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With some of the rooms already blocked by the flames, Henry knew he couldn’t reach them all. He could only grab the nearest family members and hope the others found their way out.
His distress was louder than any other thought, but his unwavering determination led him to the next door. He recognized it right away and shoved his shoulder as hard as he could against it. The wood splintered and cracked until it separated from the frame.
Henry held his breath and ran inside the dark room, to find his dear niece splayed across her bed, unmoving.
“Agnes!” he screamed, running to her and placing a finger against her neck. The fickle, gentle beat of her pulse pounded against his skin.
She was alive.
Henry slipped his arms under the small girl and felt the delicate weight of her in his grasp. Her innocent, seemingly lifeless form shocked his entire system into fleeing the room and hurrying back down the stairs.
The smoke pinched at Henry’s eyes and tried to seep into his lungs, but he wouldn’t let it stop him. He couldn’t let his niece die in such a horrific way, and he would be damned if he gave up.
Henry heaved in a big breath of fresh air the moment he made it back outside, and his legs nearly collapsed from under him. A raging cough rattled through his chest, accompanied by a faint yet persistent ringing in his ears. Even so, he hurried across the driveway until he reached the lawn, where he found the footmen frantically watching as the house burned.
He gently placed Agnes’ unconscious body onto the grass and glanced between the footmen, eyes bewildered and wild with fear. He was already standing and backing towards the house when he barked at the men, “Help her… dear God, help my niece!”
The footmen nodded frantically and crowded around the girl to tend to her. A flash of relief trickled into Henry’s heart at the vague cough that sprouted from Agnes’ chest. She was alive and free from the burning house. Surely, she would be all right. But it was far from over.
Before reason convinced him not to enter, Henry flung himself back inside the hellish scene. One half of the house was almost entirely engulfed in flame, with more threatening smog filling it by the second.
The fire roared, leaving ruin in its wake, not caring about who or what it claimed. It smashed out windows, burned the old wood frames, and destroyed each valued treasure inside. The fumes were likely so strong that, by now,everyone in Kent was aware of the fire. Henry hoped that the additional help would be sufficient.
His lungs began to ache as he navigated the newly sprouted fires and made his way back upstairs. His eyes burned like the rest of the place, but he wouldn’t give up.
A haunting creak from the collapsing structure made Henry’s heart clench, and he knew the end was nearing. He was horribly aware of the few minutes he had left to save whoever else he could before the whole house fell in on itself and was completely consumed.
Panicked screams and blood-curdling wails echoed off the walls and crashed against his skull. He had no idea where they were, but he needed to find them. Henry ran down the burning hall, despite the small flames lapping at his feet.
* * *
More smoke rolled out of the estate to form a toxic cloud above the charred building. The thick plumes hung heavily in the air and served as a signal of the devastation it caused, unrelenting while the fire raged on.
Several figures emerged from the murky doorway, reuniting with clean, breathable air. A butler carried a small-framed maid out of the burning house and continued on until they arrived at the others who were waiting on the lawn. More house staff emerged, leaning on one another as they fled to safety, coughing and collapsing on the cool, refreshing grass.
The relieved individuals cried for one another and offered what comfort they could while they tried to regain their composure. Tears stained their faces, and smoke tainted their lungs. Yet, they were glad to be alive.
Henry stumbled across the threshold with a maid’s arm around his shoulders, while she covered her eyes. They both choked on the sudden influx of clean air. The maid couldn’t contain herself, whimpering and crying out for her fellow staff.
He gently helped her to the ground while the others saw to her, and did his best to catch his breath. The dense smoke weighed on his lungs like stones. His entire body ached for rest and to be outside, where it was safe and less contaminated.
Upon glancing around at the few survivors, Henry noticed a group of villagers who had come to help. While their intentions were good, he knew they had arrived too late. None of them would be willing to enter the house, not after so much was already ravaged by the fire and in danger of collapse.
But Henry wasn’t like them.
With a groan of resistance from his body, he faced the ravenous fire and began to return to the house. His skin felt half-charred from the flames that reached for him and sweat slicked his forehead. Every cell in his body urged him to stop—to give in and admit defeat.
Yet he chose to ignore the warning, and continued forward.
Suddenly, a hand fell on his shoulder, and he bristled at the sudden contact. He glanced behind to see one of the footmen staring back at him, face long and desolate. The man’s dark eyes seared into him and said everything Henry needed to know. It simultaneously relieved him and made him want to scream.
“Don’t, sir. It is gone. You have done enough.”
Panic blew Henry’s glassy eyes wide open, and he gripped the footman’s arms. “Tell me, is anyone else alive inside?!”
Henry watched the dejected man for a split second longer, until a very loud and sudden commotion tore his eyes away.
The house folded into itself and came crashing down in a blazing heap. Sparks and ash shot into the sky, and the rest of the structure was completely engulfed in flame.
