Chapter 19
Verity found Emma curled up on her bed, weeping.
The smoke was growing thicker on the upper floor, but it was not yet as potent as it had been in the schoolrooms below. Relief washed over her as she coughed and rushed toward the girl.
Relief followed closely by fear.
She knew the fire was raging more with every second that passed. She’d heard the creaks and groans and crashes, had tried to breathe through smoke so potent and pungent that it may as well have been soup. Her lungs themselves felt as if they were aflame.
“Emma!” she called out.
Emma opened her eyes and sat up. “Lady Vitty?”
Lady Vitty was the child’s pronunciation of her name, and Verity had never possessed the heart to correct her, even if the sterner Mrs. Stevens did at once whenever she was within hearing distance.
“Yes, dear,” she managed between coughs. “You must come with me. The orphanage is burning down.”
“I’m afraid, Lady Vitty,” the girl said.
The poor, sweet dear. Her heart ached for the child, who had already lost so much and now was about to lose the only home she had, if not more. What awaited them belowstairs was terrifying and dangerous. There was every chance they wouldn’t survive. But Verity refused to allow fear to rule her.
She had to be strong enough for them both if they were to survive this.
She bent down by the child, holding her gaze. “You needn’t be afraid. You’ll be with me, and I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Do you promise?”
“I promise.”
Emma frowned. “My mama’s locket is in my coverlet, and I can’t get it out.”
She took note now of the way the child had curled in the bed, holding a tattered blanket that had been crumpled into a ball to her chest.
“I have a locket that is precious to me also,” she said, holding the golden oval hanging from the chain at her throat. Leo had given it to her, and it had never left her neck, not once in the ten years since his death. “We shall bring the coverlet with us, and you won’t lose your mama’s locket.”
“We shall?”
“Yes.” Verity extended her hand. “You hold on to the blanket, and I shall hold on to you. But we must make haste. Everyone else has already made their way out of here. We don’t want to be trapped. Come, now.”
The girl’s tear-stained face cleared, and she nodded, holding the coverlet tightly in one arm whilst reaching for Verity with the other.
Verity gathered the child into her arms and rushed toward the stairs, where more smoke was pouring upward.
Emma began to cough and so did she as she painstakingly made her way down the steps, one at a time, taking care not to trip.
She would do neither of them any good if she fell down the stairs and broke her neck.
Little Emma clung to her tightly, rendering her navigation all the more difficult, between the steepness of the stairs and the heat and smoke rising from below. The building protested around then, swaying and shuddering, making her heart leap into her throat.
“Verity!”
A voice rose up to her through the din. Her brother’s voice.
But how would Everett be here?
“Everett?” she cried out.
“Verity!” There was no denying it, hoarse as his voice was. It was indeed Everett. “Stay where you are. I’m coming for you.”
“Everett.” She coughed and sputtered.
“Lady Vitty?” Emma asked, her eyes wide and fearful.
“Keep holding on to me, dear,” she managed. “My brother has come to help us.”
Emma clung tighter. The house howled and groaned, and flames began licking up the walls behind them.
A shadowy figure approached then, coughing, moving slowly. But beloved and most welcome.
“Verity!”
He was there, before them. Dirty, covered in soot. But there.
“Everett,” she choked out.
“Take my hand,” he ordered. “Don’t let go. The smoke is thicker below. It’s difficult to see. We have to move quickly. The building is unstable.”
She seized her brother’s hand and wasted no time in following him, moving with as much haste as possible. The heat was almost unbearable, and the lower they went, the worse it became. Poor Emma began crying again, her face buried in Verity’s neck. For the child’s sake, she struggled on.
They made it to the main hall when a burning rafter gave way, falling across their path and blocking it. Smoke billowed, choking her, a blast of heat searing her skin. She stumbled, tripping over her hems, panic seizing her as she stumbled and lost her hold on her brother’s hand.
This was how it ended, she thought.
This was how she would die, here in the Children’s Foundling Hospital as it burned to ash.
It was her last thought before a sharp pain suddenly radiated from the back of her head and she pitched forward into a black abyss of nothingness.
Verity’s hand slipped from his.
Coughing, doing his utmost to keep from taking in too much smoke, he turned back, eyes burning, lungs on fire.
Through the darkness, he could barely discern his sister’s silhouette, the small child hanging from her.
She tripped, propelling forward, and in the next instant, a burning piece of the rafters fell, striking her.
She cried out and fell forward, slumping motionlessly.
“Verity!” he hollered, terror gripping him.
Dear God, had the beam hit her in the head? Was she dead?
He rushed toward her as new flames lit feet away from her slouched form.
The child was screaming and crying. Verity was frighteningly still.
Somehow, she had twisted as she fell to protect the girl from the brunt of the fall.
His sister was on her back, the child scrambling, grasping her soot-stained bodice.
“Lady Vitty! Lady Vitty! Don’t die!”
“Come here, child,” he ordered the frantic girl, needing to move both her and his sister out of the burning orphanage before it was too late.
He opened his arms to the child. The girl was clutching a blanket, the corner of which had caught flame. Everett stomped on it to put it out and then scooped her into his arms.
“Riverdale!”
By some miracle, Kingham appeared at his side in the smoke.
“Where is Verity?” King demanded.
“There.” Everett coughed, blinking against a hot wind that brought a rush of smoke to them as he pointed to the floor where his sister lay, still immobile. “A beam struck her. She’s unconscious.”
“You take the girl, and I’ll take her,” King said.
Verity was his sister. His responsibility.
Everett hesitated. A huge groan sounded as a wall caved in somewhere in the distance.
“We haven’t any time,” King snapped. “Take the child and go.”
He nodded, knowing he would have to entrust his sister to his friend. They hadn’t a choice. Holding the weeping girl tightly, Everett ducked his head and rushed them through the remnants of the Children’s Foundling Hospital to the door, not stopping until they were outside.
Only then did he collapse to his knees on the pavements, coughing so hard he feared his lungs would rip from his chest. The child clung to his neck, crying and coughing.
Sybil rushed toward them through the smoke that raged from the orphanage, her arms open wide. She dropped to the pavements, wrapping Everett and the child in an embrace, weeping.
“Everett,” she exclaimed through sobs, “thank heavens you’re safe.”
He wrapped his free arm around her waist, holding her to him tightly, struggling for breath. She felt like heaven.
Like home.
He was so damned thankful she was here, that she wasn’t trapped in the flames. The thought of losing her… He couldn’t bear it. Wouldn’t even think it.
“Verity,” he choked out, turning back to the burning building.
It was all he could manage to say.
To his immense relief, Kingham emerged from the broken doors, ashen-faced and covered in soot, holding Verity in his arms. Her skirts hung, the hems smoldering, her arms dangling at her sides.
Thank God.
They were alive.
They were both out of the conflagration.
But his relief was short-lived. Everything was a blur as King moved through the parting crowd, bringing Verity to where Everett, Sybil, and the girl were huddled on the pavements.
That was when Everett saw the stark anguish on his friend’s face. And the blood in Verity’s hair, dripping onto the pavements.
“She needs a physician at once,” King said.
And Everett realized that his sister wasn’t safe just yet. Not at all.
Verity was drowning.
Drowning in a twisting, violent sea.
It was dark, and she couldn’t breathe. The water kept rushing over her head, her skirts twisting and bogging her down, down, down. She choked and fought, struggling to force her way back to the surface.
But her arms and legs became leaden weights, refusing to move, and the waves crashed over her head. And where there once had been sun and so much heat, everything was cold. She was cold, so very cold.
Nothing made sense.
But then, through the murk, came a voice that said her name, softly and tenderly. It was the voice of the man she loved. Her betrothed. The man she intended to marry.
Verity, can you hear me?
Verity, stay strong.
There was a rumbling sound as her body jostled, like the wheels of a carriage, but how could it be? There were no carriages in the sea.
Was she in the sea?
No, she was wrapped in arms. Strong, masculine arms.
His arms.
She tried to speak, but no words emerged, only sound like the bleating of a wounded animal. Because she was in pain, she realized.
Her head hurt.
Her lungs hurt.
Flashes of light flickered before her, and she reached for them, reached for the surface, for the air, for the man she loved. But another wave hit, and she choked, falling down, sliding lower, deeper. She was sinking to the seabed, and it was as cold and black as the night and so very quiet.
As she descended, she saw his face.
Saw him bending to scoop her into his arms.
I have you now, Verity.
I won’t let anything happen to you.
She believed him. Trusted him. She knew he wouldn’t allow any harm to befall her. Because she loved him and he loved her, and he had come to save her from the endless sea.