CHAPTER 20
The acrid scent of smoke, sharp and suffocating, tugged Josephine from deep sleep.
She sat up in bed, fully awake but disoriented.
What had awoken her? Then she spotted the sinister orange glow under her bedroom door.
Oh my God! Was that fire? Her heart pounded as she jumped from the bed, pulling on her robe and slippers.
On the other side of that door was her sitting room, and her worktable, where she had all sorts of flammable substances.
If a lamp had somehow overturned, she must try to extinguish the flames before they reached it.
She yanked the door open, and the scene that met her eyes made her heart jump to her throat.
The flames were too widespread and it was only a matter of moments before the fire reached the flammable materials.
It was already licking up the drapes and rug around her worktable.
She would never be able to put it out in time, and if she called more people into the room to help, she would be placing them all in danger.
There was only one thing to do. Grabbing her blanket, she poured the entire pitcher of her washing water onto it.
When the blanket was thoroughly soaked, she dragged it into the flaming room and threw it over her table, covering all the vials of alcohol and flammable oils.
That would buy them some time, she hoped.
Closing the door behind her, trying to contain the fire into this room only if possible, she ran into the corridor.
“Fire! Fire!” she cried at the top of her lungs, hoping she could wake the sleeping household in time.
Thank God, within a matter of seconds, servants stumbled from their quarters, faces pale with fear, hastily throwing on cloaks and slippers.
Josephine scanned the crowd frantically, making sure everyone was accounted for. There were only two people glaringly absent. “Where is Nurse? Where is Edward?”
A mumble of confusion rippled through the huddled servants.
“We have not seen them, milady.” It was the ancient butler, still attempting to maintain his dignity even as his hair was sticking out of the sleeping cap and his socks were pooling around his skinny ankles that the nightgown left visible.
Josephine’s breath hitched, but she forced her voice to steady. “Get everyone outside. Start pumping water and summon the fire brigade!”
With no time to waste, she turned and sprinted up the staircase, smoke thickening and heat clawing at her back as she climbed.
She burst into the nursery to find the nurse and her nephew still peacefully asleep, oblivious to the chaos. She shook the nurse awake, her voice urgent. “Wake up! There’s a fire—we must go!”
Moving with a swiftness that belied her mature years, the nursemaid clutched the sleepy boy tightly as they followed Josephine into the hallway.
She had set one foot on the top tread when an earth-shaking explosion rocked the house.
Josephine whipped around, shielding the child instinctively as flames erupted, consuming the bottom half of the staircase and blocking their way down.
The crackling inferno roared, searing her face as she spun, scanning for another escape. The servant’s staircase.
“This way!” Josephine urged, leading them toward the other side of the nursery, only to find the servants' back staircase also engulfed.
They were trapped.
The boom of an explosion, faint but unmistakable, jolted Michael from sleep.
With the alacrity borne of his years in the army, he jumped from the bed and donned his clothes, ready for danger even before the clatter of the fire brigade’s bells shattered the night’s calm.
A fire, then. Looking through the inn’s window, his stomach twisted at the sight of the ominous glow illuminating the dark horizon—from the direction of Josephine’s house.
He sprinted through the corridor and down the stairs, jumping several steps at once to make it outside as the fire engine was approaching.
Perfect. Riding on the engine was the fastest way to get there.
Without hesitation, he raced toward it and was able to jump onboard as the vehicle slowed to turn a corner.
“Sir!” Six pairs of eyes turned toward him as he stabilized himself aboard the fast-moving carriage.
“Where’s the fire?”
“You can’t ride in here,” was the adamant response, much to his frustration. “This is the fire brigade.”
“Yes, I know. So I ask again, where is the fire?”
Clearly noticing the tone of command, one of the men finally replied, “At the manor house, sir. And who might you be, and what business is that of yours?”
“I am the Duke of Aycliffe and formerly a colonel of Her Majesty’s army. But more than that, the residents of the manor happen to be dear friends of mine. I’m here to help.”
The man, who appeared to be the officer in charge, took the measure of him, and whatever he saw either reassured him or convinced him he could not dislodge Michael. With a quick nod, he relented. “Very well, sir.”
“Do you know what happened?” he asked in a more conciliatory tone, although his insides were twisting with impatience.
He knew the horses were going as fast as possible, and they were making good speed, faster than he could have made on his own, even if he didn’t take the time to saddle his horse.
But he was painfully aware that mere seconds may lie between a successful rescue and a disaster.
The officer in charge spoke again. “The servant who brought the news says the fire started in one of the bedchambers. The explosion happened after. We don’t rightly know about that, Your Grace.”
A bedchamber. An explosion. His mind made the connections without any conscious effort on his part.
He knew alcohol and other flammable materials were used in perfumery.
Would that be enough to cause a small explosion?
Did that mean the fire started in Josephine’s room?
Maybe while she was working on her fragrances.
The implications of that were too horrible to contemplate.
“Did the servant say if Lady Josephine was safe?”
“He mentioned something about her being the one who sounded the alarm.”
So she was unharmed at the time the fire started. It was not a guarantee, but it was something. His chest eased a bit, enough to allow him to draw breath. He wouldn’t feel completely relieved until he could ascertain that both Josephine and the child were safe.
After what seemed like an hour but was probably less than five minutes, the engine finally pulled in front of the house.
He was jumping down even before the wheels came to a halt, and ran toward the group of people congregated at the corner of the house.
He was met with chaos. Servants were forming a bucket chain, their faces illuminated by the angry flames. “Where’s Josephine?” he bellowed.
“She’s still inside!” a maid cried. “With the boy and the nursemaid—upstairs!”
Peering up, he saw Josephine’s pale face appear at the open window high up in the nursery, her voice calling down, “Michael! We’re trapped!” She held the child close, the nursemaid hovering behind her.
“Hold on!” he shouted, and then to the people surrounding him, “Ladders! Get me a ladder!” Seeing one on the engine, he grabbed it and raced back to lean it against the wall of the house.
But it barely reached the second-floor ledge. The window was too high. Thinking fast, he yelled, “Tie the bedsheets together! Lower the boy down first!”
She disappeared from the window. He pictured her frantically running through the room, collecting bedsheets and trying them together.
Would it be enough? Would they be in time?
He mentally urged them to hurry and was relieved when, a few moments later she reappeared at the window with the sheets.
But when they lowered the makeshift rope, it was still painfully short of even the reach of the ladder.
It would be too dangerous for anyone to descend that way. He wasn’t waiting any longer.
“Stay put! I’m going in.”
He searched around frantically until he saw what he needed: a length of rope in the fire engine.
Grabbing it along with the ladder, he ran into the inferno.
He was somewhat familiar with the layout of the house from his several visits to the nursery; thank goodness for that.
He didn’t need to waste time finding his way around.
When he reached the corridor outside the bedchamber, the flames intensified, and the heat and smoke almost made it impossible to breathe.
He pulled his shirt collar around his nose and mouth to provide some protection as he advanced through the flaming corridor, grimly aware it was barely passable now.
He would not be able to get them out through this route.
As he turned the corner, he met with the reason why Josephine was trapped. The staircase leading to the nursery was engulfed in flames. Josephine appeared on the landing above, leaning above the railing.
“Michael! We are up here.”
Her face was soot stained and streaked with sweat, but she stayed calm despite the dire situation. The nurse, on the other hand, was almost petrified with shock, while the cries of the child echoed through the burning house, lending a macabre atmosphere to the already disastrous circumstances.