“You were out there last night.” Mrs. Nesbitt pinched at her gloves, angrily removing them, one finger at a time. “You could have done more. Were it not for the stock I keep here at the townhouse, I would have nothing left. Nothing.” She jerked the gloves from her hands and slapped them into one bare palm. “There is no excuse for so many businesses to have burned like that. None.”

It was on the tip of Grace’s tongue to defend her actions and those of the many volunteers who had fought last night. There had been too many incendiaries dropped. The mains had been hit, and the Thames had its lowest tide of the year at that exact time. But she owed no justification to this woman. Not when she and everyone else had given it their all.

Anger singed away the chill in the air.

The report on the wireless that morning had stated over a dozen firefighters had been killed, and over two hundred were injured. Brave men whose families would never welcome them home again, tell them they loved them again.

“How fortunate for you that several people lost their lives fighting the fires last night,” Grace said in a hard tone. “There are now openings for you to fill, as the rest of us are clearly so inept.”

Mrs. Nesbitt’s cheeks went red. “You impudent—”

But Grace was already jogging down the remainder of the stairs, not bothering to listen anymore. Not when it was too tempting to march up to the other woman and slap her bony face.

Steam huffed from Grace’s lips in white puffs, and she walked so fast that the muscles in her legs burned with the effort. Primrose Hill Books appeared before her without her realizing how quickly she’d gone.

She shoved in the door harder than she meant to.

Mr. Evans snapped his head up. “Miss Bennett?”

“That woman,” Grace declared with all the vehemence she’d been swallowing. “That horrid woman.”

“There’s no one in the store at the moment.” He came around the counter, folded his hands and rested them where the swell of his belly had once jutted. “Tell me what’s happened.”

Grace told him what Mrs. Nesbitt had said and relayed what had happened the night before, faltering when she shared Mr. Pritchard’s passing.

Mr. Evans exhaled thickly through his nose, his gaze distant. “He never did see the point in going to a shelter. It’s a pity how many share that opinion.” He shook his head slowly. “The poor bloke. Thank you for caring for Tabby.”

“I think Mrs. Weatherford is glad to have him.”

Mr. Evans gave a ghost of a smile. “He’ll do her good, I think. And as for Mrs. Nesbitt...”

The mere mention of the woman’s name caused Grace to simmer anew with rage.