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He slid through the opening. “And now we wait,” he whispered. “You should go back inside.”
She didn’t move. From what she could hear, the activity around the gate had steadily increased. Men were talking, and she heard the clink of chains. Someone shouted what sounded like an alarm. “What is happening?”
“I imagine they’ve just seen the cart,” he answered with a snicker. “They’ve attached chains to the gate. They mean to pull it down.”
“Should we not light the hay, then?”
“Not yet. Give it another moment or two.”
When shouts of “Pull!” began echoing in the outer yard, he bent and opened the lamp’s shutter. “Now we’re ready,” he said grimly as he held the end of one oil-soaked cloth to the lamp’s flame. It caught, and he lit another. One in each hand, he darted into the opening and lobbed first one and then the other into the night.
At least one of the bottles broke upon landing. Shouts rang out, followed by the neighing of horses and the report of gunfire, but it was too late. Mr. Young was already back beside her, reaching for another bottle. In the opening beyond, Jacqueline saw the dancing orange glow of fire.
“Did you hit it?”
“My aim was true,” he replied, again taking a flaming bottle in each hand. He leaned into the opening.
This time, she heard the impact of both bottles against wood, followed by a low, ominous roar. The orange glow grew brighter. She handed him the last bottle. This time, when he stood in the opening, she could see his face lit by the fire without. A wrathful grimace stretched his lips as he hurled the flaming missile with all his might.
“Come and look,” he said a moment later. “It’s quite safe. They cannot see—and I believe them now concerned more for themselves than us.”
The sound of panicked horses neighing mingled with the muffled shouts of men and the hungry crackle of fire. She leaned around the corner. The hay cart was engulfed—as was the roof of the storage hut to the gate’s right. Alarmed, she turned to him. “Why did you light the coal? You risk setting the whole place afire!”
“When the hay cart caught, I spied in its light a man atop the wall above the stores—they must have used a hook and rope. I had to do something. The heat and smoke should keep them off for a bit.”
Her heart all but stopped. “I must warn the others. He may not have been the first.”
“True, but he’ll likely be the last,” he said, chuckling. “And our fire will attract some attention. We’re sure to have help soon.”
“I just pray the fire remains confined,” she said, trying not to sound accusatory. “I would rather we had shot him than risk it spreading.”
“We’re safe unless the wind changes,” he insisted. Lightning flickered, and a low rumble shook the ground. “You may not have to worry over it for very long. I smell rain. Go. I’ll strike the posts here and come in a moment.”
She nodded, glancing up at the top of the wall above them in fear. How many had already climbed up and were on the roof even now looking for a way in? Turning, she ran.
Agnes greeted her at the door with round eyes. “The fire—it’s so big! Are we safe?”
Jacqueline declined to answer for fear of telling a lie. “We spied a man atop the wall. I don’t know how many might have made it up before him, but there should be no more with the fire. Everyone inside needs to be ready. Two of us must fetch Prudence, Henriette, and Elsie from the front and bring them to the dining hall.”
“What of the front door?”
“Pray it holds,” Jacqueline told her. “I won’t leave three women to guard it when we have no idea how many men might be coming.”
“I’ll see to it.” Agnes bustled off faster than Jacqueline had ever seen her move.
Turning, she addressed Molly. “Stay here with Dulcie and wait for Mr. Young. As soon as he’s inside, you are to lock and barricade this door. Then I want you to join us. A storm is coming, but even if it fails to rain, the fire cannot burn indefinitely. We purchased but a brief respite.”
The girl blanched. “I’ll make certain they cannot get in through here.”
As she walked back through the kitchen, Jacqueline dug deep into her store of courage as well as her pocket. The cool grip of her pistol slid against her palm, comforting in its solidity.
Anyone who’d gotten through was in for a nasty surprise. She’d killed a man before. She’d do it again.
…
Rounding the corner, Will slid to a stop and stared in horror. Fire roared behind the school’s gate, sending billows of smoke into the street, where men were shouting and dashing to and fro. A few bore buckets and were trying to put out the flames, but whether they were friend or foe, Will couldn’t tell.
He decided to err on the side of caution. Turning back, he beckoned the others. On reaching the front of the school, his heart sank. He’d known better than to hope she’d be standing there with her girls clustered around, watching the fire from a safe distance. His only comfort lay in that it appeared not to have reached beyond the
