by Joan Aiken
Her lip trembled. Normally she would have been prompt with some stinging retort, but this evening there was no spirit in her; she curled up, sucking her thumb, gazing at the fire, and there was another long interval of silence. Lucas, glancing over a book he was pretending to read, caught a spark of flame reflected in a tear on her cheek and felt contrite.
"I'll read aloud to you if you like," he offered awkwardly.
"Your books are not interesting to me."
"Or play checkers."
"The pine cones are in my room. It is too far to fetch them."
Lucas did not offer to go. He felt a sudden disinclination for the trip through the long dark passages.
"All right, we'll play scissors-paper-stone."
"What is that game? 'Connais pad."
"Like this." He showed her how to shake her fist three times and then do different signals with her fingers. "Two fingers apart for scissors; flat hand means paper; fist clenched—comme ga—is a stone. And scissors can beat paper—"
"Pourquoi?"
"Because they can cut it, of course, silly. And paper can beat stone because you can wrap up a stone in a piece of paper; and stone can beat scissors—"
"Because they cannot cut the stone. I understand—"
"That's it, so shake your fist three times and then do one of the three things."
They shook: then Anna-Marie did a flat hand for paper; Lucas a clenched fist for stone.
"C'est moi qui gagne!" she said triumphantly. "Again!"
They played again. Anna-Marie was still paper, but this time Lucas had two fingers in a V for scissors and won the round. However Anna-Marie showed remarkable aptitude for guessing beforehand what Lucas was likely to do; and before long, as they played on, she was winning five games out of seven.
When she had won a hundred and thirty-two games, and Lucas ninety-nine, he declared that it must be long past her bedtime.
"Fanny will be looking for you."
"She has gone home to visit her mother."
"Mrs. Gourd then."
"She has tell me I can go to my bed when I choose."
"Well I'm tired if you aren't."
"Cannot I stay here with you, Luc-asse? I do not wish to go all that long journey back to my room. It is so dark in the passage. I could sleep in the basket chair."
"No you couldn't," said Lucas shortly. "It's freezing cold in here as soon as the fire goes out. Besides, there are mice."
"Eh bun, can I sleep also with you in your chambre a coucher?"
"Noyou can't!"
"There is another bed."
"But only blankets for one. Come along, I'll take you back to your own room. You wouldn't want to go to bed without Fifine."
"I have her here, voilà." Anna-Marie fished the mended doll out from a pocket in her black stuff skirt.
"Oh. Well just the same you can't stay. You'd probably wake up in the middle of the night in a fright, not knowing where you were. Come along."
He took her hand and pulled her, reluctant and protesting, to her feet.
"Oh! Oh! Le pied me fourmille! Laisse-moi!"
"It's only pins and needles. It will get better as you walk," said Lucas unsympathetically. He lit one of his hoard of candle stubs and led her up the east staircase and back to her own room, which looked very unwelcoming when they reached it. Her fire was dead, and the lamp, almost out of oil, was expiring in blue, glimmering gulps.
"I do not wish to stay here. I am afraid!"
"Rubbish. What's going to happen to you? Where's your bird?" he said, looking around for it.
"I let it go. I did not like that it should be in a cage. It flew out the window."
Lucas sighed. "Well, come along, get into bed," he said. "I'll mend your fire if I can."
There were a couple of live embers under the ash, and he managed to build a little cage with part-burned bits of stick, and blow up a feeble flame.
"There," he said, rising from his knees. "Now you have something to look at. Good, you're in bed. Bonsoir, sleep well."
"No, wait, I am cold."
"Pile all your daytime clothes on top of you, then," he said impatiently.
"Give them here, please, Luc-asse—if I get out my bare feet will be so cold."
"There. Now you'll be all right."
"Oh, wait! Do not go. I am sure I hear a sound—c'est des voleurs, peut-être—"
"Pish. What would robbers be doing in this house? There is nothing left to steal. Go to sleep, Anna-Marie. I am very tired, I want to go to bed."
At last he managed to disengage himself from her little cold clutch, and started back to his own quarters. But he too listened uneasily, with stretched ears, as he stole with even more than his usual caution along the deserted corridors. And even when he was safe in bed, it was a long, long time before he drifted off into an uneasy slumber.
Lucas opened his eyes. He sat up. He was not sure, at first, what had woken him. But he was awake, and very completely—tense, trembling, all his faculties stretched to their fullest extent. Something was not as it should be, he knew it; something was badly wrong. Danger was near; danger waited somewhere in the huge dark house; he was certain of that. He crouched in his bed, rigid, listening, staring at the dark, straining to catch the faintest sound. Silence. Was it complete silence, though? Or could he hear a sound—behind the loud thump of his own heart, was there not something else?
For a moment or two he half believed that it was only his own pulse that he could hear—a soft, fluttering, muttering whisper, like mice, like the scuffle of dead leaves on dry ground, like wind through brambles.
Or perhaps it was only the snow, after all?
But then stranger, more potent, more frightening than the strange sound, there came a sudden whiff that caused his nostrils to dilate—a sharp, hot, dry smell that caught in his throat, that made him bound out onto the floor as if his bed had suddenly arched its mattress and thrown him.
Fire! It was the prickling, acrid smell of fire that had made his nostrils twitch. And, in the distance, now that he was up and had pulled his door open, he could hear the crackle of flames—a snapping, scratching, savage sound that made him fling on his clothes and boots with frantic haste in the freezing dark which yet perhaps was not quite so freezing as it should be. And the dark, too, was not true dark; the black was tinged with a dark blood color that flickered, faster and faster; shadows began to slither up and down; he was aware of a light that should not be there, a glow from the corridor that led toward the great staircase.
But Anna-Marie's room lay in that direction.
He raced along the passage. The sound of his feet on the boards began to be lost in the sound that came from ahead of him, that grew louder and louder as he made his way from the east wing, where his rooms were, to the main stair and Sir Randolph's apartments.
The frightening stench of hot wood and burning paint was all around him; he heard a sudden fierce crack! as fire bit through some beam and a floor gave way—but where? Where was it burning? And why did no one but himself seem aware of what was happening?
"Anna!" he shouted. "Anna-Marie! Fire! Wake up! Fire!"
Arrived at the Oak Chamber—by now there was a leaping red glare coming from close ahead; he could see the balusters of the main staircase distinctly outlined against it—he pounded on the door. "Anna-Marie! Wake up!"
For a moment there was no answer from inside. Filled with dread, he opened the door and caught her frightened cry: "Qu'est-ce qu'il y a? Qui est-ce?"
"Oh, you are there," he said, immeasurably relieved. "Quick, get up, get dressed, the house is on fire!"
"Ciel! Where?" She scrambled out of bed and grabbed his hand.
Smoke already filled her room, it made them both choke and gasp.
"This won't do, we can't stop here," coughed Lucas. A thicker, blinding white bolster of smoke rolled through the doorway. "Keep hold of my hand," he directed. "I'm here—that's it—hold tight!"
She needed no urging. While she clung to
his wrist like a limpet he dragged together, as well as he could with one hand the blanket that covered her bed, and caught it by the four corners with her clothes inside it—at least he hoped they were inside.
"Come now, back to the door—"
"Oh, oh! I am chocking—I cannot breathe—and my eyes won't stay open. We cannot go this way!"
"We have got to. Keep your eyes shut.... I know; wait one moment," said Lucas. "Stay there and don't move—hold on to the door handle."
He knew that her basin and jug of water were kept on a stand somewhere to the left of the door. Feeling his way in that direction he found the jug, and a towel, which he plunged in the water.
Then he groped back to Anna-Marie. "Wrap this over your face," he ordered, and gathered up the corners of the blanket again. "Murder, the smoke's thick!"
"Where should we go?" whimpered Anna-Marie.
For a moment, outside her bedroom door, Lucas was overtaken by the cold, bottomless clutch of real terror. The smoke was now so completely blinding that it was not possible to see where the fire was burning, although they could hear its fierce roar and feel its heat. He was not certain which way they ought to go. Suppose they walked straight into the fire?
But then common sense reasserted itself. He had come from his own quarters and the fire had seemed to be ahead of him; in order to get away from it they had only to go back the way he had come.
"This way!"
"I can't, I can not, it is too thick!"
"You must stoop down low."
Stooping, accordingly, bent double, they ran and stumbled; Lucas, his hands occupied, one with the blanket, the other clutched by Anna-Marie, was not able to feel his way but kept one shoulder against the wall. The blanket dragged between them and tripped them.
Soon the smoke was so bad that they had to crawl. Once again Lucas was overwhelmed by terror. The fire must be all along below them—it was traveling faster than they were. Suppose the stairs in his wing were burning, suppose they could find no way down?
But he kept on doggedly, gripping Anna-Marie's wrist, hauling her after him, and somehow also managing to keep a clutch on the blanket.
The wall gave place to banisters, and then Lucas lurched forward onto his stomach as his left hand met no support when he put it down; they had reached the head of the east stairs.
"Are you all right?" called Anna-Marie in a panic. "Luc, where are you? What has happened?"
"It's all right, I fell over the head of the stairs."
He felt about with his empty hand until he found hers again. "Turn around so that you are sitting, and go down the stairs on your seat. Hold the rail."
"Oh, j'ai pear, j'ai peur!"
"No, you're quite all right, I'm just behind," Lucas told her with a firmness that he was far from feeling.
But when they were at last safely down the stairs and he felt solid flagstones beneath his feet, some confidence did come back to him. "It isn't many steps to my schoolroom now," he said. "I think you can put on your clothes in there. It doesn't feel so hot here; we must be farther away from the fire."
"Oh, non! There is just as much smoke. It is too dangerous in the house. Let us go outside."
"It's too cold. You must get dressed before we go outside, or you'll freeze, in your nightdress."
But when they entered Lucas's study room, they could see that it was not advisable to waste any time: already the smoke was becoming ominously thick, and the sound of the fire was increasing.
Lucas urged Anna-Marie to make all possible speed with her dressing, and he helped her to the best of his ability, lying laces and doing up buttons, thinking, as he did so, that it was no wonder girls had such awkward, complaining, timid natures; getting in and out of those clothes every day would be enough to give anyone the vapors.
"Here's an old jacket of mine—put that on, too. Now take the blanket, that's the way. Quickly—"
He had shut the door while she dressed. When he opened it, more smoke poured in, and they heard the crackle of flames in the corridor, frighteningly close at hand.
"Oh, what shall we do, what shall we do?" cried Anna-Marie.
"Out through the window," said Lucas briefly. It was only about five feet down to the ground. He slipped the catch and thrust the casement wide. A volley of snowflakes blew in, whirling wildly as they met the warm, smoke-filled air inside. "Come, quick—" he cried to Anna-Marie, outlined against the light from the doorway. He grabbed her round the waist, hoisted her up somehow, and pushed her through. A thud and a squeak told him that she had landed safely. He pushed the blanket out after her and a few of his possessions, snatched up at top speed.
"Vite, vite, quick!" Anna-Marie called, dancing up and down with impatience outside.
"All right, here I come." Lucas scrambled after her. Only just in time: beyond his door the crackle of the fire had increased to a steady roar.
The minute he was out Anna-Marie grabbed his hand once more. "Now where shall we go?"
"Round to the stableyard. Can you run?"
She nodded and followed him obediently. The snow stung on their faces; it felt like gorse prickles. They toiled in the darkness around the east end of the house, aware that great flames must be leaping to the sky overhead, because they could see dancing shadows out on the snow to their left. And above them, too, great flakes of burning material blew flaming, whirling away and vanished on the wind.
Lucas had two aims; he wanted to find the main site of the fire, and he was anxious about the welfare of Mr. Oakapple, whose room looked out this way, onto the yard. The servants' sleeping quarters were all far away in the west wing, which perhaps was beyond the fire. But what of Sir Randolph, right in the center of the house? And where was Mr. Oakapple all this time?
When they reached the yard they stood aghast. Though their encounters with the fire inside the house had been frightening enough, they had had very little real notion, up to this moment, of its full power and extent. Now they saw that the whole middle part of the E-shaped mansion was completely ablaze. The fire must have spread with fearful speed, while they were making their way along the upstairs corridor to the east stairs; they had escaped not a moment too soon. The house was all hollow and illuminated with fire, like a turnip lantern; flames poured and shot from every window; as they watched, a whole section of the roof ridge crumpled and fell inward.
The scene was an extraordinary one, with the flames shooting upward, and the snow whirling down.
"Oh, mon dieu!" cried Anna-Marie. "Monsieur Ookapool, where is e?"
"Hush, it's all right—there he is," said Lucas, with huge relief. A grimed, smoke-blackened pair of figures staggered toward them across the cobbled yard, the snowy surface of which was half melted, half reddened by the reflection of the flames.
"Is that you, Lucas?" called Mr. Oakapple's voice. "Have you got Anna-Marie there? Oh, thank God. Good boy. I looked in her room but found her gone—I thought—"
"Are you all right, sir? Who is that you have there?"
Mr. Oakapple stooped and laid the figure he carried somewhat unceremoniously in the snow. It was Sir Randolph.
"I had to knock him out with a chair leg," the tutor said briefly. "He was wild—delirious—shouting a lot of gibberish about the tax men—that this was all their fault. Can you keep an eye on him for a moment while I rouse Garridge and Gabriel in the coach house—if they are not already awake. At this rate, with the wind setting as it is, the fire may spread to the servants' quarters before there is the least chance of any help coming from the town."
He hurried off in the direction of the west wing.
A swaddled female personage tottered up and revealed itself as Mrs. Gourd, strangely dressed in nightgown, nightcap, curlpapers, striped stockings, petticoat, and an old driving cape.
"Oh, mercy on us, Mester Lucas! What 11 we do now? I never thought I'd get out alive—I'd be there still if Mr. Oakapple hadn't roused me. Are you all right, Missie? Dear, what a lucky thing Fanny was away, and Abby and Pinhorn
left—"
"Can you stay with Anna-Marie, Mrs. Gourd?" said Lucas quickly. "I want to get the pony out of the stables in case the fire goes that way—"
He ran to the stable wing, but found that Mr. Oakapple had already had the same thought, and was leading out Noddy the mare, draped in a horse blanket.
"Garridge isn't there—but it's lucky I went, old Gabriel was fast asleep, and smelling of gin. There he comes now. Hey, Gabriel—help me pull out the governess cart, will you?"
When Lucas returned to where he had left Sir Randolph, the baronet was no longer lying in the snow. He had staggered to his feet and moved some paces away, and was swaying unsteadily, looking with a dazed expression at the golden flames leaping through the skeleton of his house.
Old Gabriel limped up and began talking to Mrs. Gourd. "My stars, what a to-do! 'Tis a mercy none on us was burned in oor beds. Eh, what a fell sight. 'Tis as well owd Sir Quincy isn't here to see it, it would surely break his heart—"
"He doesn't care," hissed Mrs. Gourd, looking at Sir Randolph still staring raptly at the flames. "He won't grieve."
The baronet seemed to catch the import of her words and turned toward her. "Quiet, woman! Still your clappering!" he growled.
The housekeeper gaped at him—he was indeed a strange spectacle, leaning on a beribboned cane, dressed in what appeared to be a kind of uniform, jacket, waistcoat, and knee breeches, all made of black-and-white striped velvet. He wore black buckled shoes and ruffled shirt—but all were grimed and smeared with soot, and wet with the snow which, as it met the heat of the blaze, hissed and turned to rain.
Sir Randolph suddenly laughed—a wild, high-pitched laugh that seemed to echo the crackle of the fire. "Care? Because this wretched heap of brick burns, that has brought me nothing but care since I first stepped inside its doors? Care? I tell you, I'm blithe to see it burn. Grieve? I'd sooner it were a heap of ash, any day, than let those bloodsucking revenue men get their tentacles on it—or you—" He suddenly swung round on Anna-Marie, who was standing between Mrs. Gourd and Gabriel.
So far as Lucas knew, it was the first time he had laid eyes on her, and the sight of her seemed to discompose him terribly. He stared and stared at her.