The sound of shattering split the air.Then came a chilling groan that Peter recognized as the wood flooring collapsing from somewhere within the inferno.
“When did this start?”he asked of a man who stood nearest the building and looked like a servant.
A blank expression met Peter.The man’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.Shock.Unsurprising under the circumstances.
Peter glanced around, searching for someone else he could ask.
Until…
Thank Christ.
He recognized that man as one of Croft’s footmen.
And in his arms, face averted, was an infant.
Peter strode through the throng of people that stood between him and the man, his hope for a positive outcome to what could have been a terrible tragedy, rising with each step he took.
“When did this start?”he asked of the footman, repeating the question he’d posed before.
“Maybe half an hour ago?”
And yet the house was already engulfed.“Have the insurance companies been notified?”
Even a footman ought to know which one the Crofts used, in case of emergency.The Sun, Hand-in-Hand, or The Globe, would each have their own brigade.It was therefore vital they be alerted so they could dispatch it before there was nothing left but ash.
The footman stared at him, his stricken expression a testament to the disaster unfolding before them.Instead of answering Peter’s question, the man returned his attention to the burning house.“She’s still in there.It should have been me, but… She handed me her child.”
Peter looked to the infant the footman held.“What about Mr.Croft?Where is he?”
A shake of the footman’s head informed him he’d no idea.Peter placed his hand on the man’s upper arm to convey solidarity.“Stay here so I know where to find you.I’m going to see if I can gather more information.”
He strode off, stepping between other bystanders while moving closer to the fire.The only upside at the moment was that Croft House was one of the only two detached homes in the square, the other being Montagu House.This would lessen the chance of the fire spreading to other homes since there were at least two yards between it and the neighboring buildings on either side.
Peter reached the front of the crowd and spotted the butler, who stood with his arm around a weeping woman.A hopeless expression slackened his features, which appeared to be slightly blackened by soot.His clothes looked charred, the left upper sleeve of his jacket burned through to reveal the shirt underneath.
“Who’s the insurance company?”Peter asked as soon as he reached him.
The butler blinked.“Chief Constable Kendrick.Thank God.”He eased the woman away from his person and pressed a handkerchief into her hand.
“The insurance company,” Peter pressed.
“Um…The Globe.I sent one of the hall boys to their offices as soon as I saw that the parlor was burning.This must have been at least half an hour ago, though I confess I’ve lost track of time.”His face rumpled with emotion.“I doubt there’ll be much left for the brigade to save by the time they arrive.”
“I understand Mrs.Croft is still inside,” Peter said.
Pain stretched across the older man’s face.He nodded.“I tried to go back in after her when Emma here told me she’d handed Baby Alexandra to Stewart.But by then the flames were filling the foyer and blocking the stairs.The smoke was so bad I couldn’t breathe.”
“You did well to retreat,” Peter told him, unsure if the words would comfort the man or not.
Heading into that building for any reason would have killed a young man in his prime.The butler, who appeared to be well over sixty, wouldn’t have stood a chance.
As expected, he shook his head.“I should have—”
“Adrian.Wait!”
The shouted warning snapped at Peter’s attention.He turned in the direction from which it had come, seeking the man whose booming voice had penetrated the air.
There.The commotion breaking out several yards away put Peter in motion once more.He left the butler and pushed his way through the ever-increasing crowd of onlookers.One would think most people would be in bed at this hour.Many had been, he realized, noting the robes and nightcaps worn by some of those who were more focused on the possible danger afoot than by how they appeared.
