Echoes in Stone (38 page)

“Go away! She’s mine! You vile, evil men, you pederasts and fornicators, you’ll not do to her what you did to Lily!”

“Stop that this instant!” Marguerite stamped her foot.

Lily broke her glare at the men on the steps and swung back to her mother. She still stood between Holly and the safety of someone’s arms. Anyone’s.

Jessa suppressed the urge to stamp her own foot in frustration.

“I’ve come to see my grandchild, you foolish girl.” Marguerite, regal as a queen, strode past Lily as if she were not there, straight to the pallet in the corner. She scooped Holly into her arms, then returned to stand between Jessa and Lily. A look of tenderness shimmered in her eyes as she gazed down into the face of her granddaughter. She held the child to herself in a quick hug. “I see she’s sleeping soundly.”

There was a hushed collective gasp of relief at Marguerite’s words. Another measure of pent-up tension drained from Jessa. Drugged—not dead. Thank God.

Marguerite peered at the child in her arms. “Does she look like you, Lily? These old eyes of mine; it’s getting harder to see every day. Here, Jessa, make yourself useful. Hold my little grandbaby for me while I fetch a better light.” She turned to Jessa, thrusting Holly into her arms.

Jessa stepped back, juggling the unanticipated weight of the child. What on earth was Marguerite talking about? Between the mirrors and the flames from the dozens of lamps, the room blazed brighter than the noonday sun.

Marguerite turned, crossing the room to take up one of the brilliantly burning oil lamps. Lily, distracted by her mother’s rapid motions, turned as well.

DASH’S HEART POUNDED like a tympani. His daughter now lay safe in the arms of the one woman he could trust, but still beyond his reach. God only knew what battles Jessa had fought in this cursed room, but she’d kept his child safe. She’d protected Holly until he’d been able to find them.

Winston shoved past him, leaping up the stairs to stand before Lily, precisely where Jessa had stood only seconds before.

“Lily,” Winston said. “Darling, please, you have to stop now. Come, my love. Let me take you back to our rooms. I’ll keep you safe, just as I always have.” He held out his hand to her.

Lily stared at the disheveled man as if she did not know him.

“How dare you—a servant—speak to my child with such endearments?” Marguerite said. “I suggest you step back, young man, and let a mother deal with this.”

Winston stared at Marguerite, open-mouthed.

Lily gaped as well, seemingly mesmerized by the haughty woman in gold silk, with the ridiculous ostrich plume waving madly in her turban.

Jessa’s mother addressed the group assembled on the stairs. Tears shimmered in her eyes, but her mouth curved into a gentle smile.

“Luther,” she said, “I have loved you well. You have returned that love a thousand-fold. I ask you now to render that same devotion to Jessa. She’s going to need you in the coming days, in your rightful role. Dashiell, I owe you my most profound apologies. You were right. I should have kept my darling little Lily close, in my own care. But you were a kind man—a strong man…. I thought she would be safe with you.”

She smiled at Jessa. “And now, I entrust into your care my other daughter. Keep her by you. Let her lean on you. Her heart is generous, as full of love as your own. Give her what she needs. What she deserves. What I did not.”

Dash stared, as a horrifying suspicion dawned on him. “Marguerite—”

“Captain. You and I both know what the law would do to Lily. It’s past time I protected my child as a mother should.”

“Mama?” Lily, no longer raving. Her face looked softer. Younger. She scrubbed her eyes with her fist in a childish gesture, hugging the Susanna doll to her chest. “Mama? I’m so tired.”

Marguerite’s smile was brilliant as she tuned back to Lily. “Of course you are, my darling child,” she said. “Let me take care of you now.” Marguerite raised the oil lamp, as if to get a clearer view of Lily. She moved closer, wrapping Lily in a fierce hug.

“Now, Dashiell!”

With a violent thrust, Marguerite crashed the oil lamp to the floor.

With a thunderous roar, the oil-soaked room exploded into flames.

Dash leapt for Jessa. He seized her, Holly clutched in her arms, thrusting her into the stunned grasp of the men behind him. Then he shoved them all down the stairs. “Don’t let her turn around, Luther! For God’s sake, get them out of here!” Dash shouted to be heard above the roar of the flames.

The screams. Dear God, dear God. It was that night all over again. The screams rose from the heart of the fire, an off-key soprano soaring above the
basso profundo
roar of the inferno. Just like before.
God, have mercy on them
.

Dash watched the figures of the two women, no more than writhing silhouettes in the flames.

Marguerite held Lily trapped against her, refusing to release her hold even now. Her cries rose above the flames. “Dear God, forgive me. Oh, my child. I’m so very sorry. Now you’ll be safe. I promise, Lily. This time I’ll keep you safe.”

“The window, Marguerite. God in heaven, the window!” Dash bellowed, not knowing if Marguerite could even hear him.

The fire snarled, a beast devouring the women. The sound of shattering glass punctuated the roars, as mirrors exploded, fell from the wall, the glinting, lethal shards reflecting the gold and crimson flames.

Marguerite, her golden skirt now bearing a hem of red flames, wrestled Lily to the window, shoving it open. Fueled by the rush of incoming air, the blaze leapt higher . With one arm raised to protect his face, Dash stared into the inferno.

Marguerite never let go of Lily, but took daughter with her out the window, into the rain, and into the long drop to the pavement below.

Lily would never again harm anyone, or suffer harm.

Marguerite had kept her promise. Her child was safe at last.

49.

Lily’s dark legacy…

A FIGURE STRUGGLED out of the fire, lurching towards Dash.

Winston.

He staggered like a drunk, his coat in flames. With a curse, Dash seized him, throwing him to the floor. Rolling with him—mere feet from the conflagration—he smothered Winston’s burning clothes with his body. He beat out the fire singeing Winston’s hair, ignoring his own burns.

Winston moaned, fought, struggling in Dash’s arms, trying to claw his way back into the fire. “Lily! Oh, God. Dash! We have to— Lily!”

Luther, halfway up the stairs, rushed to Dash’s assistance. “Good God, man, get the hell out of there!”

“Luther, thank God. Jessa? Holly? Are they—”

“Stan has them. They’re safe,. Out in the corridor, where you should be as well. Damn it. Move! Now! Jessa swore if she didn’t see your ugly face in the next two seconds— I don’t know if Stan can stop her from coming back in here after you.”

“Help me with Winston. He’s still alive. I can’t leave him here in that.” He gestured at the wall of flames behind him. Even in those few seconds, the fire had grown, racing toward them. The only measure of safety lay at the bottom of the stone stairwell, behind the thick wooden door.

Luther raced up the stairs with an agility that belied his age and dependence on a cane. Between them, they half dragged, half carried Winston as they scrambled down the stairs. Winston, the remains of his charred clothes still smoking, sobbed, thrashed, but they managed to get him through the door and into the hall.

Dash laid him on the floor. Mrs. Penrose, stricken, dropped to her knees beside the injured man.

“There’s nothing we can do to put out the fire,” Dash said. He coughed, his lungs full of acrid smoke. “The stone walls will contain the worst of it. The window should let in some of this blasted, never-ending rain. Our best bet is to wet down this door and pray it stands.”

Almost his entire staff was still absent, attending the servant girl’s funeral. Mrs. Penrose had been able to rouse Holly’s nursemaids from their drugged sleep. They were still dopey-eyed and swaying, but they were on their feet, standing with Stan.

Luther sank to the floor, propped up against the wall near where Winston lay. Deep coughs wracked his body. His face was ashen, soot streaked, but he’d done a fine job helping Dash. A good man to have next to you in tough times. No wonder Jessa loved him.

Dash had questions for him, lots of them, but they’d have to wait.

Jessa.

She stood, staring at him, his daughter clutched to her chest. Emerald eyes glittered with tears, running unheeded down icy pale cheeks. She nibbled her lips. Those luscious, delectable lips. He’d been so afraid he’d never taste them again.

Two long strides and he had Jessa and Holly in his arms. He paused only long enough to press his lips against Jessa’s in a ferocious kiss before he thrust her back again at arm’s length.

“Oh, Dash! Oh, thank God!”

Her sob ripped through him. But there was no time. “We have much to discuss, little Jessa mine, but not now. Now I need you to let Gwenna take Holly, so you can help me wet that door down.”

He lifted his daughter from her arms, hugging her, running quick hands over her, checking her. Dear God, if he’d lost her— She breathed normally, in a deep sleep. Pale roses bloomed in her chubby baby cheeks. He’d be forever grateful for whatever drug Lily had given her. She’d never stirred through the last horrific hour. She’d have no memory of the fire or her mother’s death. He’d tell her someday, but not for a very long time.

After one more swift embrace, he thrust Holly into Gwenna’s outstretched arms. She hurried down the hall, away from the roar and crackle of the fire.

The next hours were nightmarish. Dash, Stan, and Jessa, along with the few remaining servants, carried endless buckets and tubs of water from the bath in Dash’s rooms, through the winding corridor to the tower room door. Behind it, the flames roared, but the stout, wet door held fast.

At last, the fire burned though the tower roof. It creaked, then the ancient timbers screeched, like a woman dying in agony, before it crashed in, causing the floors to tremble under their feet. The storm, at the height of its fury, took care of the rest of the fire.

While the others fought the fire, Mrs. Penrose and Luther fashioned a stretcher of blankets to carry Winston to his rooms. With the fire’s fury finally spent, Dash dragged his exhausted body in search of his cousin.

Luther had found a chair, stationing himself as guard by Winston’s door. He stood up as Dash, Jessa and Stan approached. His grave face confirmed Dash’s fears.

“I’m sorry Dash. The news isn’t good.” The old man shook his head. “His burns… my God. The poor soul. It would be a mercy if he—when he—” Luther wiped his hand over his face. “He’s been calling for you. At first it was Lily. Then Holly. But now it’s you he wants. I know you’re exhausted, but I don’t think you should wait. I don’t know how much longer—”

A soft hand found Dash’s, clutched it with more strength than he’d imagined possible.

“I’ll be there by your side,” Jessa said. “You don’t have to do this alone. You don’t have to carry this burden all by yourself.”

He looked down. Green eyes, grave, brimming with tears, stared back at him.

“Please Dash, let me help you. Trust me.”

The last of the ice around Dash’s frozen heart shattered like the mirrors in the tower room in the heat of Jessa’s gaze. He pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her in a long embrace.

She pulled away, looking up at him. “We must go in now. Winston has held on this long. The pain… Let’s hear what he has to say. Them we’ll let him rest.” She gave him a tremulous smile, then tugged his hand.

Luther stepped in front of them, blocking the way. “Jessa. I don’t think you should go in there. Winston is— he’s burned very badly, honey. He’s—his face—”

Jessa took his hand, smiling up at him. “Luther, it doesn’t matter what a man’s face looks like. It’s what’s in his heart that defines him. I’ll be fine, I promise you. Dash needs me. I want to be there, by his side. No matter what happens.”

Luther looked up at Dash, then stepped away from the door. “I’m trusting you to keep my little girl safe. Think you’re up to the job?”

Dash returned the man’s look. An understanding passed between them. Dash nodded. “I’ll do my best, sir, to always be worthy of that trust. And to trust in Jessa, as well.”

They turned at the sound of a strangled moan. The door burst open. Mrs. Penrose peered out at them. “If you’re going to talk to him, Captain, you best make it quick. I’ve given him something to ease the pain. You haven’t long.”

Dash drew a deep breath, then stepped through the door, Jessa’s small hand clutched in his.

A single lamp held back the darkness pressing against the rain-streaked windowpanes. Dash took the chair near the side of the bed. Jessa stood behind him, her hands on his shoulders, offering him her strength.

The man tucked under the clean, white sheets was barely recognizable.

Jessa’s swift intake of breath, her stifled cry, sounded loud in the silence of the room, but she didn’t release her hold on him.