Nothing! The thought flashed through her mind. Nothing but leave her and, it seemed, Arabella too, for dead? And—Sarah? But just the same, she could not stand by and watch this. “It’s true what he says,” she moved forward to stand between the struggling trio and the fire. “He’s a prisoner of war: he’s only just been exchanged. He can have had nothing to do with what’s happened today.”
They paused for a minute, but, “A prisoner of war,” said the second of Manningham’s captors. “And where was he taken, I’d like to know? This ain’t the only outrage we’ve suffered. Suppose he was at Hampton last summer, or at Niagara this winter, where they left our women and children to choose between death of cold and death from the Indians. No, no: out of the way, ma’am. This is men’s work.”
“Men? Cowards!” She staggered back as he pushed her aside and the two of them began to drag Manningham, frantically struggling, toward the blazing building. The rest of the crowd moved forward with them, growling approval. “Don’t! Don’t let them!” Kate’s appeals were ignored as the whole crowd surged forward. She turned from them, sickened, and saw the door by which Jonathan had entered swing open and a curiously elongated figure appear, silhouetted against the fire. The crowd forgot its blood lust for a moment and gave a roar of approval. It was too good to be true. It was true, though. She pushed her way forward through the crowd. “Jon! Jonathan! You’re safe. And Sarah?”
“Kate!” said the black-faced little figure on his shoulder, and held out her arms.
“Take her. Quickly.” Jonathan smelled of smoke. “I have to go back for Arabella. She’s hurt.”
“No!” But of course he must. “Be careful, Jon.” He had turned away already to plunge back into the burning building. Fire showed at every window now. It was madness. He had to do it. She held Sarah close. “Are you hurt, honey?” What hope of an answer?
But in fact the child in her arms shook her head, and snuggled closer into her arms, shifting the bag of money as she did so. For the first time, Kate remembered Manningham and looked around for him. But he had seized his chance to escape when the crowd’s attention was centered on Jonathan. So much the better, she thought, and forgot all about him as she turned once more to gaze fearfully at the burning building. No one had come out from either end since Jonathan had brought out Sarah. What hope had he?
Sarah was whimpering against her shoulder. “It’s all right, my precious; it’s all right, my honey.” If only it was true.
“Why doesn’t he come?” Sarah’s voice, at once strange and heart-stirringly recognizable.
She bent impulsively to kiss the child. “He’ll come, honey.” Please God, let it be true. “He had to go back for your mother.” Madness to have said that.
But Sarah merely stirred a little in her arms. “Poor Mother,” she said. “She came for me.”
Was this Arabella’s epitaph? And Jonathan’s? Tears filled Kate’s eyes as she strained them, in vain, for any sign of life in the fiercely burning building. Then, as she watched, there was a roar of flame, and a crash, and a great sigh from the crowd. “I reckon the staircase has gone, this end,” said one of the men who had helped her with Manningham. “I’m sorry, ma’am. He shouldn’t have tried.”
She shook her head mutely, holding onto Sarah as if for dear life.
“You’d best be getting home, ma’am, you and your little girl.” He meant it kindly. “This is no night for a lady to be out on her own.”
Still she could not speak for tears, but stood there, helplessly shaking her head, holding Sarah in a grip that hurt.
“Don’t, Kate.” Once again, astonishing, it was Sarah’s voice. “Don’t cry. He’ll come. He always comes.”
And miraculously, with the words, came a sort of groan from the crowd. Kate, blinded by tears, could see nothing, but: “Well, I’ll be jiggered,” said the man beside her. “He got clear through and out the other end.”
And, “There he is,” said Sarah. “There’s Father.” And was down from Kate’s arms, holding her hand, pulling her through the crowd toward the far end of the building, where a dark figure had staggered from the house and reeled forward, blinded by the smoke, with something in his arms.
Something? Someone. Arabella, but Arabella almost unrecognizable, horribly burned, and writhing with pain.
“This way, sir,” a man pushed forward through the crowd. “Bring her this way. I’m a doctor. My house is right here, on K Street.”
“Thank you.” The crowd fell back respectfully as Jonathan turned to follow the strange doctor. “Kate! You’ve got Sarah?”
“Yes, we’re here.” Kate picked up Sarah again and felt her shiver uncontrollably in her arms. “But, Jon, you’re not hurt?”
“Nothing to signify. But Arabella ... I don’t know. She’d fainted—the smoke, I suppose. She saved Sarah, Kate. If she’d not unlocked that door, I’d never have got to her. If I could only have brought them both at once—”
“This way.” The doctor opened the door of his house. “Lay her down there.” Pointing to a sofa in the front room. “Gently, now.” He bent over her.
Arabella moaned. Then: “No use.” She spoke with difficulty, in a hoarse whisper. “And I’m glad. What’s left ... ? But—Sarah. Where is she?”
“She’s safe.” Jonathan was on the other side of the sofa. “Quite safe. You saved her, Bella, God bless you.” Across her body, his eye caught the doctor’s, to ask a silent question. Almost imperceptibly, the doctor shook his head; his lips formed the words, “Noticing I can do.”
“I know.” Arabella had understood. “I’m dying. I don’t even care. Not now. Only—first—Jonathan, I must tell you. It was all my fault.” The words came in painful gasps. “Sarah. That day at Saratoga. I was meeting”—she fought for breath—“Josiah.” A travesty of a smile distorted her ravaged face. “I didn’t love him. I didn’t know, then ... anything ... But it was so dull, Jon, with you away. Only—that day ... Sarah followed us ... through the woods ... down the long, straight path ... to the hut. She caught us. She didn’t mean to.” Her strength was failing. “I was angry ... I shut her in. Then—the search was out—I couldn’t get back. I’m ... sorry, Jon.” She tried to raise her head. “Charles! Where’s Charles?” And then, remembering. “He left me, of course. He never cared ... for me. What a fool—” Her head fell back.
“She’s gone, I’m afraid,” said the doctor. “Poor creature.”
“She didn’t want to be saved,” said Jonathan. “Not after Manningham left her like that. She told me so. But she saved Sarah. She’d got her out of that room. She could have gone with Manningham, but she didn’t.” He was talking across the doctor, to Kate, who had stayed at the door of the room, holding Sarah so she could not see. But, “Poor Mother,” said Sarah. “She’s hurt.”
Jonathan was across the room in one stride. “Sarah! You’re talking!”
“Talking?” Sarah sounded puzzled.
This was no time for discussion or exclamation. “Jonathan,” Kate put in quickly. “Do you think we could take Sarah home? It’s way past her bedtime.” She was afraid it sounded heartless, but there was no help for it. Sarah had had all she could stand.
“Yes,” said the doctor. “You’re quite right, ma’am.” And then, to Jonathan: “I’ll take care of everything sir.” He bent to lay a knitted shawl gently over Arabella’s body. “Your nursemaid, I take it? Went back for the child? Gallant of her. And of you. Poor thing; she did her best. And so did you. Remember that. And now, you must , think of the living. Best get your wife and child home, sir. Call on me tomorrow, if you will.”
“My—? Oh, thank you. Yes, I’ll do that. Tomorrow.” He was beyond thought, beyond feeling. For a moment, he just stood there, gazing down at the brightly colored shawl.
“Father!” Sarah’s voice again. “Can’t we go home? Home to Penrose?”
He roused, shook himself. “Not tonight, honey. It’s too far.”
“Tomorrow then?” Her voice Shook. “I want to go home.
”
“And so you shall,” said Kate. “Just as soon as we can. Home to Penrose.”
Now that Jonathan had roused himself, their sad arrangements were soon made, their thanks and farewells said. The doctor went on speaking as if Jonathan and Kate were man and wife, and after one brief, expressive exchange of glances they let him do so.
At last, they were outside, walking up 18th Street, with Sarah between them and the fires behind.
“She’s talking. I can’t believe it.” Jonathan looked across the child to Kate.
“Don’t—” The less they commented on it, the better.
“No.” He understood at once. “Arabella saved her.” It was still strange to him. “Poor Arabella. She wouldn’t try to save herself. There was nothing I could do.”
“I know,” said Kate. “You did everything you could.”
“Now, yes,” said Jonathan. “But not before. It was my fault, all of it. I brought her away from Richmond, where she was happy. She was gay, Kate, she loved to laugh, and dance, and flirt. I left her alone in Penrose. It was my fault.”
“Don’t think about it. It’s no use.” What was there she could say?
But now another voice broke in. Sarah’s. “Kate! What did the man mean? Whose wife and child?”
“He was in a muddle, honey.”
“Muddle?” Here was a word that was strange to her. “I like his muddle, Kate.” Only she pronounced it muggle.
Kate looked up to meet Jonathan’s eyes across her. “Do you, honey?” The glow of firelight was less intense now, as they walked steadily away up 18th Street, but they could still see each other, strangely illuminated.
The child gave a little skip, supporting herself on both their hands. “Yes, I do.”
“So do I,” said Jonathan.
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