Page 135 of The English Wife

Burke swore beneath his breath. “Quick.” Reversing direction, he ran with Janie to the double doors to the passage, Anne on their heels, Giles Lacey half pulling, half carrying a stunned Mrs. Van Duyvil. “With this wind, it won’t take long for the whole place to go up.”

The air was relatively clear in the hall. Janie took a choking breath, staring at Burke with fear-filled eyes. “The children. They’re in the nursery.”

“Where?” Burke didn’t waste time with extraneous words.

“On the third floor.” Two stories above the parlor, on the same flue. Janie didn’t wait for Burke to say anything else; she lifted her skirts and took off running. Behind her, she could hear Burke’s voice, raised in command. “Lacey! Come with me. Mrs. Newland, you get the servants out.”

If Anne demurred or argued, Janie didn’t hear it. She was already halfway up the stairs, trying to remember the plan of the house, wishing that she had paid more attention when Bay had offered to give her the tour. The nurseries faced east and south.

“Is there anyone else in the house?” Burke caught up with her, taking the stairs two steps at a time.

“The Gerritts.” The higher they went, the more strongly Janie smelled smoke. She had to struggle to form the words, although she wasn’t sure if it was the smoke or the fear strangling her. “The kitchen maid. Mother’s maid.”

The grand stair only went to the second floor. For the third, one needed to take a smaller side stair. The handle was hot to her hand. Janie wrenched open the door and began coughing again as smoke billowed down.

Burke pulled her back, slamming the door. “Is there another way?”

“The servants’ stairs,” said Lacey with the authority of the man who owned the original house. “If we go back through the west wing…”

Janie shook her head. “Stair. Annabelle’s room. She had a private stair put through to the night nursery.” Janie took a step back and nearly bumped into her mother, there behind her. “What are you—?”

“Do you think I would leave Bay’s son?” Her mother’s hair was gray with ashes, her dress torn. “Don’t just stand there. Go.”

“Annabelle’s room is this way,” Janie said and didn’t wait to see if her mother followed. Surely, her mother wouldn’t—? No. She couldn’t even think that. But she took comfort in Burke’s presence beside her as they careened into Annabelle’s rooms, nearly crying at the sound of a familiar voice crying, “But I need Polly!”

Annabelle’s suite was thick with smoke, but through it, Janie could make out the children’s nurse, Bast in her arms, Viola fighting to try to get away from her grasp. Janie ran forward, but Burke was faster. He snatched Bast up and thrust him into Janie’s arms just in time to catch the nurse before she toppled. There was a gash on the nurse’s forehead and soot on her uniform.

“I need to get Polly!”

Janie snagged Viola by the back of her pinafore, hoisting her protesting into her arms.

“Hush, sweetling.” She locked her arms around Viola, hiding her tears in her hair. “We’ll get you a new duck. But now we need to go.”

“Come on,” said Lacey, and kicked the door open, only to shy back as, with a roar and a crack, a beam fell from the hall ceiling, knocking over the oil lamp that sat on a table outside Annabelle’s room. A lake of fire spread around them.

“This way.” Janie’s mother’s voice was hoarse with smoke but as autocratic as ever. It was impossible to imagine her as the clawing, shouting thing Janie had seen in the parlor. She gestured them through Annabelle’s bedroom to her sitting room, where the window looked out over the breakfast room. “There’s a ledge.”

Janie could have cried to see it. It was one of the many Gothic extravagances of the house, a stone roof over the triple windows of the breakfast room.

“Lacey,” said Burke, kicking the door to the bedroom shut behind them. Even with the door closed, Janie could feel the heat of the spreading fire. Burke’s face was streaked with soot and sweat. “You go down and I’ll hand the children down to you.”

“Here.” Lacey handed Bast to Janie’s mother and lowered himself out the window onto the ledge, jumping from there onto the ground. The snow and the heat haze combined to form a sort of fog; Janie could see his face slipping in and out.

“All right?” Burke said to Janie, and she nodded even though she was anything but all right, nodded because Viola was clinging to her neck, no longer crying for Polly, but silent with fear. To the nurse, he said, “You next, when I hand them down to you, take them to the old house. Do you understand?”

He dropped down to the ledge and held out his arms for Viola. “Come on, Polly.”

“Polly,” said Viola, forgetting to be scared in her annoyance, “is the duck.”

“Right,” said Burke, “of course she is.” And he handed Viola down to Lacey, who staggered a bit, but set her down safely.

“Take the boy!” It was her mother, voice tense with anxiety, thrusting Sebastian into Janie’s arms.

“Sebastian,” muttered Janie. “His name is Sebastian. Don’t worry, Sebastian. It’s all right. You’re all right.”

She could feel the heat through the back of her dress, making her skin crisp. The wind was arctic, the snow blew in her face, but her hair felt as though it was singeing on the back of her neck. Blinking her stinging eyes, she could see Anne, blessed Anne, swinging up one of the twins, urging everyone on. There were more shadowed forms in the snow: the Gerritts, the kitchen maid, the nursery maid, others who Janie didn’t remember and didn’t recognize, but Anne had them all in hand, herding them relentlessly towards the shelter of the old house as the storm winds raged around them, blowing snow and fire.

“Now you!” shouted Burke, reaching up.