Page 53 of A Murder in Bloomsbury

A sudden gust of wind blew smoke directly toward us. Miriam coughed sharply and raised a gloved hand to her mouth. “That settles it,” she declared. “You have seen enough.”

“I need to know whether anyone was hurt.”

“And you need lungs to breathe.”

Still, she did not force me to leave immediately. Together, we watched as another section of the roof collapsed inward in a shower of sparks.

A printer emerged moments later blackened with soot from collar to cuff, coughing violently while another man clapped him on the back.

No bodies appeared. No stretchers. No physician.

The realization eased something tight inside my chest. “It happened late enough that no one was working,” I murmured.

“Thank heaven for small mercies.”

But mercy had nothing to do with it.

Someone had waited until the offices emptied. Someone had wanted destruction, not slaughter. Or perhaps merely enough destruction to make a point.

The thought chilled me more than the night air.

Miriam tugged gently at my sleeve. “Come home, darling.” This time, I let her lead me away.

By the time we arrived home, dawn had begun creeping pale and uncertain across the rooftops.

Miriam removed her gloves in the front hall. “I intend to consume an unreasonable quantity of tea before sunrise. I suggest you do the same. Smoke inhalation can kill you.”

“You deserve at least two pots.”

“Three.”

Bexley appeared from deep in the townhouse looking equally exhausted. “Shall I have breakfast laid out early, milady?”

“Yes, but not for an hour. We need to bathe and dress properly first.” I glanced at Miriam. “But send a pot of tea to Mrs. Selwyn’s room right away.”

We had scarcely stepped fully into the hall when footsteps sounded overhead. And then Linnet descended the staircase in her dressing gown, her dark braid loose over one shoulder.

She stopped midway upon seeing us. Her gaze moved from my soot-streaked cloak to Miriam’s hair blackened with ash.

Her brows lifted. Slowly, deliberately, she signed, “What on earth happened to you?”

For one absurd moment, after smoke and bells and burning paper, I nearly laughed.

“She slept through all of it,” Miriam said in disbelief.

Of course she had. She was deaf, although the smell of smoke should have awakened her.

“Through what?” Linnet signed.

“A fire. Several streets away.”

Her eyes widened. “Was anyone hurt?”

“Not that we could see,” I signed. “I’ll tell you all about it at breakfast. I need to clean up first.”

Chapter

Twenty-Two