"Go on, Melanie," she gasped. "Climb down quickly before the material tears."
She braced herself against the swaying weight, and each painful second seemed like an eternity as she strained every nerve to hold on until, suddenly and miraculously, the agonizing pressure ceased and the rope slackened in her grasp.
Leaning over she saw that Melanie had landed on the floor beneath, and watched anxiously as she got to her feet, relieved to see that she appeared all right Then raising her voice above the roar of the fire she called out to her.
"Run and get help, Melanie. Quickly before it's too late!"
With her hands over her face Melanie ran to the door of the barn and was lost to sight in the clouds of black smoke pouring into the air, and Loris sank back on the floor of the gallery, her eyes smarting and streaming with tears. Everyone was on the lawn and she knew it would take Melanie several minutes to run through the copse. If anyone had noticed the smell of burning they must have imagined it came from the barbecue fire.
She stood up and tried to find a cooler place to stand, for the heat was becoming intense. Unless help came soon it would be too late. The moments seemed like hours and with every second the flames were advancing. Soon they would reach the floor beneath the gallery and then the gallery itself would be ablaze.
She leant as far back against the wall as possible, but even there the heat threatened to overcome her. and after a few moments she realized that her only hope lay in making a bid for safety. Swinging herself over the railing, Loris clung to the bars perilously, looking beneath her to the floor eighteen feet below. Then, shutting her eyes and not giving herself the time to think, she let go and struck the ground so heavily that she was conscious only of a sickening jar before she fainted.
Melanie meanwhile ran through the copse, the night air blissfully cool against her skin after the inferno she had just left. Sobbing for breath, she reached the end of the belt of trees and in the distance saw groups of people seated at the small tables on the lawn. But she was so breathless that her voice was too weak to attract their attention and she ran on towards them.
She had just reached the edge of the lawn when Miguel came running to meet her, two glasses in his hand.
"Sorry I've been so long, but I had to come up to the house to get our champagne." Suddenly he noticed her appearance. "But, Melanie, what's the matter?" ,
"There's a fire—the barn's on fire!" she gasped. "Loris is trapped—get help, quickly!"
Then, demented with fear, she started to run back the way she had come, leaving Miguel to spread the alarm.
Seated together on the terrace, Brett and Dickson were first aware that something was wrong when they noticed a commotion at the other end of the lawn, but it was too far away for them to see what was the matter and it was only when Miguel rushed up the steps to the house shouting for ladders and a hose that they realized there was a fire.
But even then the seriousness of the situation did not dawn on them.
"What's the matter?" Dickson asked sarcastically. "Is your tablecloth alight?"
"The barn's on fire!" Miguel yelled, "and that English girl's trapped!" He rushed past them into the house. "I'm going to call the fire brigade!"
"That English girl!" The words struck horror into the two men on the terrace.
"Loris!" With an oath Brett threw back his chair and started to run across the lawn.
"Melanie!" Without stopping to think Dickson pulled the rug off his legs and hardly aware of what he was doing, stood up and started to stumble down the terrace steps.
By the time Brett reached the clearing, clusters of excited people were standing around watching the blaze, powerless to do anything until equipment arrived. Melanie lay on the grass in a state of collapse and one of the men had taken off his dinner jacket and put it beneath her head.
Brett bent over her. "Melanie, where's Loris?"
She looked up with a little moan, and Brett repeated urgently:
"Where's Loris? Where's Loris?"
"She's—she's in the barn—up in the gallery. She told me to run and get help, and then I don't remember—"
Brett got to his feet, staring at the barn in horror. Could anyone still be alive in that inferno? Snatching off his jacket, he wrapped it around his neck and ran towards the fire.
"You can't go in there, Brett," someone called. "It's suicide!"
"There's a girl in there!" he shouted back.
"But for God's sake, man, she hasn't a chance. Don't be a fool!"
Without replying Brett raced on. As he reached the barn door the heat struck him like a living thing and the smoke was so dense that he could scarcely see a yard in front of him. One end of the building was now completely alight and if anyone had been there he knew there was no hope for them. But he remembered Melanie saying that Loris was in the gallery, and looked up at it, seeing with horror that the stairs had collapsed and there was no way to climb up. Despair clutched him as he imagined Loris lying on its floor, quite inaccessible, probably unconscious from the heat and smoke.
In spite of the jacket shrouding his head, his eyes were beginning to stream and every breath was agony. Knowing it would be useless to call Loris above the roar of the fire, he ran towards the gallery in the hope of finding some way to climb it before the whole building collapsed. But as he passed the burning stairs he stumbled and almost fell over a prostrate figure on the floor, and looking down saw it was Loris.
Such relief flooded through him that for an instant he stood like a man paralysed. Then, snatching off his jacket, he picked up the unconscious girl and covered her head and shoulders with it.
Holding Loris against him so that his body acted as a protection, Brett ran towards the door. Showers of sparks filled the air, singeing his hair and burning his face, and twice he stumbled and almost fell, his eyes blinded with the acrid smoke. Coughing and gasping for breath he passed through the door, and as he staggered out the roof sagged and collapsed with a roar, sending up a sheet of red flame into the dark sky.
Eager hands tried to take Loris from him, but he ignored them all and laid her gently on the grass. Someone had obviously had the presence of mind to call a doctor, for a middle-aged man came forward and bent over her, lifting her eyelids and feeling her pulse. She was so white and still that Brett's heart throbbed with fear lest he had been too late, but after a moment the doctor looked up reassuringly.
"She's suffering from severe shock and multiple burns. We must get her to hospital right away. My car's at the bottom of the clearing, so if you'll help me to carry her to it I'll take her there myself. It'll be quicker than waiting for an ambulance."
Brett lifted the still unconscious girl and followed the doctor to his car. He laid her down gently on the back seat and got in front with the doctor. "I'll come with you, if you don't mind."
The man glanced at him keenly. "Of course not. You look as if you could do with some attention yourself."
"There's nothing the matter with me."
The doctor drove quickly, although to Brett it seemed an eternity before they arrived at the brightly lit entrance to the hospital, and he watched silently as Loris was laid on a stretcher trolley and wheeled away.
A young intern led him into a small surgery off the main corridor, where he proceeded to dress the superficial burns on his hands and face. But Brett was so impatient for news of Loris that he answered the young man's questions about the fire with ill-concealed irritation, and was relieved when he was at last allowed to leave the surgery. Going out into the corridor again he saw Mr. and Mrs. Loftus and Elaine waiting for him, and they moved towards him quickly.
"How is she, Brett? Is she going to be all right?" Mrs. Loftus asked. "When I think of that girl's courage—" She started to cry and her husband put his arm around her shoulders consolingly.
At that moment the doctor reappeared and they turned towards him full of apprehension.
"How is she?" Brett jerked out.
"As comfortable as can be expec
ted. I've given her an injection in case she comes round and her burns are being dressed."
"Is she badly burned?" Mrs. Loftus asked.
"Fortunately she fainted face downwards, but of course she'd taken off her dress and her shoulders and legs were badly scorched. The jump didn't help matters, either. One leg is very bruised and the ankle's so swollen that we'll have to take an X-ray to see if the bone's broken."
"She strained her ankle just a while back," Mr. Loftus put in.
"That accounts for it, then."
"Is she in a public ward?" Brett broke in.
"At the moment she's still in the theatre."
"Then I'd like you to put her in the best room you have."
The doctor nodded. "I'll speak to Matron about it. It's been an unfortunate accident altogether, but I don't think there's any need for immediate anxiety. We must be glad she's no worse. Believe me, I've seen far more terrible results from fire than this. But you won't be able to see her tonight, I'm afraid—I should call up in the morning if I were you. Incidentally, young man," he turned to Brett, "go home as soon as possible, and—" he fumbled in his pocket and brought out a little bottle from which he extracted two tablets, "take these before you go to bed. Now if you'll excuse me I'll go and have a word with Matron."
With a quick, friendly nod he walked away up the corridor and Brett watched his retreating figure until it disappeared. Then he allowed himself to be led out to the waiting car and sat hunched in the front seat as Elaine took the wheel while her parents silently got into the back.
As they drew up outside the Loftus house the older couple stepped out and with a murmured good night went quietly indoors. Elaine backed the car and started off towards Brett's house, but although she glanced at him from time to time she did not speak, realizing that nothing she could do or say would penetrate his absorption.
It was not until they were nearing his home that Brett roused himself sufficiently to ask about Melanie and Dickson.
"Your chauffeur took them both home as soon as you left for the hospital," she explained briefly.
"Was Melanie all right?"
Elaine nodded. "She was as white as a ghost, but I guess it was just shock. Nothing that a good night's rest won't put right."
Brett grunted and slumped back against the seat again, silent for the rest of the drive.
He had no recollection of saying good night to Elaine, and when they reached his house stumbled from the car without a word. Dorcas took him up to his room and gently removed his smoke-grimed clothes and helped him into bed. Then going downstairs, he returned a few minutes later with a cup of hot milk, and watched over his master until he had drunk it and swallowed the pills the doctor had given him.
The old Negro stayed by his side until Brett sank into exhausted sleep, then silently moved across the room and opened the windows. The acrid smell of burning wood still filled the air and in the deserted garden the tables and chairs stood in ghostly confusion on the lawn. The only sign of life was the dying embers of the barbecue fire in the grate below the terrace steps, and a lighted lantern, forgotten and left swinging in one of the trees.
CHAPTER TWELVE
When Miguel rushed past him into the house and Brett started off towards the barn, Dickson stumbled half-way across the lawn before he was aware of what he was doing. Then the realization that he was walking brought him to a standstill, and in that instant he lost the impetus which had prompted him to move, and fell heavily to the ground.
Cursing, he dragged himself by his hands to the nearest chair, but the muscles which had been disused for so long would not respond and the effort of getting up on it proved too much for him. He sank back on the grass, breathing heavily, and lay there in agony for Melanie, believing it was she who was trapped in the burning barn.
He was aroused by a crowd of people coming over the lawn, one of them carrying a girl, and it was only as they drew near that he saw the streaming golden hair and realized with a sob of relief that Melanie was safe.
Mrs. Loftus suddenly caught sight of her son, half-sitting, half-lying on the grass, his back against a chair, and ran to him with a cry. "Dickson, Dickson, you foolish boy to crawl all this way!"
He brushed her remark aside. "Mother, is Melanie all right?"
"Yes, darling, she's only fainted. But you—" she wrung her hands. "Oh, son, we all forgot and left you on your own!"
At that moment Edward Loftus came up and he and another man carried Dickson up the terrace steps to his invalid chair. The boy was too dazed to do anything but acquiesce, and it did not occur to him to tell his parents he had walked and not crawled across the lawn to the place where they had found him.
Melanie was wan and shaken as they drove home, but she managed to walk into the house unaided, and waited in the hall while the chauffeur brought Dickson in.
As they arrived the nurse appeared, and Dickson gave her a lopsided grin. "I'm not the patient for you now, nurse. My fiancée's had a pretty bad shock, so she takes precedence."
Clucking sympathetically, the nurse led the unresisting girl upstairs and put her to bed.
Dickson meanwhile wheeled himself through the library into the annexe which since his accident had been converted into his bedroom. His legs beneath the rug felt heavy and alive, and he was conscious of a tingling sensation like pins and needles, as if the blood were coursing through veins unaccustomed to it. He flexed his muscles and as he felt them move the blanket stirred, and beads of perspiration broke out on his forehead.
But he had no time to test them any further, for at that moment the nurse appeared and started to prepare him for the night.
"You've had a shock too, I guess, and the quicker you're in bed and asleep, the better," she said cheerfully as she bustled about.
Dickson submitted to her attentions with good grace, although he refused the sleeping draught she wanted to give him. He could hardly wait to be left alone, and scarcely had she closed the door behind her than he flung off the sheets and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
Grasping the bed-rail, he levered himself up, then with fast-beating heart released his grip and brought his hands down to his sides. Standing on the floor unaided, he moved one slow step, then another, and almost before he knew it had walked across to the window. When he reached it he spread his arms wide in a gesture of release, and leaning his head against the cool glass, sent up a prayer of thankfulness that the use of his legs had been restored to him.
Slowly he retraced his steps, climbed into bed, and lay in the darkness thinking of all it would mean—of the joy it would give him to tell his family, the joy of leading an active life again, and above all of being able to look forward to the future. He would be able to marry Melanie now.
Melanie! Dickson was jerked into wakefulness at the thought of the girl upstairs, asleep and unaware of the experience through which he was passing. Part of him wanted to shout his news from the house-tops, but some restraint, a caution alien to his nature, made him pause to think. He shifted uncomfortably. Should he tell her? Once she knew he was well, there would be no barrier to their marriage. But, strangely, he did not want that. He did not want Melanie to marry him merely because there was no barrier. He wanted to be sure she loved him in spite of any obstacles that might be in the way.
When Loris regained consciousness she did not know where she was, and her eyes roamed the small, white-walled room, taking in its austerity and cleanliness. As she turned her head a spasm of pain shot through her and she found that her hands and arms were encased in thick white bandages.
For a moment she was puzzled, then the events of the fire slowly began to come back.
She remembered clinging to the gallery rail and dropping to the floor below, but after that her mind was a blank and she knew nothing of how she came to be where she was.
As she was beginning to wonder how to attract someone's attention, the door opened and a pleasant-looking nurse came in, her small cap sitting on a mass of dark curls like a cork
on high seas.
"Good morning," she said brightly. "So you're awake at last!"
"What time is it?" Loris faltered. "Where am I?"
"It's ten o'clock—a.m.—and this is the Westwood Hospital."
"What time did I get here last night?"
The nurse raised her eyebrows. "Last night! My dear Miss Cameron, you've been here four days."
"Four days? But that's impossible—you must be joking!"
"No, I'm not," the girl said gently. "Your arms and legs were so badly burned that Dr. Marchbanks decided to keep you under morphia to spare you as much pain as possible. But they're healing nicely now, thank goodness."
Loris absorbed this in silence. Then: "How's Melanie?" she asked faintly.
"Would she be the little blonde who's been calling to inquire about you so often? Oh, she's quite all right. You've been inundated with telephone calls and flowers, and my—you've certainly given yourself some wonderful publicity! Your name's been on the front page of all the newspapers—and your photograph, of course. You're a local celebrity!" Loris gave a faint smile and the nurse went on: "Well, I'd go and get you something to eat—I'm sure you could do with a good breakfast."
Left alone, Loris pondered over what she had been told, wondering who had rescued her and impatient for the nurse to return so that she could ask.
"Here we are!" Balancing a tray on one arm, the nurse pushed open the door. "Orange juice, a boiled egg, some buttered toast and some coffee."
Although propped up by pillows Loris found every movement agony, and was grateful to Dr. Marchbanks for having doped her through the worst of the pain. She was exhausted by the time she had finished the meal, but the nurse seemed pleased with what she had eaten, and stood balancing the tray on one plump hip.
"Now you have a nice little doze again, young lady, and then I'll come in and give you an injection."
She was leaving the room when Loris called her back.
"Oh, Nurse, I nearly forgot to ask you—who rescued me?"
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