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 thetop 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.
Theboomofanexplosion, 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.
