their way across the roof timbers with an ominous snapping and crackling.

“Luke!” he called out. “Mr. Johnstone! Where are you?” Afraid they’d been caught sleeping in the coach, Crispin flung the door open to find it empty save for a small, neat blaze in the middle of the floor next to an empty bottle. This was no accident.

Turning to the horses next, he knew just opening the stalls wouldn’t be good enough. The frightened animals wouldn’t flee, they’d need to be led out. Pulling his shirt collar over his nose and mouth, Crispin tried to draw a full breath without choking.

A sudden splash of water against a stall door brought him back to his senses. Luke and Johnstone had grabbed feed buckets and gotten water from the well. It wouldn’t be enough to save the building, but it might be enough to keep the flame at bay long enough to save the horses.

Everyone grabbed a horse and pulled them from the burning stables. The animals were screaming now, and with eyes wide, reared up in fear. Leading his horse all the way out to the gate by the lane, Crispin tied off the lead rope and ran back to help Birdy.

“Luke,” he yelled out, “Take the animals out to the lane away from the house. Then run down to the Fish Head and get help.” The thatched roof of the cottage was now feeding the fire, creating a curtain of smoke and ash and sparks that threatened the entire yard.

“I’ve got it,” he said to Birdy as he reached out to help grab her charge’s lead rope. The animal was in a panic, tossing its head, nearly pulling Birdy from her feet. Together, they were able to get the beast under control and led to the others, where it calmed down enough to avoid injuring itself.

The flames grew higher, becoming a bright beacon in the moonlit sky. Crispin’s gut clenched as the roof over the bedroom crashed down, sending a riot of orange sparks and embers into the night air like a fireworks display. Twenty minutes ago, he and Birdy were sound asleep in that room.

“What happened?” he asked Johnstone, as the man watched the coach collapse into a fireball.

“Once the horses were taken care of for the night, we set up our pallets in the garden behind the stables. Didn’t figure there’d be any harm in it. We were close enough to hear should anything go wrong.”

“What woke you?”

“An odd noise. Sort of a thunk. I thought it was one of the horses. We didn’t leave no lantern in there, if that’s what you’re thinking. None of them animals kicked over a lantern. We ran for water as soon as I smelled smoke, but it was too late. The flames grew too quickly.”

“It wasn’t a lantern, Mr. Johnstone. I’ll replace whatever belongings you lost in the blaze. Thank God you and Luke weren’t sleeping in there tonight.”

Watching as the man returned to his son and the horses, Crispin wrestled with the knowledge that this fire was deliberately set. Had their troubles followed them from London or did Mr. Johnstone have his own enemies? Either way, someone was willing to risk killing four people to get their point across.

“Luke says the Fish Head has rooms we can use for the rest of the night,” Birdy said, walking up to stand at his side. “I would be more comfortable in the woods.”

“Me too,” he replied, pulling her close to his side. “This was no accident. We’ll take turns standing guard tonight. Do you still have your pistol?”

“And my knife.”

“Birdy,” he began, “I hate to ask, but do you think Mr. Johnstone or Luke could have anything to do with this?”

“I’d hate to think so. They slept outside the night before, too. Luke’s fear appears genuine and Mr. Johnstone, I think, would have led the horses to safety first. They were fortunate to escape death tonight.”

“Hm,” Crispin said with a frown as he kicked at a charred plank at his feet. “Why does our fire reek of fish?”

“Whale oil,” Birdy replied as her eyes went wide. “That’s why the flame spread so quickly. It was fueled by whale oil.”

“Someone didn’t just take a chance on killing four people. They were betting on it.”

Despite taking turns sleeping, the night was long and mostly restless. Before this journey, it had been years since Crispin slept rough in the forest. The last time hadn’t ended well, and he was determined that this time would produce a better outcome. He couldn’t let everyone down again.

None of the kitchen supplies had been saved, and they’d have to walk to the Fish Head if they wanted tea or coffee. Everything they owned could fit in a tea chest. If they had a tea chest. With her quick thinking, Birdy was able to save them each a change of clothing along with her moccasins and leather stockings.

Thinking quickly, Crispin grabbed his extra coat and felt inside the pockets. His letter of credit from his bank in London was still there. If they could get to a bank, he’d be able to access his funds. They could buy a new coach and even rent a house. But where? Where was safe enough?

There was only one place he could think of, and it was their very last resort.

“What are the chances, you think, of the person who started that fire leaving Grimsby after their dirty deed last night?” By his reckoning, they had mere hours rather than days to leave Grimsby and find somewhere safer.

“Slim,” she replied. “There was a man on the island that liked to set fires. He enjoyed watching the flames eat everything in their path. The chaos and activity his fires caused brought him great pleasure. He was caught because he always stayed nearby to watch his handiwork. Now I always wonder about fires which appear to be set—was the person who set it still nearby, watching? If so, they most likely know we survived.”

“Damn. We need to get to the bank. Every High Street has a bank. We must find it.”

“We still have horses. Are they broken for riders?”

“Doubtful. Let’s walk to the Fish Head for tea and ask Mr. Johnstone’s opinion. I want to ensure they enjoyed a better night’s sleep than we had. Also, if they’re still in Grimsby and among the living.”

“We’ll have to carry our things in peddler’s packs.” Birdy quickly tore the blanket in half, divvied up their things and created two knapsacks. Fashioning straps from a leather belt and a combination of leather hair ties, braces, and the strings from her reticule, they were able to carry their things securely if not comfortably.

Daring to relax a little among the morning crowd of the Fish Head, Crispin looked at each face, wondering if their arsonist was present. Everyone was talking about the fire. Strangers peppered him with questions for which he had few answers. He kept his answers brief and factual. Admitting he suspected foul play, Crispin offered no opinion as to who might have been responsible. The chance of reprisal was too great.

Left alone for a few moments, Crispin moved their small party to a private dining area. It would be their best chance for an honest conversation. Mr. Johnstone listened to his revelation of finding the whale oil bottle in the coach with horrified curiosity. If the man was complicit, he was the world’s greatest actor.

When it came time to plan their next move, Crispin was surprised that both Johnstone and his son wanted to continue on as a foursome.

“We could walk to High Street; it isn’t more than a mile away. The stables there will have carriages to let. Maybe even a traveling coach.” It wasn’t until Luke left to use the necessary that Mr. Johnstone revealed his reasoning.

“Afore this happened,” he said with a sad shrug, “I was going to inquire if you two might be needing a helpful lad. A hard worker. He’s a good and loyal boy.”

“Luke?” Crispin asked. “But, why?” The man’s meaning, at first unclear in their current situation, began to soak in.

“He’s good with the horses, but he’s no coachman. He’s got too much of his mother in him, I suppose. He’s already bored of my life and not hardly a child no more. He needs to grow into his own man. I want him to have the adventures he dreams of. He’s got a better chance with you than with me.”

“But what about last night?” Birdy asked, incredulous. “Someone is actively trying to kill us.”

“I ain’t been totally honest with you, milady. That day in St. Albans, when you saw us at the coaching inn, I was getting ready to tell my boy I’ve got the cancer. Ain’t nothing to do for it, according to the sawbones. One last job with my boy sounded like a miracle to me. It’s been a gift, milady. A true gift. I need to see the boy settled before I go to my reward.”

“Johnstone, I had no idea.” Crispin placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.” So much of their journey now made more sense. It had seemed odd that Johnstone was quickly winded while hitching up the coach. He didn’t eat well and mixed a mysterious powder into his tea each morning.

“No, milord, don’t be sorry. Just tell me you’ll take him on. The way you wouldn’t give up on your sister’s baby showed me you’d be a good man. You won’t give up on my son either. I ain’t got the time to be worried about whoever devils you. You and your good lady will survive and so will my son.”

“Where will you go?” Birdy asked.

“Might just stay here,” he replied. “It’s quiet and I like fish.” It was all the explanation he could muster before Luke returned to the table.

“We going to High Street?” he asked.

“Yes,” Crispin and Birdy answered together. Crispin would allow Mr. Johnstone to explain his choices to his son in his own time. The man’s agreeableness to their mad dash out of London now made perfect sense. It was no wonder he’d gone along with their plan. For whatever reason, fate had crossed their paths.

Not daring to leave them behind, they bought hackamores and rope to walk the beasts up the road to High Street. Before the week was out, the horses would need to be returned to a coaching inn so they could make their way back to Doncaster where they’d been rented from.

Sedwell’s Bank was small and didn’t have enough cash on hand to surrender all his funds, but Crispin was able to get enough ready cash to get them away from Grimsby. Far away. While he dealt with the bankers, Birdy and Luke went shopping to replace a few of their lost supplies, and Johnstone took the horses to the local stables to get them fed while he inquired after another traveling coach.

Business complete, Crispin walked to the middle of High Street and looked up and down the road. Relieved when he could see Birdy and Luke, there was still no sign of Johnstone. Deciding it was more important to keep Birdy within his sight, he started down the road after her. They could walk together to the stables later.

Relieved when they finally saw Johnstone at the stables, Crispin half-believed the man would disappear, leaving his son behind without explanation. Crispin had half a plan in his head for their departure, but wanted to hear what Johnstone might have discovered at the stables.

“The lads appear well recovered from last night’s fiery adventure,” Johnstone said with a smile as he nodded toward the stable’s holding pen, where their team stood calmly. “They’ve some fine gigs here, but nothing so large as your grand traveling coach.”

“I have a proposition for you, Mr. Johnstone. Come,” he said, placing his hand on the older man’s shoulder, “Walk with me.” Outside of Luke and Birdy’s hearing, Crispin outlined his mad idea.

“I agree,” Mr. Johnstone said, nodding his head. “The best way to leave a port town is by water. My boy will be over the moon about that.”

“I haven’t decided where we’ll go yet. North to Scotland, I suppose. Time is a factor. We’ll have to see what’s available and ready to sail.”

“And your good wife?” Johnstone’s mouth quirked into a little smile. “I was married long enough to know she’ll have an opinion. Mayhap you should talk it over with her before we break the news to Luke.”

“What of you?” Crispin knew the man’s mind would not be swayed from his conviction that they should journey on with his son.

“I’ll get the horses back to Doncaster for you. Might come back here after. Might not. I’m tired, Lord Morgan. Mighty tired. A man knows when his time is near.”

“I’ll pay you enough to keep your last days comfortable.” It was the only solace Crispin could offer.

“Save your generosity for my boy. Give him a chance to come up in the world. He’s so damn smart,” the man added with tears in his eyes. “I know I’m placing a burden on you, but I’m a desperate man in his last days. That boy is my legacy.”

“We’ll treat him as part of the family. As long as I live, he will not know hunger.”

“Don’t tell him I’m dying,” Johnstone said, reaching out to grab Crispin’s arm. “Let him think we’ll meet up again someday. He won’t leave me otherwise.”

“If that’s your wish, I’ll see to it.” Crispin looked over to his wife and Luke one more time. He was responsible for both of them now. “Will you go with us to the port?”

“Aye,” Johnstone replied, looking down at his feet. “If you might see your way to renting a carriage for the journey, I’d much appreciate it.”

“Of course. I’ll rent a four-in-hand and have the stable lads hitch it up.”

“You’ll let me drive, won’t you? Don’t want the boy seeing me weak.”

“You’re the coachman.”