Give All to Love (32 page)

“Go! Let me be!”

Another great thunder of sound. The stairs shook. “Sir!” screamed Alf. “Go—damn you!” croaked Devenish. Alf went.

Somehow, he was at the landing. But Josie's room was on the second floor. He must—somehow he
must
get up another flight! Oh, Lord, but it was hot … and the noise! ‘The fires of hell,' he thought, in an odd, detached way. Josie had done nothing to warrant the fires of hell. He must find her. If she was to die, he would die with her …

Head down, choking, fighting for breath, he dragged himself upwards. The heat hit his face searingly, but he was on his feet, handkerchief clasped over his mouth. ‘Sorry, Tris. Too slow your way, old lad.'

“Dev!”

A familiar voice behind him. Clutching the rail, he peered back. A rumpled dark head hove into view. Two long grey eyes, rimmed with red, blinked up at him.

“Mitch! Damned ass—get out!”

“Don't be … fool” wheezed Mitchell Redmond, swaying drunkenly. “Too blasted … hot…”

Devenish tried to tell him he shouldn't have come. That he must find Josie. But he couldn't speak, there wasn't enough breath. His lungs were smothering. He turned and fought his way upwards.

A deafening crash, and the landing exploded into a pulsing red glare. A fierce blast of heat sent Devenish staggering. He heard a muffled cry. Burning wood began to rain down and dimly he realized he could no longer see Mitchell. Why the devil had the damned idiot come? Why could he not have stayed safely outside? He thought despairingly, ‘Josie! Josie!' and tears were flooding some of the soot from his eyes, but he groped his way down, his hands seeking through the smoke. A crumpled form. A weak voice that urged him to “trot … along…” Hating Redmond, aching with grief and loss, and the wretched knowledge that this way would have been so much simpler, he wheezed between oaths, “Come on … Mitch! Damned … sluggard!”

Together, they fought and strove and at last fell downwards. Tumbling helplessly and agonizingly, Devenish thought that he had tried. And it really didn't matter anymore. From a great distance, he could hear a woman screaming. He prayed, fadingly, that it was not Josie …

*   *   *

Clinging to Josie as John Drummond sent the phaeton racing up the hill, Faith saw the girl's face pale and frozen with dread, the eyes wide and dark, fixed unblinkingly on that ghastly, writhing column of smoke.

They plunged over the brow of the hill and Faith's blood seemed to congeal in her veins. It was just as she'd envisioned it on her first glimpse of the old house; black smoke and flame pouring from every window, many people toiling madly to prevent more tragedy, and others lying on the grass, victims of smoke and burns and exhaustion.

As they drew nearer, Josie said not a word, her eyes straining to pierce the drifting acrid smoke, seeking, seeking, for the beloved fair head, the limping gait, the slim energetic figure that must be—
must
be here, save that she could not see him.

Drummond shouted something and pulled up the scared team. Jumping down, he lifted the two girls out, yelled “Stay clear!” and ran across the chaotic lawn to vanish amid the smoke and confusion.

Faith realized then that only the central wing was burning. All efforts to save it had been abandoned, and the men who fought so desperately were striving now to preserve the rest of the house. Everywhere she looked were people passing buckets slopping with water. She was surprised to see her brother and his bailiff and several of their servants climbing one of the ladders. She turned to Josie, but the girl was running after Drummond. Faith picked up her skirts and followed.

Josie searched through the crowd, her eyes beginning already to burn from the smoke and heat, her ears deafened by the shouts, the screams of frightened horses, the terrible crackling roar of the flames. A grimy Pandora Grenfell knelt beside a prostrate man. Sick with fear Josie ran to them. For an instant she did not recognize the blackened face, the singed dark hair, the torn and scorched clothing, save that she knew it was not Dev. Then, long grey eyes were blinking up at her, and a cracked voice said, “Never look so scared, Elf. We might save it—yet.”

“Mitch! Oh, Mitch, are you much hurt? Is—is Dev—”

And then, over the uproar, a shout rose. A tattered scarecrow came reeling through the front doors as though borne on a billow of smoke, waving his arms madly.

Josie's heart was choking her. She thought in a dizzying flood of relief, ‘Dev…! Thank God!'

Everyone near the house turned and ran away, the men sliding down the ladders with frantic haste. Dismayed, Josie started up, only to be dragged down as Mitchell grabbed her skirts unceremoniously. She was deafened by an explosion, and screamed as Devenish was hurled forward and down. The old wing seemed to leap into the air, then with a mighty roar it crumpled in upon itself, sending up a great gout of fire and smoke and sparks.

Not even aware that she was running, Josie flew to throw herself on her knees beside Devenish. He was already sitting up and gazing at the blazing mound that was all that was left of the old wing. Sensing that she was near, he swung around. She saw a scorched, grimy, blistered face, all but devoid of eyebrows, the hair singed and blackened, the blue eyes bloodshot.

A great light dawned in those red-rimmed eyes, and a sudden glitter brightened them. He threw his arms wide, and she flung herself into them. “Oh … Dev,” she sobbed. “Oh—I am so sorry!”

Crushing her to him, he buried his face in her hair. His throat closed. All he could say was, “My … Elf…!”

*   *   *

The fact that a keg of black powder was in the barn, intended to be used in the construction of a better road, had saved the mansion. By blowing up the old wing, the fire was localized, and although there was great damage to the rooms directly adjoining on both the east and west sides, most of the newer wings was spared. Even so, the struggle to contain the fire went on far into the evening. The smoke had been seen for miles around, and carriages, curricles, gigs, wagons, carts, and groups of riders poured in from surrounding estates, farms, and cottages, to do whatever could be done to help. Fire was of all things the most dreaded in these times of open flame lighting and little if any organized fire protection, and not a man in the county could be free of the fear that at some time he, too, might be obliged to rely on the help of neighbours and friends to save his home and family.

While the men battled to keep steaming walls and roofs wet down, and shovelled dirt and sand and upended countless water buckets on the great glowing pile, the women tended burns and blisters and abrasions, provided ale and fruit and sandwiches, and did all they might to sustain the workers. Redmond, still not fully recovered from his head injury, collapsed from exhaustion and was borne off to a bed, willy-nilly, but Devenish kept fighting until dawn, at which time it began to drizzle. Soon, rain was coming down in torrents. The weary firefighters packed up and went home, carrying with them the heartfelt thanks of the man they had assisted so unstintingly.

As always, the aftermath was crushing. Josie slept until late afternoon and awoke to a pervading smell of smoke. Maisie Fletcher was carrying in a tray of hot chocolate and biscuits. Before Josie could voice her immediate question, the gaunt abigail's features were illumined by a beaming grin.

“He's up already, miss. Proper wrung out, but won't own it.”

Sipping her chocolate, Josie sighed, “Thank God no one was badly hurt. But—I dread to leave this room, Maisie.”

Her dread was well founded. She stepped into a reeking hall, and although the suite she had moved into was on the northeast corner of the house, water had been bucketed along the halls, leaving the once gleaming floors thick with mud. Her eyes blurred. She thought, ‘Poor old house!' but already the work of recovery had begun. Maids were scrubbing, rugs were being rolled up and carried away to be cleaned, smashed windows were being boarded up. A great sheet of tarpaulin billowed forlornly across the blackened end of the hall that had once turned into the old wing, but a footman told her that the side stairs were quite undamaged and that the master and Lord Redmond were in the bookroom. She hurried downstairs, her heart wrung by the chaos at the end of the inner court between the wings, and acknowledging to herself that the smoke and water seemed to have resulted in almost as much damage as the flames, and that the entire mansion would have to be redecorated, most of the draperies scrapped, furnishings reupholstered or recovered, and all the carpets and paintings cleaned.

Mitchell and Devenish were alone in the bookroom. They were talking in a rather subdued fashion when she went in, but at once both young men brightened and stood to greet her. She went to the peer first, and he kissed her hand and then her cheek with his customary courtly manners, and made light of her anxiety because his throat was bandaged, his dark hair had been roughly trimmed, and he looked, despite his cheerful grin, tired and drawn. “Whatever will Charity have to say to us?” she said worriedly.

“Not as much as we have to say to her,” said Devenish, giving her a quick hug and a kiss on the forehead.

Scanning his face, she tried to hide her consternation. It was not the ugly graze above one eye that dismayed her, nor his bandaged hands or the fact that Hutchinson had been obliged to shear off all his thick curls, leaving him looking oddly juvenile with the fair hair sticking up at uneven angles all over his head. His smile was dazzling and his manner charmingly optimistic, but his eyes looked sunken into dark wells, and most alarming of all held the bright emptiness that had been so marked seven years ago, when he thought he had lost everything that made life worth living.

“What do you mean, dear?” she asked, longing to take him into her arms and comfort him.

“Why, this woodenhead has contrived to put me under obligation to him. Saved my life.”

Josie felt cold and her hand flew to her throat as she turned to Redmond. He said indignantly, “Never believe it!
You
pulled
me
out of your little bonfire, Dev, and do not be saying otherwise!”

Devenish ushered Josie to a chair, protesting, “Fact remains, Mitch, that had you not come in after me, I'd have gone on up and been on the landing just when the third floor decided to join us!”

Clutching his hand, her own very cold, Josie whispered, “Oh—God! What are you saying? Dev, there is no possession worth risking your life to—”

“He thought you were up there,” Redmond intervened quietly.

Her face crumpled, and she hid it against her guardian's sleeve, then said, “Dearest—you knew I had gone out driving.”

He went over to straddle a chair and smile at her over the back. “Earlier, yes. But I was out riding all afternoon, and by the time we— I got back, the poor old place was…” His expression became sombre briefly, then he finished, “A trifle warm.”

“But—did you not ask for me? Surely they would have told you—”

“Seems to have been a difference of opinion,” Mitchell put in again, his gaze steady on Devenish. “One of the chaps who came to help thought he saw you upstairs at the window. Dev didn't wait to hear more.”

She gave a gasp, chilled by the what-might-have-been. “
Was
there anyone in the house at that time?”

“Yes,” said Devenish with a twinkle. “Thank heaven! Had she not been, I doubt you'd be chatting with either of us now, m'dear.”

Curious, Mitchell said, “You didn't tell me a lady was with us.”

“Don't tell you all my secrets, m'lud.”

Mitchell did not return the smile, and Devenish went on. “She gave me a smacking great kiss—hot-blooded wench!” They both stared at him, and he laughed, “No, really! Have you ever had your face licked by a pig? I tell you, Lady Godiva's tongue is like coarse sandpaper! I wonder I've
any
skin left on my poor phiz!”

Awed, Josie said, “You never mean it? Lady Godiva went in there after you?”

“Not exactly. She was already inside when I got there. I'd pointed her in the right direction, but she hasn't the brains of a swine. When Mitch and I came rolling down the stairs, we were both rather knocked out of time, and I fancy the poor gal was anxious to get out, so she revived the nearest guide. You'll never know what a shock it was to come back from the land of dreams and find myself surrounded by smoke and flame and with a blasted porker slobbering all over my face! For a moment, I really thought my sins had caught up—” He checked, seeing that Redmond's amusement had been cut off and that he was coming to his feet. As he glanced to the door, his heart sank. He thought, ‘Gad—I'd forgot this business!' and he called, “Welcome, Monsieur le Chevalier! I trust you'll forgive our
désordre temporaire.
”

Coming forward to gingerly clasp Devenish's hand, the Chevalier Émile de Galin threw a shocked look from his insouciant host, to the amused and battered Baron Redmond, to the polite smile of the girl.
“Désordre?”
he gasped.
“Mon Dieu!”

*   *   *

Walking carefully through the debris, Josie said, “It has been a great shock to him, you know, Mitch. However he tries to hide it.”

Redmond glanced back at the house that looked rather wrenchingly forlorn. “Of course it has. Dev will have his hands full, restoring the place. Which may be as well.” He slanted a glance at her. “He tells me you mean to marry soon.”

After a pause during which they both halted and stood looking at the many figures toiling amid the rubble, she answered, “It is not official yet. In fact, I'm rather surprised he would mention it.”

“Probably wouldn't have, but”—he turned to face her squarely—“he was a touch overwhelmed when we crawled out of the house yesterday and Cornish told him you'd not been trapped inside.”