by Janet Woods
‘There’s a fire, and it looks as though it’s on my land. I hope it’s not the house.’ Fear leapt into Zachariah’s heart as he thought of Clementine and the children.
‘I’m going straight to the house,’ he said.
Nineteen
Clementine didn’t know how long she’d been asleep, but she woke with a start.
Now Zachariah and his friends had departed the house had a hollow feeling to it that she’d have to get used to all over again … and again, and again, no doubt.
She could hear the clock ticking in the hall. It sounded loud tonight, as though it had an echo to it. When the spring made a whirring sound and struck twice she jumped, and her heart picked up speed.
Something was different. Sliding from the warm nest of her bed she pulled on her robe. Shadows danced on the wall, the light between tinted with different shades of red.
Like flames! There was a faint whiff of smoke in the air, or was it her imagination? She crept on to the landing and gazed down into the darkness of the hall below. The candle lantern on the stair was still alight, but sputtering; everything seemed to be as it should in the house.
Beneath her she heard a scuffing noise. She stared into the darkness, hearing every beat of her heart and unable to decide whether the noise had been inside, or out in the porch.
Suddenly a fist pounded against the door panel.
Clementine’s heart nearly stopped and she shouted down the stairwell: ‘Mr Bolton … Ben … wake up.’
The dogs hurtled downstairs from the nursery wing and began to make runs at the door, scrabbling to get out and see the strangers off. They barked furiously.
Eyes wide, Edward and Iris joined her. ‘What is it, Clemmie? What’s happening?’
‘I’m not sure.’
Mr Bolton came from the servants’ quarters, pulling on his coat. Ben was on his tail, lighting the way with a lantern.
Heart in her mouth she heard him say, ‘Who is it?’
They heard a mumbled voice. ‘It’s Basil Cheeves. Open up. I was on my way home when I saw the barn in the farm meadow was on fire.’
It didn’t sound much like Basil Cheeves, but his voice was slurred as though he’d been drinking.
His face was in shadow when the door was opened. Sensing a romp the dogs sniffed his ankles, gave him a cursory growl, and then when Ben growled an order to them they wagged their tails and pushed past him, scenting the doorpost as they went out. They sniffed the air, then turned towards the barn and followed the scent of smoke, starting to bark when the noise from the fire was borne to them on the breeze.
Mr Bolton said urgently, ‘Ben, go and rouse the men from the village. Tell them to meet me in the coach house. If there are enough of us we might be able to make a bucket line down to the stream and save the building, or at least some of the contents.’
Polly joined them on the landing. ‘I’ll come down and lock the front door. I’ll leave the kitchen door open so you can get in when it’s over and I’ll rouse the house staff in case they’re needed and make a kettle of tea. It’s thirsty work, fighting fires.’
Mr Bolton headed for the kitchen and Polly headed down the stairs.
The man stayed in the doorway. There was a red glow beyond the trees, and the whiff of smoke in the air.
Clementine drew back in the shadows when he seemed to look directly at them from under the brim of his hat. His head moved from side to side and he almost sniffed the air, like a wild animal seeking out its prey.
She drew the children back further into the shadows. He didn’t look like Basil Cheeves! Though in this dim light it could have been him, since she was looking down on the figure, she conceded.
A sudden breeze blew out the flame on the guttering candle.
Beside her, Edward stiffened with fear. ‘Jonas has come for us; we’ve got to hide,’ he said, his voice a low and painful rasp.
Iris gave a little sob and buried her head against Clementine’s thigh.
Despite her instinct to call Polly back up to them, Clementine knew she was too late to do anything to change her course.
Firmly, the maid said, ‘If you wouldn’t mind, Mr Cheeves, would you go to the coach house if you intend to help fight the fire.’
Clementine breathed a sigh of relief when the man turned away and left. Polly turned the key in the lock behind him with a satisfying clunk. She chided herself for being silly. Of course it was Basil Cheeves – who else would it be? There was no reason why someone should pretend to be him.
Polly said before heading to the door, ‘I’ll go and rouse Mrs Ogden and the cook, if they’re not already up and about. You and the children try and get some more sleep, Miss Clemmie. I’ll lock the dogs in the laundry room when they come back, so they don’t get underfoot. I’ll call you if you’re needed.’
Edward tugged urgently at her hand. ‘Hide … hide?’
The hair on her arms and the nape of her neck stood up. ‘It’s all right, Edward. The man’s gone.’
‘Jonas.’
Iris had begun to shiver.
She must get the children back to bed and settle them down. ‘Come on back to the nursery where it’s warm. I’ll tuck you both in bed and then fetch you some warm milk.’
‘Don’t leave us!’ Edward said, and using both hands he began to pull her by the arm in the opposite direction. ‘Hide … Jonas … don’t talk!’
It wouldn’t hurt to pander to the boy, who was obviously terrified.
Iris had begun to sob now. ‘He’ll cut Edward’s tongue off.’
‘I won’t tell … I promise.’ Edward clapped his hand over his mouth.
‘I want Uncle Zachariah,’ Iris grizzled.
So did Clementine, but he wasn’t here to lend his support so she’d just have to manage by herself. She drew them both into her arms. ‘There are a lot of rooms in this house. We’ll take some bedding and make a little den for ourselves. We can hide there until dawn, which is only two or three hours away. It will be an adventure, but you must be brave and stop crying. Now … where shall we hide?’ she said, trying to make it sound like a game.
‘In Papa and Mama’s room under the bed,’ Iris said. ‘Sometimes we play there, though I can’t remember them.’
‘You can’t see angels; you just know that they’re there, keeping watch.’ She gazed out of the window on the way past it. The glow of the fire had turned the sky red beyond the trees and the sound of crackling flames and men shouting at one another came to her ears.
They migrated to their new hiding place, taking the feather quilts and pillows from the nursery. Closing the bedroom door behind them Clementine locked it and placed the key on the dresser, mainly to give the children an extra sense of security. Lighting a candle she placed it back on the dresser, tucked them under the quilt and got in beside them.
The space under the four-poster bed was adequate for the three of them to be comfortable. The children had furnished it with a thick rug and had obviously raided the house for some colourful cushions. It was a safe little hidey-hole that they’d kept a secret, and they probably spoke to their parents sometimes. A couple of boxes would contain some of their parents’ personal items, and the dust ruffles that hid the legs of the bed gave it a cozy feel. The children snuggled against her.
‘If this was your mama and papa’s bedchamber, then I expect you were born in this bed, Edward. They will know you are here and their spirits will keep watch over you until morning.’
‘I don’t like ghosts, and I love you better than I love my mama because she can’t cuddle me,’ Iris told her and yawned. ‘Do you think she misses cuddling me?’
‘I’m sure she does, but I expect she remembers all the cuddles she had with you in the past. Stop talking now and go to sleep, else you’ll be a grumpy hen in the morning.’
Iris giggled, and within a couple of minutes was fast asleep, snuggled up against her side.
A wave of love swept over Clementine, as if she was experiencing all the good feeling
s in existence, and all at once. It churned inside her like a shining kaleidoscope of colours and it made her want to laugh and cry at the same time. ‘I love you both so much,’ she whispered, then added to it by thinking: ‘I love your uncle too.’
The boy began to weep quietly and the only comfort Clementine could offer her troubled little charge was to hold him close until he went to sleep.
She had no intention of sleeping herself, and hoped Edward wouldn’t have nightmares.
Despite her resolve to stay awake, Clementine began to drift off to sleep.
A tinkle of glass, followed by the rise and fall of a moaning sound, brought her awake. She banged her head on the underside of the bed when she sat up without remembering where she was. ‘Ouch!’
Goosebumps raced up her arms. What was that ghostly noise? Was this room haunted by Gabriel Fleet and his wife after all?
Then the bed ruffles billowed and the candlelight flickered, as though there was a draught. Relief filled her. Somebody had opened a door or a window downstairs and the draught was coming through the gap under the bedroom door.
The glow from the fire still had enough heat in it to paint the spaces between the shadows red, and the windowpanes glistened with ruby streaks. She listened for a while. There were the usual house noises, the snaps of timber in the roof, the scratch of ivy against the wall and the creak on the stair. The clock struck three. She sighed. It was going to be a long night.
She’d hardly lain down again when she thought she heard footsteps above. How easy it was to imagine them coming down the stairs from the nursery with a soft thud … thud … thud.
There was a furtive sound further up the hall, of a door handle being turned and tested. Her bedchamber! There was something creepy about it. Hinges creaked as a door swung open and then it gave a softer creak as it closed again. That wasn’t her imagination. Her door made exactly that noise and she’d asked Ben to put some grease on the hinges.
Her heart began to thump and she jumped as high as a pail full of fleas when Edward placed a hand on her arm. Pulling herself together, she whispered, ‘I expect it’s Polly looking for us because she couldn’t find us in the nursery. I’ll go and tell her where we are.’
‘Uncle Zachariah told me to look after you and Iris. I don’t want you to go.’
‘I’ll just take a quick look outside the door.’ She picked up the heavy brass poker. ‘Close the door quietly behind me and lock it. I’ll give a little whistle when I want to come back in.’
There was a draught coming up the stairs, setting the remains of the candles in their holders fluttering. It was cold, as though the front door was wide open.
The hallway was long and dark except for the red glow halfway along. She crept along it, breath held as she stopped now and again to listen.
There was a metallic sound at the far end of the hall, as though someone had spun a coin on the floorboards. An awareness of something sinister waiting there for her was overwhelming. Her voice quavered. ‘Polly … is that you?’
A chuckle came from out of the darkness. She spun, catching a gleam of light touching on metal. He was by the staircase, only an arm’s length away.
‘Where are those brats?’
‘They’re not here. They’ve gone to London with Mr Fleet.’
Bunching her robe in his fist he pulled her towards him, so close she could smell his sweat and the foul, panting gust of his breath.
Jerking herself from his grip she backed away from him, the poker held in the folds of her robe. She needed to get into position to have a good swing at him.
She edged towards the staircase, where the candle still burned in the lantern. He was dressed in black. His hat shaded eyes that glittered in the lantern light, and a kerchief was tied over his mouth. Her blood ran cold when she saw that he carried a knife. ‘Jonas Hawkins, I presume.’
‘Ah … I thought them brats wouldn’t keep what they knew to themselves.’
She could have kicked herself. So, he was after the children, and then it would be her turn. Though it would make more sense if he killed her first. She must try and disable him so she could defend the children.
‘They’re only babies. You’ve already killed their parents. Leave them alone.’
‘That boy’s old enough to testify against me.’ He lifted the knife and said, ‘It will be quick, I promise you, though a bit messy.’
She brought the poker down on his hand and knocked the knife from his grasp. It went tumbling down the stairs. A hand in her midriff sent her tumbling after it. She managed to roll into a ball as she bounced down the stair and by some miracle didn’t do any damage to herself except for a bloodied nose, if the warm gush she felt was anything to go by, and probably several bruises. She picked herself up just as the felon came bounding down after her. He grabbed up the knife before she had a chance.
‘No!’ Edward screamed out from the top of the stairs.
‘Ah … so you haven’t gone to London, brat. I didn’t think so.’ Jonas turned and started back up the stairs.
‘Stop! I’ll shoot you if you come any further.’
Edward held the pistol with both hands and his eyes were steady on the murderer in front of him, though the pistol was wavering. She drew on what knowledge she had of pistols, which was next to nothing. Oh God! What if the pistol was loaded? Worse, what if the pistol wasn’t loaded, and Jonas murdered them all?
Jonas was positioned between herself and Edward.
Clementine groped around her and her hand closed around the poker. She wasn’t going down without a fight.
Iris appeared, her expression changing to one of terror when she saw Jonas. She gave a panicky little scream, and then her quivering voice said from the shadows, ‘It’s Jonas. He’s come for us. Quick! Shoot him, Edward.’
‘I can’t … I don’t know how. Run away and hide.’
Iris snorted. ‘You pull that trigger thing back where your fingers are and it makes a bang and a bullet comes out through that hole in the front.’
‘What if I kill Miss Clemmie?’
The conversation would have struck Clementine as ludicrous considering the circumstances … if it hadn’t come from the mouths of children.
As it was the man laughed and was about to head up the stairs again when Clementine dived at his legs and tripped him. The knife went spinning from his hands off into the darkness. It clattered across the tiled floor.
‘Bitch! You’re just making it harder for yourself. It looks as though I’ll have to use my hands.’
He freed himself from her desperate clutch, pulling her off by her hair. Then he kneed her in the stomach. Struggling to catch a breath she hit the wall and doubled over, her strength almost spent.
‘Be still. I’ll find a good use for you before you go to meet your maker. I might even allow you to live a bit longer if you do as you’re told … like the last one.’
The poker was within her grasp. She grabbed it and hit him across the back of the legs as hard as she could.
He turned and punched her, then grasped her by the neck with both hands. ‘I told you to be still. It looks as though I’ll have to dispose of you first.’
The struggle for air was futile. She tried to rise, but her legs wouldn’t hold her and everything seemed to have slowed down. Run, she mouthed silently to the children as her heartbeat began to boom in her chest.
But they didn’t run. Edward was frozen to the spot.
In the darkening mists clouding her mind Clementine heard the frenzied barking of the dogs. Wolf and Happy burst through the open doorway in a snarling fury.
Jonas kicked out at one of the dogs and it squealed, so the other one redoubled its efforts.
Edward closed his eyes. Pistol wavering all over the place, he pulled the trigger.
There was an explosion and Jonas dropped on top of her like a stone. His hazel eyes were barely an inch from hers and she watched the life drain from them before his hands dropped away and allowed the air through.
Twenty
Clementine woke to find Zachariah gazing down at her. He looked exhausted.
‘The children,’ she croaked.
‘They’re fine and you’re safe. Don’t you ever frighten me like that again.’
He sounded so cross that relief overwhelmed her. Zachariah Fleet was a kitten compared to Jonas Hawkins. She touched his hand, which rested on the bed. ‘You look as though you haven’t slept for a week.’
He laughed. ‘I haven’t … well, not for a day or two.’
‘Jonas Hawkins, is he …?’
‘Dead? Yes, he is.’
She shuddered. ‘Poor Edward and Iris … I thought the pistol exploded in Edward’s face.’ She tried to sit up, alarmed by the recollection. ‘He’s all right, isn’t he? Tell me he’s not hurt.’
He pushed her gently down on to the pillows and curled his long fingers around her hand. ‘The pistol Edward was holding belonged to Gabe. When I was sorting out the contents of the trunks Edward must have hidden it under the pillow. It wasn’t loaded.’
‘Then how did he shoot Jonas Hawkins?’
‘He didn’t shoot him; I did. I’m sorry the children had to see it, but I had little choice since he was strangling you. They’re more worried about you than him. I’d rather have placed him under arrest until we could alert the authorities.’
‘At least they won’t be looking over his shoulder for him now. They’ve seen too much killing of people they love in their young lives.’
‘That’s true.’
‘They had a little camp under the bed that I didn’t know about. I imagine that was as near to their parents as they could get.’ When she smiled at him her face ached. She touched her finger gently against her cheek and winced. ‘Do I look ugly?’
‘You look as though you’ve survived a few rounds with a pugilist. Your face is swollen and bruised. Luckily, he didn’t break your neck, and it took him longer to choke you than cutting your throat would have, so you’re lucky to be here.’