21. Chapter 21
Iwake floating in the sea. It must be the sea, so chilly, with wetness creeping through my clothing.
Then I’m gently washed ashore and the sand beneath me is soft, but cold.
I inhale and cough, turning my head. Black phlegm darkens the sand and…
no—it’s snow. My mind sharpens. It’s wet and cold here, but I’m not in the ocean.
It’s winter, and I’ve been deposited in the snow.
The earth is solid beneath me. It’s my senses that ebb and flow like the tide.
“Rosalyn.” Uncle. His voice swims overhead.
More spinning, then another face. “Heavens!” That’s Jane, red lips a blur above me.
Several minutes later, I hear, “Is she all right? What’s happened?” A handsome blond man appears, so familiar.
I smile. Such a pleasant face.
“She’s waking.”
My mind captures a name—Felix.
“Stay back.” Uncle again.
“Mercy, miss!” Sally. She’s always hovering.
“Rosalyn, say something.” Jane. Why is she pestering?
A wave of nausea comes over me. I twist to the side and cough again, hard.
Then I lay back, shaking, but the world steadies.
My mind settles on the bits of conversation floating about, and the words solidify into something sensible—the guests are being transported to Jane’s house.
Her family will see to their needs. The local guests are being taken to their homes.
The house party has come to a swift end.
I know why, but I cannot name it. My mind grabs at vague memories of smoke and heat, the search for Sally and—oh, but she’s here. Sally is here! I grab for her hand when she appears again, but I’m weak and trembling.
I must be cold.
“You’re…” I cough. My throat constricts, raw and smoky.
“I’m here, miss.” She hovers, brow creased. “I never should have left. I shan’t forgive myself for running off to Margaret’s.” She smooths rough hands over my face. “Oh, miss. How very sorry I am.”
Margaret—her sister.
Sally had left. She hadn’t even been in the servants’ wing—she’d snuck out for a true night off. Gone to visit her sister.
She isn’t dead.
People scurry about, hovering and talking and moving in and out of my vision, and with each blink their forms become sharper, their faces clear again. I struggle to rise. My stomach lurches.
Uncle Elias firmly holds me down, lines creasing his soot-darkened brow. He’s always unhappy with me. Ever managing me. “For once in your life, child, hold still.”
“Let me be.” I shove his heavy hand and prop myself up, closing my eyes as the world tilts painfully.
It dawns upon me slowly that Uncle rescued me.
A house full of designs and gems and tools, and he ran back in to rescue… me.
My lungs seize with coughing fits until I’m trembling, leaning hard on my hands.
I breathe slow, shallow breaths, then lift my head to take in the sight of a slushy landscape, melting snow stained by ash and soot.
A great, smoldering ruin just beyond, charred beams at odd angles, walls collapsed in on one another, is all that remains of Dunn House.
Hours must have passed while I remained senseless. The fire has burned itself out now and the brigade is wandering about without urgency.
It’s snowing again, white settling on blackened death and ruin. There’s a groan, a splintering, then a thud that sends up sparks, leaving gray ash to float down onto the mess of what was.
I can only stare, stricken. Uncle Elias is beside me, a hulking shell of his proud self.
He shifts, revealing a heavy red gash near his temple.
His coat is singed at the lapel and shoulder.
In a sickening, twisted irony, I realize my prayers have been answered.
The great Elias Dunn has been brought low.
And I despise myself for ever wishing it.
I take a breath. “The guests—did they all—”
“Everyone is safe.”
“Not quite everyone, I’m afraid,” says a deep voice.
I shift, blinking scratchy eyes. It’s the Duke of Ashbourne, and his look is grim when breaking the news to us. “Your artist, Dunn. I’m sorry.”
“No!” I twist, palms planted on icy ground, and search the faces, and it’s true. Simon is gone.
Yet… the coat. He was wearing it, and now I am. I gasp in cold air and touch the patches, and remember a voice. Steady there. Let’s keep you warm. It was a stolen moment, so brief, when everyone else was distracted, scrambling around in terror, but he was here.
Then he vanished.
And I know precisely why.
I bury my face in the collar and breathe in the sense of loss, promising myself it’s merely temporary. The moment the duke has gone, I shall find Simon standing among the rubble, tall and unshakable as ever. If not, I shall search him out for myself.
Yet, something catches in my foggy mind. Something—
Oh.
Oh no.
I push upright as the world tilts beneath me.
“Easy, miss.” Sally catches my arm.
“No.” I wrench free. “Let me go.”
“Miss Rosalyn—”
“He’s in the prison!” My throat is parched. “I must go to him, before—” I shove harder. “Let me go!”
Uncle Elias’s gaze snaps to my face. “To who? Go where?”
I sag, winded.
Realization dawns and hardens on his face. “So.” Silence. “It’s him, is it? He’s the reason you fed the poor. Snuck away every time we stopped over in Exeter. Were you truly searching for that wretched father of yours? All this time?”
“Of course,” I snap. “What else could I do?”
The wind shifts. Gray hair blows across his face as he stares at me with something akin to… pity. “I suppose,” he says quietly, “I should have told you when it happened.”
I go still. A terrible dread snakes through my soul. “Tell me what?”
He straightens, pressing his shoulders back as he releases a long sigh. “I don’t want you hoping for what can never be.”