“Jessie, please, listen to me.” Owen was calm as he urged her to lower the handkerchief. “You do not need to continue your relationship with him. You can end it. You do not have to end up like those women.”
“I know, but he’ll realize, won’t he? He will start asking me why I have changed my mind. What do I say?”
“Tell him part of the truth. That you realize how dangerous it is to risk ending up with child, and it is not a risk you’re willing to take.” His calm words must have affected her, for she listened to him completely, chewing her lip and slowly nodding. Owen felt like Jessie was herself again, the same woman he had first known join the household staff. She was no longer a woman twisted by her desire of the duke and her envy of the duchess.
“Why do you think the duke has those deeds?”
“I’m sorry?” Owen asked, sitting back in the chair.
“The duchess found deeds of sale for all the lands that have had fires. You do not think that the duke set those fires, do you?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“Jessie, I wish I could say he did not, but that would be a lie.” He shook his head. “When the duchess asked after his tenants, enquiring merely into their health, he as good as attacked her to stop her asking questions.” Jessie flinched, physically recoiling at the idea. “I do not doubt he had something to do with it. Maybe he even burned them down himself.”
“A duke is unlikely to do such work himself.”
“Yes, perhaps you are right.” Owen nodded slowly. “Either way, you do not need to have anything to do with him anymore. If you wish to leave, Jessie, I perfectly understand. I’ll see to it that you get a very good reference and end up somewhere better than this.”
“That is kind, Mr Arnold.” A smile broke through her tears; it was fleeting, though, barely there before it vanished again. “Yet I cannot leave now. I have a family friend; Parker is his name. He’s on his deathbed, hurt by the arson attack at Brokerwood. I want to know who is responsible, Mr Arnold. If it is the duke who hurt him, shouldn’t he be punished for it?”
Owen tilted his head to the side, watching her closely.
“You wish to be the one to enact his punishment?”
“Do you think it possible?” she asked.
“Maybe.” Owen sat back in his chair, scratching his chin in thought. “Maybe there is something we could do.”
***
“Alain, I’m not asking for much. Just a name that is all.” Owen followed the coach driver as he walked through the stable, urging the stable boys to tack up fresh horses.
“Mr Arnold, I do not understand. We spoke of this man before. You have seen him yourself, oui, The gaunt one, tall and gangly.” Alain stretched his hands high into the sky, emphasising his words.
“Yes, I remember, vaguely.” Owen scrunched up his nose as he walked around the stable, climbing over bales of hay in the effort to follow Alain as much as possible. “Where are you going this evening?”
“The duke is heading out for a short visit. He’ll be back later this evening, though, in time for dinner, I believe.”
Owen felt a tightening in his chest at the thought. It seemed he would not be able to have a private evening with Diana tonight. He was left with this curdled feeling of jealousy in his stomach, making him sick. If only the duke would leave again, go off on one of his long jaunts, leaving the two of them alone.
“Did you hear anything of his name? Anything at all?” Owen asked, cutting Alain off before he could escape the stable. The driver paused and looked up to the beams in the ceiling of the stable, clearly hard in thought.
Owen could remember the man they were speaking of well enough, but he was not convinced he could remember the name right, and half the times the man appeared, he refused to give his name at all, insisting on seeing the duke regardless. Owen had soon learned with the duke it was best not to ask too many questions about this associate. “Was it Alfie something … or Arthur.”
“Alfred, that’s it, oui, Alfred.” Alain pointed to him with triumph. “Mr Alfred Potts. That was his name. Odd fellow, he was. Heard him speaking of an old friend of theirs the other day when I picked him up in town.”
“A friend? Of theirs?” Owen asked as he followed Alain towards the carriage, quickly prepared for their excursion. Alain clambered up into the seat, taking hold of the reins attached to the horses and flicking them back. “Who?”
“He used to work for the duke, apparently, though I do not remember seeing him around here.”
“Do you remember the name?”
“Oh, oui,” Alain said with a firm nod. “I remember. I may not remember the man walking here, but I do remember reading the man’s name in the papers a couple of years ago.”
“In the papers? What for?” Owen asked, holding onto the side of the carriage, keen not to let the driver leave too soon.
“Taken to court, I believe. Prison. Charged with some assault, arson, or something or other. Nasty things said about him in the paper. I remember that.”
“What was his name?”
