But even as they reached it, Archer realised they couldn’t cross: soldiers were already being stationed to keep people away. Hundreds were gathering along the river’s edge, staring across the Thames to where it seemed the end of the world was happening.
The crowd was oddly quiet, disbelieving what they were witnessing. On the far bank of the Thames, the great ancient buildings of the Houses of Lords and Commons that had been there for all their lives were ablaze in an inferno of dreadful heat. Vast spirals of angry orange and yellow flames leapt into the dark sky, smoke billowed, sparks flew in showers of gold and crimson and you could hear the ominous roar of the fire sounding like some evil dragon even with the breadth of the river between them.
The rapidly flowing water was stained with all the colours of the flames above, so that the shiny black ribbon changed into a kaleidoscope of gold and scarlet, orange and brown.
Archer dismounted and swung Jane down to stand beside him. Without thinking, he wrapped his arm round her shoulders, to hold her tight, scared that in this crush she couldwell be trodden under foot if people suddenly decided to move forward and he was scared she would be pushed down the embankment towards the water.
“It’s the Houses of Parliament!” Jane whispered, her voice muffled by his cravat that she still wore over her nose and mouth. “Oh what a tragedy! I have never seen anything so dreadful. What can possibly have caused this?”
There was a long rumbling sound, distant thunder as another part of a roof gave way and great timbers, already blazing, were hurled into the sky, some of them crashing down to sizzle in the river below. There were shouts and screams as some of the small boats that had foolishly been rowed close to the bank for a closer look, caught fire from falling brands and their occupants were forced to leap into the water. Their screams as they splashed, some swimming for safety, some drowning in plain sight caused Jane to hide her face against Archer’s shoulder. It was a scene straight from a picture book of Hell.
Even from a distance, Jane could feel the searing heat and Archer’s horse moved restlessly, anxious to be away from the inferno that was hungrily consuming all that lay in its path.
“I need to get you home, Jane,” Archer said at last, tearing his gaze away from the dreadful scene. “We cannot cross the river here, we need to head upstream. Eventually we will find another bridge open.”
“If you can just accompany me to the other side of the river, Sir, I am sure I can get a cab to take me home. There is no need for you to worry.”
“Jane! If you think for one moment that I am going to allow you to roam around London on your own again, then you are very much mistaken. I’m sure you thought you were doing the right thing for that poor girl, but it was incredibly foolhardy.
Anything could have happened to you in that part of town and no one would have known where you were. What would youhave done when you saw the fire? You could have been trampled in the crush. I am sure many people suffered that fate tonight.”
He helped her back onto the horse and she silently accepted his assistance, aware that he sounded angry. She was well aware that he had every right to be so. This was the second time he had rescued her from danger—well, the third, she cautioned herself honestly, if one counted the time on the top of the cliffs!
She supposed that he was thinking that Anne would not have acted in such a way. That she would have consulted their mother and let her deal with Grace Frost. But Jane knew Anne would have done no such thing. She would have completely ignored Grace and the terrible situation she was in. Jane had no doubt that her twin’s reaction would be that the girl had caused her own downfall by being wanton.
That might have been the case, but it was not up to Jane to judge. She remembered an old saying of her dear Nanny Chilcot who had looked after them for so many years. “You can’t put the honey back in the comb”. That was the situation with Grace. There was a baby on the way and what happened next to the girl was in some aspects more important than what had happened to cause the child to exist in the first place.
Her own feelings of anger began to surface. She wanted to say that she had not asked him to follow her to Grace’s home tonight or to rescue her from the crowd at the Green Man. Archer was here of his own volition, so blaming her was wrong. Surely there was no need for him to be so irritable, especially when such a tremendous tragedy was taking place in Westminster.
She could only hope that no one was hurt but she knew that was not a realistic thought. With such crowds, excited and scared, all sorts of crimes could have been committed. Pick-pockets and cut-throats would use the fire as a perfect cover for their heinous activities. She prayed that Grace had had the sense to stay back from the crowd. It would have been mostinadvisable in her condition to be pushed around by a mob of people.
Archer was fighting down his temper, trying to stay calm, to concentrate on getting the girl away from any danger and safely home to her parents. When all the while he wanted to shake her, to demand to know why she insisted on putting herself into these alarming situations.
He wanted to make her see that she could have been attacked by footpads, robbed, injured—his imagination had her bound hand and foot and taken on board ship, a victim of the white slave trade! He wanted her to promise him most faithfully that she would never, ever do anything like this again.
Whispering at the corners of his indignation was a voice that told him her future behaviour was not his concern. Jane Darcy was to be his sister-in-law, she would owe him nothing but family affection and that was all he would be forced to show her in return. He felt a twist of pain in his stomach, caused no doubt by the thick smoke that still billowed around them.
The journey back to Matlock House was slow, so many people were hurrying in the other direction, all noisy exclamations, crowds anxious to see the fire. But at last they were trotting under the trees of the Square and there was the house in front of them, every window ablaze with light.
Jane winced with weariness and aching limbs as she half slipped, half fell from her perch behind the saddle onto the ground. Once more Archer’s arms held her and for a long moment they stood, silent, in the shadow of the trees. She lifted her face to his and he traced a line across her cheek to her lips.
“Soot!” he muttered hoarsely. “But still beautiful.” And then he was kissing her, at first softly, then with a terrible hunger that brought her hands up to his head, tangling her fingers in his hair as she returned his embrace, straining against him, wanting nothing more but to be as close to him as she could.
At last they broke away and with a shudder, Archer pushed her away. “Go indoors, Jane. Quickly. I will not apologise for kissing you, although I know it was indefensible. Let’s just call it a fitting end to a nightmare evening.”
14
By the end of October, the excitement caused by the great fire had faded a little, although the vast ruins were still being inspected and removed. Blame and recriminations were bandied about but nothing would bring back the wonderful old buildings. Speculation was rife as to how the Houses of Parliament would be restored and it was rumoured that a competition was to be announced, so that architects could submit their plans.
In all the upheaval of that dreadful event, Jane’s arrival home that night, minus bonnet, her hair tangled, eyes reddened by tears that had mingled with the black streaks across her face, had gone almost unnoticed. Yes, she had been missed, but when reports of the fire had reached Matlock House, all the servants who were not on duty had rushed out to head for the scene, gaze and exclaim and somehow it had been accepted that Jane had gone with them, unnoticed, to view the fire for a short while.
She was glad that she hadn’t had to give an explanation of her absence. She had never been good at twisting the truth to her own advantage. But luckily her parents had been engrossedby the tragedy. Anne had not the slightest interest in what she was doing and only Bennetta looked puzzled when Jane said the following day that she was very tired and would keep to her room and have her meals sent up on trays.
“A nightmare evening!”
All Jane could hear ringing in her ears as she paced her room were those words that Archer had spoken. All she could feel was the warmth and pressure of his lips on hers, and the look on his face as he had pushed her away. Almost an expression of despair, which was ridiculous. He had kissed her out of anger, out of the emotions the fire had raised in him.
She didn’t blame him for one second. Obviously he felt despair: as a gentleman who was apparently in a close relationship with a young lady, kissing her sister in such a fashion would be unthinkable to his sense of honour.
