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“Well then, as long as the haughty hostess does not object—and rarely does a lady turn down the offer of an extra gentleman at a ball—Miss Dennington’s opinion of you is hardly important.” Sir John’s brows rose, disappearing beneath the black band on his forehead. “I need not remind you that capturing Grimsby and his associates is significantly more important than Miss Dennington’s estimation of how you spent your youth, Ross.”

Phrased like that, it sounded so simple. Unfortunately, it did not feel simple. And it most definitely did not feel comfortable. Indeed, Samuel was beginning to wonder if his heart would ever feel anything but heavy again. Nevertheless, he knew what was expected of him. “No, my lord,” he said.

“I am glad to hear it.” Sir John’s brusque tone was a sure indicator of his current anxiety. He rose and reached for his cane. “Go,” he ordered. “You should both be en route to Bristol by now!”

Samuel tugged at the brim of his tricorn hat and a trickle of water ran off the brim and down his sleeve. The rain made everything worse. “How many more, Jealous?” he asked.

His companion looked as miserable as Samuel felt, but Jealous was doggedly determined to question every person on the quay.

“As many as it takes,” Jealous said. “The woman who saw a shadow pass by the warehouse door soon before the fire started was hardly helpful. Discovering unclaimed rags soaked in turpentine in the same warehouse and on one of the ship’s decks may have given us the felon’s method, but we still lack his identity.” Jealous wiped the water from his face and frowned. “Someone on this blasted quay saw him.”

Many of the people who had been milling around Bristol’s quay when Samuel and Jealous had first arrived had left—presumably for shelter of some sort. The ship that had been damaged by flames was still afloat, but one mast was a charred stump, its bow blackened and missing its jibboom. The crew had been transported off the vessel. Samuel and Jealous had spoken to every single one of them, but none had given them any new information. Most of the men had been asleep when the alarm had been raised, and by the time they’d reached the burning deck, whoever had perpetrated the crime had been long gone.

A few yards farther down the quay, an older man was tying up a small fishing boat.

“Was he here earlier?” Samuel asked.

“No.” Jealous redirected his rapid walk. “But the question of greater import is: Was he here last night?”

The fisherman looked up as they approached. “Evenin’,” he said.

“Good evening,” Jealous responded. “How was the fishing?”

“Middlin’,” the fisherman said. “I’ve ’ad better days, an’ I’ve ’ad worse.”

“What do you catch here?” Samuel asked.

“Cod, mainly.” He eyed them curiously. “Who’s askin’?”

“Samuel Ross,” Samuel said. “And this is Charles Jealous.” He eyed the fisherman’s full basket of large fish appreciatively. “I’ve caught more than my share of fish over the years, but I’ve never fished in the Bristol Channel.”

“Ah, well, yer missin’ out, aren’t ya?” He gave a toothless grin. “Nothin’ quite as fine as fishin’ in the pourin’ rain. An’ as ya can see, we get plenty o’ opportunity fer that ’ere.”

“Was it raining when you went out?” Samuel asked.

“Nah. But I knew it were comin’, so off I went.”

“Were you still here last evening, then?” Jealous said.

“Yup. Right glad t’ be gone afore all th’ flames started though. Could smell th’ smoke fer miles.”

“Any idea who might have started the fires?” Jealous asked.

“If I ’ad t’ guess, I’d put me money on th’ fella who got out o’ one of ’em small tenders an’ didn’t bother tyin’ it up. ’E just took off runnin’ like ’e didn’t care if th’ boat drifted off.”

“Sounds like it,” Samuel said, working to maintain an indifferent tone even as hope finally broke through the clouds of discouragement. “Doesn’t seem like the kind of thing a sailor or fisherman would do.”

“Ya’ve got tha’ right.” The fisherman hauled his catch onto the dock. “Someone who don’t belong ’ere, I’d say.”

“Can you describe him?” Jealous asked.

The fisherman stopped his sorting and eyed them warily. “Any special reason ya want t’ know?”

“We came up from London to investigate the fires,” Samuel said. It was likely more blunt than Jealous would have preferred, but Samuel had already made an effort to be friendly, and he was more than ready to finish this conversation and get out of the fisherman’s beloved rain.

“Some o’ them Bow Street men, are ya?” the fisherman said knowingly. “I’ve ’eard ’bout ya, but I ain’t never seen any in these parts afore.”

“The navy’s concerned about the fires,” Jealous said, seemingly taking a page out of Samuel’s book and getting right to the point. “There was another one in Portsmouth this week.”