Nash and Moriarty knew
they weren’t listening to fireworks.
“A bomb!” shouted Nash,
dropping his weapon and swivelling round to Damery. “Throw me my
gun!”
Damery reacted spontaneously.
He tossed the two young men their weapons and watched them sprint
for the pavilion just as a third bomb went off. General de Merville
suddenly seemed to rouse himself, perhaps only just realising his
beloved daughter was still inside the building. He raced after
them, putting his old war pegs through their paces as fast as they
would go. Damery caught up to his friend, but they had no hope of
catching up to the younger pair. Prince Sergei stayed to collect
his valuable pistols and Mr Blague stayed with him. There was no
telling if the third bomb was the last. The lake was the best place
to be.
Sections of the pavilion were
on fire. Debris and shards of glass were everywhere. Men were
shouting and ladies were screaming; some of the guests were
staggering, some limping, and others needed to be carried; blood
was streaming everywhere. The scene was one of utter chaos.
Nevertheless, from a distance -
say the distance from the pavilion to the lake - it was clear the
damage was not as devastating as it could have been. Whoever set
the bombs had messed up badly. The first two bombs blew the lids
off the domes that stood at either end; the ones that housed the
divans and hookahs. The third bomb went off in the foyer. The huge
ballroom with the airy triptych of domes where the majority of the
guests, cloaked and mantled, were probably gathering prior to
stepping out to the lawn facing the river for the best view of the
fireworks had been miraculously spared.
Moriarty shirt-fronted Nash as
they hurtled up the grassy knoll; his breath came in desperate
heaves. “No playing the fucking hero! Duty comes first!”
“Are you saying we’re on the
same side?”
“We’re never going to be on the
same side, Nash, and not because I’m Irish and you’re stupid, but
because she can only ever choose one of us.”
“Are you denying your Irish
friends had anything to do with those bombs?”
“Did you see those domes blow
sky-high? I was planning to be inside one of them till midnight. If
my friends had anything to do with it then I wouldn’t need any
enemies.”
There was another series of
violent explosions, a burst of panic, and deafening screams. It
took a moment to realize that this time it was the actual
fireworks. They had been set up on a barge on the river and the men
in charge had no idea the three bombs weren’t part of the
entertainment. The sky rained stars and diamonds and the mad
midnight scene became wildly surreal because of what had already
taken place. Some people laughed and others cried. Some, suffering
shock, were too traumatised to care.
With no thought for their own
safety, Nash and Moriarty, rushed inside the pavilion and began
clearing away heavy timbers, mostly from the shattered staircase,
and chunks of ceiling plaster that blocked the exit. Captain
Thompson, having raced across from the stable block, joined them.
He began directing his men to assist the injured, the elderly, and
those in shock.
It was a credit to the Prince
of Wales that, suffering only minor abrasions, he refused to be
whisked away to safety. His natural warmth and bonhomie went a long
way to calming nerves and restoring order.
The Princess of Wales, who had
been in the cloak room, and suffered only a few scratches, likewise
refused to leave without her husband. She organized a line of older
ladies to make bandages out of torn petticoats, and a younger group
to bandage wounds and staunch bleeding. Miss de Merville was among
this second group, her indomitable spirit acting as an example to
others who might have been squeamish at the sight of so much
blood.
Mrs Klein, looking fiercely
magnificent in her Valkyrie costume, rallied any man who might
otherwise have given into fear. Before long she had a conga line of
men relaying buckets of water
they weren’t listening to fireworks.
“A bomb!” shouted Nash,
dropping his weapon and swivelling round to Damery. “Throw me my
gun!”
Damery reacted spontaneously.
He tossed the two young men their weapons and watched them sprint
for the pavilion just as a third bomb went off. General de Merville
suddenly seemed to rouse himself, perhaps only just realising his
beloved daughter was still inside the building. He raced after
them, putting his old war pegs through their paces as fast as they
would go. Damery caught up to his friend, but they had no hope of
catching up to the younger pair. Prince Sergei stayed to collect
his valuable pistols and Mr Blague stayed with him. There was no
telling if the third bomb was the last. The lake was the best place
to be.
Sections of the pavilion were
on fire. Debris and shards of glass were everywhere. Men were
shouting and ladies were screaming; some of the guests were
staggering, some limping, and others needed to be carried; blood
was streaming everywhere. The scene was one of utter chaos.
Nevertheless, from a distance -
say the distance from the pavilion to the lake - it was clear the
damage was not as devastating as it could have been. Whoever set
the bombs had messed up badly. The first two bombs blew the lids
off the domes that stood at either end; the ones that housed the
divans and hookahs. The third bomb went off in the foyer. The huge
ballroom with the airy triptych of domes where the majority of the
guests, cloaked and mantled, were probably gathering prior to
stepping out to the lawn facing the river for the best view of the
fireworks had been miraculously spared.
Moriarty shirt-fronted Nash as
they hurtled up the grassy knoll; his breath came in desperate
heaves. “No playing the fucking hero! Duty comes first!”
“Are you saying we’re on the
same side?”
“We’re never going to be on the
same side, Nash, and not because I’m Irish and you’re stupid, but
because she can only ever choose one of us.”
“Are you denying your Irish
friends had anything to do with those bombs?”
“Did you see those domes blow
sky-high? I was planning to be inside one of them till midnight. If
my friends had anything to do with it then I wouldn’t need any
enemies.”
There was another series of
violent explosions, a burst of panic, and deafening screams. It
took a moment to realize that this time it was the actual
fireworks. They had been set up on a barge on the river and the men
in charge had no idea the three bombs weren’t part of the
entertainment. The sky rained stars and diamonds and the mad
midnight scene became wildly surreal because of what had already
taken place. Some people laughed and others cried. Some, suffering
shock, were too traumatised to care.
With no thought for their own
safety, Nash and Moriarty, rushed inside the pavilion and began
clearing away heavy timbers, mostly from the shattered staircase,
and chunks of ceiling plaster that blocked the exit. Captain
Thompson, having raced across from the stable block, joined them.
He began directing his men to assist the injured, the elderly, and
those in shock.
It was a credit to the Prince
of Wales that, suffering only minor abrasions, he refused to be
whisked away to safety. His natural warmth and bonhomie went a long
way to calming nerves and restoring order.
The Princess of Wales, who had
been in the cloak room, and suffered only a few scratches, likewise
refused to leave without her husband. She organized a line of older
ladies to make bandages out of torn petticoats, and a younger group
to bandage wounds and staunch bleeding. Miss de Merville was among
this second group, her indomitable spirit acting as an example to
others who might have been squeamish at the sight of so much
blood.
Mrs Klein, looking fiercely
magnificent in her Valkyrie costume, rallied any man who might
otherwise have given into fear. Before long she had a conga line of
men relaying buckets of water
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