Page 71 of Drowned in the Pleasure of a Devilish Baron
Felix held his sleeve over his nose as he walked through the rows of burnt cases, the stench of smoke and spoiled alcohol sharp and heavy. He and Edwards were walking through where Leonard had walked this morning, looking for something, anything that might tell them who had done this.
Leonard was a few feet away, speaking with the men who had been there yesterday, in case they had seen anything useful. Felix could tell by the expression on his face that nothing had come up yet. His own eyes watered as he peered through the dust and ash, looking for something, but not sure what. The aisles were lined with the workers’ materials, giving truth to the fact that they had all been gone for lunch when the fire began, leaving their overcoats and other items behind as they would be back before long.
At long last, Felix gave up the search, joining Leonard by the road in the clearer air, half listening as he questioned the worker.
“Well, if you think of anything else, please write to me at once,” Leonard said, clapping the man on his shoulder.
“Certainly, My Lord.” The worker walked away, joining the huddle of others at the other end of the building, where the foreman was waiting to lead them to clean up the rubble when Leonard said the word.
“Nothing useful at all,” Leonard said.
“Perhaps the constable will know something,” Felix said. He would not let them give up. Not yet.
“My Lord!” It was Edwards, running slowly towards them, something draped over his arm. “I’ve found something!”
“What is it?” Leonard asked as he and Felix moved forward to meet the man.
He held out a coat. “Look!” he proclaimed proudly. “It could be from the men who set the fire!”
Felix and Leonard looked blankly down at the material, a singed and ash-strewn men’s coat.
“Um… it’s a coat?” Leonard said, trying to sound polite.
“Not just a coat, My Lord. Take a look here, if you will,” he lifted it, so that they could see the full length of it. “What do you notice?”
“It’s very long,” Felix said, a question at the end.
“Yes. Do you know an English gentleman to wear a coat this long?”
“No.”
“And take a look at this,” Edwards said, turning the shoulders to show the braided cords there.
“That’s not English,” Leonard said.
Edwards nodded, smiling. “No, My Lord, it is not. None of these details are English. Whoever wore this coat, whoever left it behind, they were not English. Now, I may be incorrect, but I do not believe your workers here are ever from other countries?”
Leonard shook his head. “Not that I have approved.” He began to walk to the men, calling for the foreman. “Hawthorn!”
Mr. Hawthorn separated himself from the group. “Are you ready for us to begin, My Lord?”
“Not quite yet. I have another question for you. For yesterday’s work, did you have any non-English men hired to help?”
Hawthorn’s brow furrowed. “No, My Lord. Just Englishmen.”
“Ah, but what about the foreigners we heard?” called one of the workers from the pack.
Hawthorn whipped around. “What’s that now?”
The worker looked abashed now that he’d caught the attention of the group of men. He swept his cap from his head and twisted it in his hands.
“Come on, then, man,” Hawthorn called, waving him over. “Come say what you mean and be quick about it.”
The man stepped forward. “I was only saying we heard two men speaking some kind of foreign language.”
“What language was it?” Leonard asked, zeroing in on the man.
His eyes widened. “I-I can’t say, My Lord. I wouldn’t know Chinese from English, to tell the truth.”
