Lucas stopped and looked up. Mrs Mereworth was staring, lips parted and her eyes moist. Stone’s expression was rigid, and Rosalind’s was…sad.
“And?” Mrs Mereworth ventured softly, breaking the stillness.
“I edged my way left, following the wall, crawling. I couldn’t see anything, but the other men must have found a chair and were bashing at the door with all their might. It finally gave way, but…fire burst through. I have never seen the like. It soared like a living menace, and I swear I saw faces in those flames – evil and malevolent. The men…three good men were engulfed; they had no chance.”
He swallowed against the horror, against the vivid image in his mind of the men, his three comrades: afire, screaming, flesh burning. “I was thrown flat to the floor by that surging heat, the flames scorching my clothes, but I kept going, crawling, till I came to a door. The handle turned and I found myself in another hall, smoky, but I could see a staircase. I ran but was halfway down when I heard the ceiling split and fire licked through the gaps. It gave way. I threw myself down the stairs but something aflame and burning caught me, knocking me to the ground. Everything went black and pain raked my skin. I thought that was it, that I would die… I don’t remember much more, only hands grabbing at my shoulders, hauling me. Then cold, cold air.”
He stopped. Nobody spoke. The carriage slowed as it turned into the Stonebridge Estate, passing through the iron gates.
“Those poor brave men. And for you to live with such memories.” Mrs Mereworth said softly.
Lucas reached out to lower the window and leaned towards the cold November wind. “I later found out it was my superior who’d dragged me out. He’d been watching the chateau with a small company of men.”
“And the child?” she asked. “Did you ever see her? To thank her? To ask her how she knew?”
“She’s dead,” he rasped, harsh with regret.
“How do you know?” Stone faltered over his words.
“I enquired after her, before I went to war, but I was told by her family that she’d died of consumption.”
“Oh, how terrible,” Mrs Mereworth said, raising a gloved hand to her mouth.
“So you see, why I believe in something, even if I am unsure what it is.”
“I do indeed, Major. I do indeed.”
He looked to Rosalind, wondering what her reaction was as she’d remained silent: her face was stoic, her eyes wet. He’d upset her again – it seemed to be a common occurrence.
Narrowing his eyes, he noticed that Stone was holding her hand tightly, and that she’d laced her fingers through his. His stomach soured at the sight.
White clouds gathered at the edges of a darkening sky and a blustery chill wind whipped through Rosalind’s frame. She ought to go back inside for dinner, but she wanted to feel the cold, as cold as she felt within. She wanted to cry out to the heavens in fury.
A shadow caught her eye.
“You didn’t tell me you’d met Mainwaring before. You ought to tell him the truth.”
“Tell him what, Benedict? That I’m the insane child that screamed in the night?” Her voice broke.
“That child saved his life! Mainwaring is a worldly man, Rosalind. He has seen atrocities that we could not even imagine. He would understand.”
“Would he? How do I know? He may be grateful to a mad child, but a cursed woman that most people would consider a witch? ’Tis not easy to understand…people get scared, my own father even. Besides, I do not hear you telling him all your secrets.”
“Hmm, I take your point. But think on it, yes?” Benedict stepped away, a low grumbling noise emanating from his stomach. “Now come and have dinner. I’m off to gather everybody else. I know it’s early but my guts are calling cupboard, and Mrs Ludgate has attempted a chicken pie although it’s likely to contain venison kidneys.”
She watched him hasten to the warmth of the house, but Rosalind stood awhile longer in the wind and the cold, her body slowly freezing from inside and out. Abruptly, a large, warm cloak enveloped her. It smelled of leather, mint and musk.
“What are you doing out here? And without a cloak. I saw you from the window arguing with Stone. Has he upset you?” She turned to look up at Lucas, his face severe in the shadows. “Or have I?”
“You? No, Lucas, of course not.”
“You were very quiet in the carriage. I was afraid I had disgusted you. It was not a pleasant story.”
Rosalind extracted a hand from beneath her cloak and laid it on his chest. They were always misunderstanding each other, but she supposed that’s what came of keeping secrets.
“No. I was saddened. At the demise of your friends, your hurt, and the death of the little girl. Did…did you not think her mad?”
“God no. Scared and frightened, yes, but not mad. She was a child, with no control over what she dreamed. And awake, as sane as you and I.”
