“You miserable bastard!” Aidan roared. He grabbed McRae’s neckcloth. “You cold-blooded, murdering whoreson!”
“They died of injuries and sickness,” McRae sneered, spittle flying across Aidan’s cheek.
“Fire!” someone screamed. Other voices joined in.
Dear God, what next?
More people joined in raising the alarm, pointing frantically toward the mill. Aidan released McRae and they glanced in that direction. The residence portion of the mill was on fire. Smoke poured out of the closed windows, as they were obviously not well-sealed. One of the windows shattered and flames whooshed forward, causing the crowd to gasp and shout.
“My son!” McRae yelled.
“Your wife is in there too?” Aidan questioned.
“Yes. Oh, God!”
The gray-haired man called to the soldiers, “Make sure those inside the mill make it to safety!”
The soldiers nodded and ran with all haste toward the main entrance.
Unlike the mill’s brick exterior, the residence was wood-framed. The structure was quickly being consumed by the roaring blaze, which grew in intensity with each passing minute.
It occurred to Cristyn what Aidan was about to do. No. He would be hurt, or killed. “Aidan, no!” she cried out.
He stopped, met her gaze, gave her a regretful smile, then ran toward the inferno.
She was about to head after him, but a strong hand held her arm, halting her.
“No, miss. I’ll go. I’ll watch out for him.”
She gazed up into the rough face of Delaney. His eyes reflected sadness, and her heart ached. Words would not form; all she could do was nod.
Delaney fell in behind Aidan. They disappeared around the rear of the building, and Cristyn’s blood froze in her veins. The crowd attempted to move forward, but a few soldiers—along with the gray-haired man and a younger one, who must have been Aidan’s Samuel—kept them at bay.
Carter ran to her, his expression reflecting the worry she felt. Cristyn slipped her arm about his shoulder.
Aidan, my love, be careful.
If she lost him, her heart would never recover.
Chapter 22
With a swift kick, Aidan tore the door to the residence off its hinges. He stepped aside, waiting for the roar of flames to greet him, but nothing came—it hadn’t spread to the stairwell yet. No time to waste. Delaney caught up to him. “I’ll grab the boy, you find the wife,” Aidan said.
“Aye. Lead the way,” Delaney replied.
There was nothing else for it but to dash in, locate them, and escape before the roof caved in or the passageway caught fire. Aidan ascended the stairs until he reached the French double doors. Through the glass, he could see small pockets of flame consuming draperies and furniture and climbing ever higher to the ceiling. Through the smoke, he saw Mrs. McRae slumped on the sofa. Where was the boy?
Upon opening the doors, the fire was met with a blast of oxygen, but the rush of flames was not as serious as it could have been due to the fact the window had already been smashed, allowing air into the room. Or so Aidan surmised. Before he’d arrived, he read up on how serious a fire could be at a cotton mill. If the fire spread to the mill proper—it didn’t bear thinking about. Hopefully the workers made it to safety. Aidan pulled the draperies down to try to slow the spread of the fire, but it insidiously consumed everything it came in contact with: cushions, rugs, wooden cabinets filled with expensive treasures.
Delaney lifted the unconscious woman over his shoulder. “Never mind the fire, find the boy!” he yelled at Aidan. “I’ll wait.”
Right. Aidan sprinted into the narrow hallway, coughing as the black smoke grew thicker.
“Come out, lad!”
He had checked two rooms and was about to exit the third when he heard a whimper. Crouching down, he found McRae’s son curled into a ball under a bed. “Take my hand!”
The boy didn’t move or respond. Aidan grabbed his leg and pulled him from his hiding place. Copying Delaney, he slung the boy over his shoulder and ran to the parlor. Aidan’s eyes were watering; the heat was overwhelming, making breathing difficult. “Ready—”
“Look out!” Delaney shoved him out of the way, causing him and the boy to sprawl across the sofa. A large section of the ceiling fell on Delaney, scattering him and Mrs. McRae in sparks and flame. That Delaney managed to stay upright and still have a firm hold of the woman was impressive. But the sleeve of his coat had caught fire, the flame spreading upward, catching part of Mrs. McRae’s skirt, then in turn spreading to Delaney’s face and hair.
McRae’s son was screaming at the top of his lungs as Aidan jumped from the sofa. He grabbed a cushion and tried to beat the flames into submission. He’d managed to snuff out most of it when Delaney yelled, “Go, before the rest of the ceiling comes down on us!”
Aidan threw the cushion aside, grabbed the hysterical child, and rushed through the wall of flames that was spreading into the stairwell. When they reached the outside, Delaney collapsed, part of his sleeve still burning. Muggeridge shrugged out of his coat and smothered the remaining flames.
Aidan lowered the screaming boy, and when he located his father he stumbled toward him. Cristyn ran into Aidan’s arms and he held her close, grateful to be alive, thankful he could hold her once more. Hell, he could not imagine never holding her again. Life would not be worth living. His eyes burned from the smoke, as did his lungs. He coughed, trying to catch a decent breath of air.
“I must check on the others.” She kissed his cheek and moved to Delaney’s side. Mrs. McRae lay next to him, unconscious.
Samuel pulled up in one of the mill’s wagons. “Sir, we had best leave. The fire is spreading to the roof of the mill.”
“Is everyone out?” Aidan asked between coughs.
“Yes, sir. The village doesn’t have a fire brigade; we could use the water from the river.”
“Perhaps it is better that it burns.” Evil place. He cast a glance at McRae. Evil man.
Muggeridge motioned to a couple of soldiers. “Take Mr. McRae into custody. There is a jail in Hinckley. Take him there, and I will follow directly. We will have to locate Hanson, this former overseer.”
“My family knows where he is. I will send word.” Aidan rubbed his stinging eyes. “And the bodies?”
“We will have to find a suitable place. Do you believe Dr. Middlemiss is up for the task of examining the remains?” Muggeridge questioned.
“Yes. More than competent.”
“Good. We will make arrangements when we take the injured to his clinic.”
“And the fire?” Aidan’s voice had grown hoarse. God knew how much smoke he had swallowed.
“The remaining soldiers and men from the village have already set up a bucket relay to try to keep the fire from destroying all in its path. I would hazard to guess the residence is a complete loss. Perhaps also the roof of the mill.”
“If the flames come in contact with the cotton fibers in the air, or the bales of cotton, the place will become a raging inferno. It is best everyone stay away and let it burn itself out. Try to prevent it spreading to the surrounding woods by all means. But the mill? Do not risk any lives to save it.”
“I will heed your advice. Now, Lord Wollstonecraft, climb on the wagon and go with the others. You must be examined by the doctor. You have done enough heroic deeds for one day.”
Heroic? Him? He didn’t feel it. Rubbing his stinging eyes, Aidan cast a glance at the crowd watching from a distance. All the workers of the mill were now out of work. The children as well. How, exactly, had he helped these poor people? The poverty in this area would increase tenfold. And what would happen to the children? Would they be taken to another workhouse, where they would be sold by poor law guardians to another master to work as slaves?
Dejected, he hoisted himself onto the rear of t
he wagon. Delaney was grunting and writhing with pain. The man had saved him when he pushed him out of the way of the falling, fiery debris. It was not something he would soon forget.
* * * *
Bedlam broke out at Middlemiss’s clinic once the wagon arrived. The doctor examined Delaney first, with Cristyn’s assistance, treating the burns on his arm and part of his face. Next was Mrs. McRae. Middlemiss had stated he could smell laudanum on her breath. Using smelling salts, she awoke at last, but would not speak to anyone except to say she had no knowledge of how the fire had started.
But the boy, who said his name was Jonathan, spun a different—and interesting—tale. His mother had observed them digging on the property. Downing numerous glasses of water no doubt laced with laudanum, she became agitated. Storming about the room, she knocked over a lit kerosene lamp. Jonathan, scared at her violent ramblings, ran for the safety of his room. Apparently his mother behaved this way often. Once the fire started, he hid under the bed. When pressed, Jonathan recalled his mother screeching that his father’s secrets were going to destroy them all.
Which indicated that his wife was complicit. When Muggeridge arrived at the clinic two hours later, he stated he would be taking Mrs. McRae to Hinckley jail for questioning.
“And the boy, Jonathan?” Aidan asked.
“We will find a relative to take him in, I am certain.”
“The mill?”
“We managed to keep the fire from spreading to the surrounding wooded area, but as you predicted, once it reached the cotton, it burned dangerously fast. Not much remains of the structure, except the brick walls. The good news is no one was injured; the horses and wagons were rescued, as well as some of the cotton bales. Is it worth rebuilding? That is the question.”
“What will happen to the workers in the interim? The children? They are blameless in this sordid episode, yet will suffer the worst,” Aidan snapped. He shook his head. “Forgive my temper. It’s all so blasted unfair.”
Muggeridge nodded. “It is. But I will approach the queen on this. Perhaps there can be a sort of temporary financial assistance until this village and the surrounding district is put to rights. The hold that masters have on their workers, whether at the mill or in the making of stockings, is coming to an end. You have my word, and I speak for the crown.”
Well, that was good news. “The nineteen children…”
Muggeridge flipped through his papers. “I thought there were twenty-one?”
“Two are staying under my direct care. I do not wish for the remainder to be sent to the workhouse. Surely we can locate a decent orphanage for them. They must be given a chance to find a family willing to take them in. I’ll pay for their upkeep until it can be achieved.”
“I may know of a couple of places. Allow me to contact them. In the meantime, however, where will they go?”
Aidan rubbed his forehead. He had an almighty pain throbbing across his temple. “Where are they now?”
“Some of the villagers have taken them in.”
“Then perhaps the villagers will continue to see to their care until they can be relocated. Again, I will take up the expense. I will ask Samuel to go door-to-door and make arrangements.”
Muggeridge held out his hand. “Then I had best be off to Hinckley. I can assure you, justice will move swiftly. As for the bodies of those poor, unfortunate children, I have taken possession of a barn near the mill. They are under guard. Your man, Samuel Jenkins, knows where it is. I will speak to Middlemiss before I depart, for I wish for him to examine them as soon as he is done here.”
Aidan took the man’s hand and shook it. “Until we meet again.”
“May it be under better circumstances.”
Muggeridge departed to find Middlemiss. Cristyn moved to Aidan’s side and slipped her arm about his waist. “You must sit. You’re as white as a sheet.”
Aidan allowed her to lead him to a chair. “How can you tell under all the soot?”
Reaching for a damp cloth, she gently washed his face. “I am a nurse; I can tell.”
“A highly competent nurse.” He grimaced. “My damned head is aching.”
“I will get you something to relieve it.” She continued to stroke his cheeks. “You’re a true hero, Aidan. My hero. You never gave it a thought; you ran into the burning building to rescue the woman and the boy. I was frightened. If anything had happened to you…”
He took her hand and kissed the palm. “But nothing has. And Lottie?”
“She’s awake and sitting upright. First, allow me to fetch your headache powder. I will place it in a cup of tea.” Cristyn kissed his forehead and left him alone.
The clinic was quiet for the first time in the past two hours—except for Mrs. McRae crying quietly as she and her son were taken to the wagon outside. He should feel sympathy for their predicament, for the lad at least. He would wind up with a relative, and hopefully would be protected from the worst of what his parents had done. But the woman? If she was complicit, she deserved justice. Hell, he had not imagined this operation coming to such a dramatic conclusion.
He couldn’t wait; he had to see Lottie. Upon entering the back room, Aidan nodded at Middlemiss and Delaney and continued on to Lottie’s bed. Carter was showing her a picture book.
Her face lit up when Aidan sat next her. “Hello, sir,” she whispered. The child looked fragile, bundled in blankets with a large bandage about her head. It made his heart ache to see how she’d suffered, but he was also relieved she was recuperating. She smiled broadly. “My prince. You saved me.”
“I’d do it again.” He took the girl’s small hand. “How would you like to come live with me? You and Carter. You will not have to work anymore. I will care for you. Nothing or no one will ever harm you again. Either of you. Would you like that, Lottie?”
She looked to Carter, as she often did, and the boy smiled and nodded. Lottie squeezed his hand and gave him a sweet smile. “Yes, sir. Would you be my father?”
Aidan’s heart swelled. “I will be whatever you want me to be. Your father, your friend, your prince—or perhaps all of them rolled up together. You do everything the doctor says and get well, my dear.”
He felt a hand lay gently on his shoulder. It was Cristyn—he knew it instinctively without turning around, for sizzling heat traveled through him. How much had she heard? “There’s a good girl.” He kissed Lottie’s hand and released it.
After he’d followed Cristyn out of the room, he took the cup of tea she offered and sipped it, savoring the warmth. They stood in the doorway, and he inclined his head toward Delaney. “How serious are his burns?” he murmured.
“All burns are serious, but Paris states it hasn’t reached the inner layers of skin. He will be in some pain and discomfort, but he will recover.”
Middlemiss and Delaney were out of sight, but within earshot.
“Am I going to die?” Delaney rasped.
“Not if I can help it. There will be some scarring,” Paris replied, his voice gentle.
Delaney scoffed. “Then I will be uglier than before.” He paused. “I’ve got nowhere to go, Doctor. No way to pay for my keep and care. I don’t want to wind up at one of those miserable workhouse infirmaries.” His voice shook on the last sentence. There was real fear in his whispered tone.
Once Aidan paid Delaney, he would not be destitute, but he remained silent, not wanting to disturb the intimate conversation.
“Here, take my hand. You will stay with me as long as you like. I will care for you. See you well. On that, I promise. You will not have to go through this alone.” The doctor’s voice was soft with compassion.
A gruff but wretched sob escaped Delaney’s throat.
Aidan took Cristyn’s arm and led them away from the private moment. “Middlemiss, he prefers—”
“Men?” Cristyn replied in a quiet tone. “Yes. It’s why I sai
d he hadn’t any romantic interest in me.”
Aidan arched an eyebrow. Delaney and Middlemiss? It would be an odd pairing, if anything came of the emotionally charged atmosphere. It was also none of his business.
“I am weary beyond all reasoning,” he murmured.
“Then perhaps we should head to your room. You must be hungry. It is past three in the afternoon.”
“We?”
“Yes. Carter is looking after Lottie. Paris is looking after Delaney. Allow me to care for you. Anything relating to today’s events can wait until tomorrow. I am your nurse, and you must heed me.”
Aidan nuzzled her neck. “I do enjoy it when you order me about,” he murmured. “And when you care for me.” He was laying hot, insistent kisses along her neck, moving toward her chin and, ultimately, her mouth when Samuel burst in through the front entrance.
“Begging your pardon, sir. Jacob arrived with a message from Wollstonecraft Hall. Says it’s urgent.” He handed the sealed note to him. Aidan tore it open.
Aidan,
Please come at once. Sabrina has gone into labor. It is too early, and she is in distress. Dr. Faraday has been sent for. It may be all over by the time you reach here, but I need you. Pray it is not the curse.
Riordan
Fuck it all, what else had to happen? The words “Pray it is not the curse” had chilled him. Jesus, what if it was?
Cristyn squeezed his arm. “What is it?”
Exhausted beyond words, he handed her the note. She scanned it, her brows furrowing.
“I will have to leave at once. Fetch my horse, Nebula, from the stables, Samuel, and—”
Cristyn shook her head. “No, Aidan.”
A flash of annoyance tore through him. “I teasingly mentioned enjoying you order me around, but I’m drawing a line. My brother needs me; nothing else matters.” Aidan was annoyed—he would be damned if he were pushed about. “You stated you abhor men making your decisions. Grant me the same courtesy.”
Love with a Notorious Rake Page 25