air was clearer, and they could stand. They met the butler and Turnpenny racing up the stairs. Nightcaps askew, white nightgowns sodden with water splashed from the pails they carried, neither stopped.
Plunging down the staircase, Kate was almost tripped by more men hauling water. When she and her mother and aunt reached the front door, maids threw blankets around them and they were rushed out into the chilling rainstorm. They were quickly drenched by sheets of rain as they ran around the house to the stables. Servants took charge of Sophia and Emeline. All three of them gagged, choked, and shivered for long minutes.
Finally, with her lungs and skin burning and her blanket trailing behind her, Kate went back to the house and ran upstairs, holding her wet towel to her nose and mouth. In the hall the smoke was so thick she had to crawl again. She’d been cold in the rain, and now she felt the heat of the fire on her wet skin. She bumped into Turnpennymaking his way down the hall checking each room. The coachman steadied her.
“Miss, I can’t find Lady Ophelia. I fear she’s still in her room.”
“You keep looking,” Kate said. “I’ll see if she went outside.”
Ophelia wasn’t outside. Drenched servants rushed past her carrying silver, paintings, and furniture. Maids wept or helped lift water, but no Ophelia. As Kate searched, her dread grew, and pictures of her cousin burning alive kept leaping into her mind. Her stomach roiled and her legs grew weak, and she bolted back into the house and upstairs.
Turnpenny had given up. He was throwing buckets of water with the rest of the menservants, and Kate could see a wall of flames where Ophelia’s door used to be. Turnpenny yelled at her.
“It’s no use, miss. We can’t get to Lady Ophelia’s room.”
Kate screened her face with her hands and coughed.
Oh God. Oh God, no. Dear Lord, please no.
Feeling her strength drain away in the face of horror, Kate made herself leave the inferno.
Stumbling over the skirt of her gown, she lurched out of the house and across the lawn to fall against the side of the stables. She doubled over, her hand clamped to her mouth. Trembling and sobbing, she huddled against the wall and finally dropped to her knees. She could feel a great wail building inside as she imagined Ophelia burning. Desperate, she clamped both hands over her mouth to muffle the sound, and let it out.
The scream filled her mind, tore at her throat. She gulped in air as another keening sob gathered from deep inside her body. They kept coming, one after the other until she lost count.
Some time later, a gust of wind whipped a lock of wethair across her face, and she dragged it out of the way. Her cheek pressed to the wall, she pounded the brick with her fist. The impact scraped skin from her hand, and she caught her breath. She couldn’t stay there whimpering. Ophelia was dead, but there were others who needed help.
Clawing the wall, she managed to stand. She took several breaths, wiped her face on her gown, and picked up her blanket. Hands shaking, tears still falling, she joined the Maitland House staff in filling water buckets.
She didn’t know how long she stood in the rain and pumped water. All she did know was that her hands were as numb from the cold as her feelings were from shock. She kept her attention on the repetitive motions of raising and lowering the pump handle, until the clatter of hooves and wagon wheels broke her concentration.
The storm was passing when several men rode into the stable yard, followed by a wagon carrying more. As a stable boy took her place at the pump, Kate gathered her sodden blanket around her and ran to meet the newcomers. The lead man hauled back on the reins of his horse and bent down to her.
“Is everyone safe? Where is Lady Ophelia?”
It was de Granville.
Kate wiped the sweat and rain from her face and clutched her blanket to her neck. “She was caught—caught in the fire.” Her voice sounded dead and far
Plunging down the staircase, Kate was almost tripped by more men hauling water. When she and her mother and aunt reached the front door, maids threw blankets around them and they were rushed out into the chilling rainstorm. They were quickly drenched by sheets of rain as they ran around the house to the stables. Servants took charge of Sophia and Emeline. All three of them gagged, choked, and shivered for long minutes.
Finally, with her lungs and skin burning and her blanket trailing behind her, Kate went back to the house and ran upstairs, holding her wet towel to her nose and mouth. In the hall the smoke was so thick she had to crawl again. She’d been cold in the rain, and now she felt the heat of the fire on her wet skin. She bumped into Turnpennymaking his way down the hall checking each room. The coachman steadied her.
“Miss, I can’t find Lady Ophelia. I fear she’s still in her room.”
“You keep looking,” Kate said. “I’ll see if she went outside.”
Ophelia wasn’t outside. Drenched servants rushed past her carrying silver, paintings, and furniture. Maids wept or helped lift water, but no Ophelia. As Kate searched, her dread grew, and pictures of her cousin burning alive kept leaping into her mind. Her stomach roiled and her legs grew weak, and she bolted back into the house and upstairs.
Turnpenny had given up. He was throwing buckets of water with the rest of the menservants, and Kate could see a wall of flames where Ophelia’s door used to be. Turnpenny yelled at her.
“It’s no use, miss. We can’t get to Lady Ophelia’s room.”
Kate screened her face with her hands and coughed.
Oh God. Oh God, no. Dear Lord, please no.
Feeling her strength drain away in the face of horror, Kate made herself leave the inferno.
Stumbling over the skirt of her gown, she lurched out of the house and across the lawn to fall against the side of the stables. She doubled over, her hand clamped to her mouth. Trembling and sobbing, she huddled against the wall and finally dropped to her knees. She could feel a great wail building inside as she imagined Ophelia burning. Desperate, she clamped both hands over her mouth to muffle the sound, and let it out.
The scream filled her mind, tore at her throat. She gulped in air as another keening sob gathered from deep inside her body. They kept coming, one after the other until she lost count.
Some time later, a gust of wind whipped a lock of wethair across her face, and she dragged it out of the way. Her cheek pressed to the wall, she pounded the brick with her fist. The impact scraped skin from her hand, and she caught her breath. She couldn’t stay there whimpering. Ophelia was dead, but there were others who needed help.
Clawing the wall, she managed to stand. She took several breaths, wiped her face on her gown, and picked up her blanket. Hands shaking, tears still falling, she joined the Maitland House staff in filling water buckets.
She didn’t know how long she stood in the rain and pumped water. All she did know was that her hands were as numb from the cold as her feelings were from shock. She kept her attention on the repetitive motions of raising and lowering the pump handle, until the clatter of hooves and wagon wheels broke her concentration.
The storm was passing when several men rode into the stable yard, followed by a wagon carrying more. As a stable boy took her place at the pump, Kate gathered her sodden blanket around her and ran to meet the newcomers. The lead man hauled back on the reins of his horse and bent down to her.
“Is everyone safe? Where is Lady Ophelia?”
It was de Granville.
Kate wiped the sweat and rain from her face and clutched her blanket to her neck. “She was caught—caught in the fire.” Her voice sounded dead and far
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