“Look in the library for the plays of Aristophanes,” said Gervase, “or ,more particularly the works of Catullus; look where there are several dirty pages together which is where they have been most opened. That will be the most er interesting part to a juvenile male.”
“By Jove sir, I believe I shall look!” said Arthur.
Chapter 34
Gervase woke to the orange glow that penetrated the mist.
FIRE!
He leaped out of bed, pulling on his buckskins over his nightshirt and forcing bare feet into his walking boots; and pulled on his dressing gown for greater warmth than a jacket. Marsh roused in an instant at his master’s stirring; glanced at the window and whistled.
“Fellowes place if I’m not mistaken My Lord,” he said.
“As I too thought,” said Gervase curtly, “if some misguided fools have tried to burn them out for fear of sickness….”
“It would scarcely be surprising,” said Marsh, scrambling on clothes himself.
The usually immaculate Marquess of Alverston was joined at the scene of the fire by George and John Knightley who had also been roused by it; and Gervase and Marsh had been followed in short order by Arthur.
There were other villagers, pulling the rush thatching from the blazing roof and forming a chain gang to bring water.
There was movement at the door and Arthur ran forward first, almost driven back by the heat, snatching and carrying out a small figure.
Gervase pulled off his dressing gown to beat out the flames that had spontaneously erupted from Arthur’s coat; pushing him and his burden to the ground. And then he was ripping the charred clothing from the child, a little girl of perhaps five summers.
No lice would have survived that; but by a miracle, and the thicknesses of the many layers of the missmatched clothing that the child had been wearing, her clothing had
burned leaving her skin untouched! Her hair was burned away, and there were burns on her hands and face, but they might be dressed, and for now cooled in water.
“Arthur! Are you all right?” Gervase demanded.
Arthur managed a rather scorched grin.
“Singed about the edges dear uncle,” he said, “like a good rare steak that has just looked at the flame.”
“Fool,” said Gervase, ascertaining that Arthur’s burns too were minor.
“Nobody could go in there,” said Arthur, “it was a furnace; she was under something, it fell with the flames but it had protected her.”
“I was under ve vash tub betause I vos naughty,” said the infant. “It blowed away.”
“I have seen a fire where the flames suddenly flash overhead and then furniture may be bowled away in the blast from it,” said Gervase, “it happened in Spain…. A stable block; a horse was blown quite clear out, unburned but dead of the shock. The washtub has saved this little one’s life. What is your name, child?”
“If it please it is Becky,” said the child. “My hands do hurt!”
“Keep them in this water,” said Gervase, hustling to help see if the house might be saved, if there were any other living occupants.
William Larkins shook his head.
“We are too late, My Lord,” he said. “If you ask me it has been smouldering long and this sudden storm of fire caused by Fellowes opening the door and creating a draught,” he indicated a charred thing on the ground in front of the hovel.
“Was it set deliberately?” asked Gervase.
William Larkins shrugged.
“I think not, My Lord; Fellowes was a man who was careless with all things when he was in drink, fire included. He smoked a pipe. No one here would burn their neighbour alive; even the Fellowes family.”
“I am most glad to hear that,” said Gervase. “There is nothing we can do here then, is there, bar damp the fire to prevent sparks spreading it?”
“That is all we can hope to do, My Lord,” said William Larkins, “and thank the Good Lord that your nevvy was able to save one poor soul from the inferno. Though there’s plenty as will say that Harry Fellowes is now facing a hotter inferno by far.”
The villagers, mostly Donwell labourers, worked with a will; and it did not do the noble lord’s reputation any harm that he had turned out to help. As to Arthur’s rescue of small Becky, all were agreed it was of a piece with his known impetuous kindness but that nonetheless he was a hero who needed to be drunk to.
This was plainly in order of being a hint; and Gervase was glad to provide a few of the new sovereigns to suggest knocking up the landlady of the Crown to drown the smoke in the throats of all who helped if Mr Knightley as Magistrate would lend his support to the endeavour as Mrs Stokes would respect him enough to agree.
The Marquess was accounted a fine fellow and had his health toasted almost as much as Arthur in their absence.
George and John too left the villagers to it,, returning to Hartfield to report to their respective wives, having warned the company to behave in an orderly fashion and thanking Mrs Stokes for her indulgence.
Gervase, Arthur and Marsh took Becky to Mrs Hodges, who had awoken but who would not leave Kate and had merely dressed; and Mrs Hodges found soothing oils for the burns and dressed them with clean linen and wrapped the child up to sleep after washing her pitifully thin and bruised little body.
“Mrs Fellowes traps the little ones under the washtub if they’ve misbehaved because then they’re out of sight of Fellowes,” she explained, “as well as it being a frightening
punishment. She props it up on a faggot of wood since one of the older ones suffocated under it and she was warned by Mr Knightley.”
“That would be how the blast of heat flipped it then,” said Gervase, explaining what had happened.
“Poor little mite,” said Mrs Hodges, “only Kate left in the world; and she’d not have her big sister but for you, My Lord, and Miss Prudence and Mr Marsh. And at that if I rear them here to be good maidservants they’ll doubtless have a better life than at that stinking hovel they called home,” she added with a sniff.
The inquest was held after the debris had been cleared up and any remains identifiably human decently encoffined.
The inquest was held at ‘The Crown’ and the entire of Highbury turned out to be packed into the hall like herrings in boxes, not so much in the spirit of enquiry into the deaths of a family not likely to be much missed, but more out of curiosity to see the famous Marquess for the first time, since word had spread that he had loaned his aid and would be giving evidence. The description from the men who had already seen him had not been satisfactory; Billie Bates the gamekeeper had said to his wife, agog with curiosity,
“Adone do, woman! He was a man with the correct number of limbs that he put to good use; now make me a dish of tea!”
About the best that might be had by the collected wives of the labourers and servants of Donwell Abbey and Hartfield, these being those in a position to see the fire and respond, was that he was a tall and strong man with a taste for colourful dressing gowns, since Gervase’s dressing gown was of patchwork carefully pieced by Diana with aid from Georgiana, onto a piece of blanketing, each piece cunningly set by each other and a riot of colours gleaned from Georgie’s and Aunt Mouser’s scrap bags. Mrs
Hodges was sighing over the removal of oily soot from some of the brocades that had been left over from Aunt Mouser’s grandmother’s gowns and was employing warm white wine carefully and ruthlessly in the exercise of the cleansing; and lecturing a mostly conscious Kate on the same as the girl would never have learned such refinements of laundering materials of such quality from her mother. Kate was in shock over the news, and her sister Becky’s burns; and Mrs Hodges intended to keep her from brooding! She would set the girl to setting patches on the inside of the garment where it had scorched for putting out flames; Mrs Hodges could recognise a garment made with love when she saw it and had every intention of doing her best to save it!
The Marquess, when he appeared at The Crown, did not disappoint, though some of the more vul
gar were heard to exclaim in disappointment that he dressed so plainly!
The more discerning noted the fineness of the quality of his sober clothes – and who would expect him to dress like a fribble to an inquest in any case – for Gervase had donned for the formality of the occasion black satin smallclothes and black silk stockings with buckled shoes as one might wear for Almack’s; though he eschewed a tail coat for morning wear. His waistcoat was a sober grey brocade, a masterpiece in understatement. And his unruly black locks he had had Marsh cut short to the Brutus cut, well aware that the careful disorder of the Titus might offend the locals and in no wise expecting his thick thatch to behave itself even if smoothed to an acceptable style.
Mr George Knightley as Magistrate ruled the inquest and heard various neighbours of the Fellowes on the habits of Harry Fellowes and what they had seen in the night; and brought up himself the warning that he had given to Mrs Fellowes on the dangers of the use of imprisonment under
the wash tub as a punishment. He also heard the Marquess on the effects he had observed in Spain and on how the hut
was well alight by the time he had arrived; and how his nephew’s sharp eyes had perceived movement and he had darted in to save little Becky before the heat snuffed out her fragile life. George gave an official commendation to The Honourable Mr Arthur Alver – there was much stirring to discover that he was an honourable – who was, George explained, sleeping off both his exertions and the laudanum drops he had been given for the burns he had sustained during his heroic rescue.
That the Noble Lord had a bandaged hand and singed eyebrows was also noted.
The jury brought in a verdict of death by misadventure.
George spoke out.
“I hear some whispers of some of you that you do not follow what happened. Permit me to reconstruct as far as I might; Harry Fellowes liked to smoke a pipe and was not always careful with his tinderbox. It appears that, drunk as usual, he lit a pipe and some spark ignited something – the rushes of the roof perhaps, or some rags on the floor. This smouldered and filled the room with smoke. The sick members of the household – his wife, three of the children – would quickly have been unconscious as, too, would be the little ones who are more vulnerable. Becky, under the wash tub, had clean air to breath, after the manner of a diving bell; and what new air circulated came from beneath, and as smoke rises, she breathed but little in. It is fairly safe to say that all the Fellowes family bar Harry were dead or unconscious before that horrific fire swept through the cottage. Some of you saw the start of flames as the smouldering reached the roof; it was that which roused us at Hartfield and the party from Donwell. Maybe the crackling in the roof roused Harry; maybe he merely sought to answer a call of nature. He opened the door for some reason and that sudden draught of air fed the fire, even as a bellows might; and it flared up. We have heard
from Lord Alverston how there may be a blast from a violent fire in such case. That blast enabled Becky to escape because the heavy tub was blown away from her
and dazed and frightened she stumbled towards the door. We can thank God for the saving of one life in this tragic occurrence.”
There were murmurs of assent.
The funeral was to be on the morrow; and the bodies were to be buried on the parish as none of the family could have afforded it even before all their possessions were consumed by fire.
“And,” said Prudence to Gervase when he had escaped firmly from the crowd and returned to Donwell, “let us not subscribe to a tombstone; for all the epitaph I can imagine is,
“Harry Fellowes lies here, that was an awful soak
Desirous of his pipe sent all his family up in smoke”
“Or,” said Gervase,
“For want of care lies Harry Fellowes and his kin as well
He burned them in their beds and now burns hotter yet in Hell.”
“It is the children I pity,” sighed Prudence.
“Indeed,” agreed Gervase, “but Kate and Becky will yet pursue better lives I suspect!
Chapter 35
Gervase had always planned to hold a ball when Kate was well; and consulted George over whether the villagers would consider it in poor taste to do so, in short order after an inquest.
“It is hardly likely to cause any comment,” said George, “the inquest of a man like Harry Fellowes will have no impact on the lives of those of the village you are likely to be asking to a ball; who will you have as your hostess? Scarcely Prudence.”
“I was hoping, since Donwell is your home, that you and Cousin Emma would be good enough to be co-host and hostess with me,” said Gervase. “Nobody could be a more charming hostess than Cousin Emma; and it will show Prudence by being associated with her, how she might go on when she is arranging balls at Alverston or at my town house.”
George nodded.
“That would suit nicely,” he said. “Have you heard from Lady Katherine regarding Kitty yet?”
“Yes; she wrote to me that the silly chit is too young for a season and that she will chaperone her again next year. It is very good of her; and I am regretting having promised Kitty that I would arrange it, for she seems in many ways younger than Diana. I know Letheridge, who was fool enough to be desirous of offering for her; a sound man, and a kind one, and I should have thought he would make Kitty an excellent husband, able to calm her fits of gooseishness but not likely to cow her and crush her pretty and lively ways out of her. For she can be lively when she is not falling into a megrim over some imagined terror,” said Gervase.
“She is certainly lively enough to engage the aid of various young men in order to flee at various times,” agreed George, dryly.
“If I had the same control over her that I do of Arthur, who is my ward, I should threaten to spank her and cut off her allowance,” said Gervase, “she needs a firm hand! And George, my dear fellow, what I shall do is to place her for a month or two in that seminary in the village.”
“Mrs Goddard’s school? It is an excellent establishment,” said George, “Emma attended some lessons there as a visiting student, where Miss Taylor felt herself less equal to give the best education, or as I suspect where Miss Taylor felt that competing with other young ladies would increase Emma’s diligence. Mrs Goddard believes in teaching real lessons and giving an education, not encouraging girls in vanity and other such missishness. I believe you are right; it will do her the world of good. And she shall board there too – not because we are not happy to have her at Hartfield but so she might enjoy the camaraderie of girls her own age.”
“Splendid,” said Gervase, “will I arrange it or would it come better from you?”
“Emma will delight in making the arrangements,” said George, “and in persuading Kitty that it is the thing she most wants in the world; I fear Emma is very good at manipulating persuadable young women.”
Gervase laughed.
“Why am I somehow not surprised!” he said.
With tales of the fun to be had at Mrs Goddard’s, and Emma’s careful mourning that she herself did not stay as a boarder, Kitty was intrigued; and Emma also went with her to call on the injured Miss Rawlinson to carry Arthur’s best wishes – since it was improper for Arthur himself to visit but his cousin Kitty might do as a surrogate said Emma – and left the unquenchable Miss Rawlinson to explain what fun school was.
With such careful handling, Emma had to promise Kitty that she would speak to Alverston and see if he would pay for her to attend school for the summer and settle up with her father later.
The oldest schoolgirls were to attend the ball in any case, so Kitty would not lose out on that piece of fun!
Kitty was preparing herself for school when Cowley announced,
“Mr Letheridge”
“Oh Emma! Pru! Pray do not leave me!” squeaked Kitty, half fainting.
Emma went forward to meet the visitor. She saw a man of medium height with a pleasant, rather than a devastatingly handsome, face, neat of manner and sufficiently fashionable witho
ut being in any wise a dandy. He made a beautiful leg to Emma.
“You must be Mrs Knightley; how kind you are to Miss Fairlees! Might I have the opportunity of a brief word with Miss Fairlees?” he asked.
“Miss Fairlees is desirous that I and my cousin also remain with her,” said Emma. “Please!” an elegant gesture of the hand invited him forward to speak to Kitty.
Mr Letheridge gave a sad smile.
“Am I such an ogre, Miss Fairlees, that you should quake in terror at me? In truth I would hate to think that anything I had said or done might have hurt you! I came to tell you that Lady Katherine has explained that you hold my suit in aversion and that you did not wish to have to refuse any offer I had planned to make. Naturally if you feel so strongly I shall immediately withdraw my suit; I trust however you may yet look upon me as a friend?”
Kitty lost herself in several half sentences about him being too kind, that she was sorry to have caused him any trouble and that she did not feel herself ready to enter the state of matrimony. Mr Letheridge listened gravely, kissed her hand with old-worldly grace and took his departure after staying precisely as long as it took for Kitty to manage to say her piece.
Emma took her leave of him as lady of the house.
“Mr Letheridge, will you not put up at the Crown for a few days?” she suggested “The Marquess of Alverston is giving a ball; my husband is to co-host it that Alverston might have a hostess; I am sure he will be happy to extend an invitation to you.”
Mr Letheridge paled.
“Mrs Knightley are you telling me to stay where the sight of that dear girl is a torture when I know she has rejected me and does not even seem to like me?” he asked.
“Mr Letheridge, I am suggesting that you should not readily give up hope. Kitty was taken by surprise; she is young for her years and Lady Katherine is a forceful creature. As, so I understand, is the child’s father. I would suggest that you indeed, as you suggested, be a friend to her; when there is no pressure to consider matrimony, who knows what feelings might develop! I do not hold out to you any promise, but I do suggest that you should not give up so tamely.”
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