Saving the Soldier's Heart (The Emerald Quest Book 2)

by Beckenham Jane

She tried, and tried and tried, splinters digging into her skin. Blood trickled down her hand but she ignored it. They had to get out. This was their only option.

  Then suddenly the wood ripped away and Maggie fell back, relief overwhelming.

  The burning door exploded open, a gust of thick swirling smoke, along with orange and yellow flames storming into the room and reaching for the ceiling.

  It caught fire instantly, flames rippling above them.

  “Come on.” Edward yanked at the wooden boards that, thank God, fell away—only to reveal a window, not to the outdoors, but another room.

  Thick smoke clogged Maggie’s lungs and she coughed, trying to gain enough air to breathe. “Where does it lead to?”

  “No idea, but at least it gives us more time. Up you go.” Edward lifted her bodily and shoved her through the opening. She fell to the floor below, rolling away from the window, grateful for the few precious moments of as yet un-poisoned air.

  Edward joined her and for a moment they continued to succor the freedom of relatively easy breathing.

  Suddenly, an explosion reverberated through the building, bucking the floor beneath them followed by a thunderous rumble.

  “Look out.” Edward rolled her away from the gaping hole as dust, flame and smoke poured through. “The ceiling’s collapsing. Come on.” He yanked her up after him, and with the diary clutched to her chest, Maggie followed.

  “I think it leads to the back alley.”

  “That’ll be near the kitchen. Wouldn’t that be where the fire started?”

  “Who knows, but we’ve only got this way to go. There’s no other way.”

  It seemed to take forever, one corridor after another, all filling with the toxic smoke and fumes faster than she could breathe. It sucked everything from her, leaving her limbs heavy and barely able to put one foot in front of her. Her eyes streamed from the stinging smoke, and were half shuttered at best. Then she recognized something. “This is it, the corridor to Wah Lee’s office. We’re not far from the exit.”

  Hope renewed, she upped her pace as best she could.

  Freedom. So close.

  Another explosion shook the building and Maggie dove for the doorway.

  Too late, the roof caved in, smoking beams falling every which way, catching her on the side and tossing her to the floor, pinning her beneath.

  “Help. Edward. Help.” Maggie tried to shift but lay prostrate on the floor with only one arm free; the other clutched the diary to her chest.

  She could not move.

  She arched her head back, trying to twist round to see where Edward was, but all around was cloying smoke and the lick of furious flames. Sweat streamed down her face, the heat of the roaring fire overwhelming, her skin prickling, blistering.

  Dear God, wedged by the beam, she was going to burn alive.

  She was no Jeanne d’Arc, no hero. She began to scream, but realized instantly no one could hear her above the roar of the fire.

  A groan echoed to her right and again she arched back as best she could so she could turn towards the sound.

  Edward lay on his side, a beam across his leg.

  “Edward! Edward we have to get out.”

  Slowly he began to move, crawling to his knees. He shoved the bits of burning ceiling away from both of them and then reached for the beam that had fallen across her.

  “Move, damn it. Move.” He hefted it higher, but the beam slipped back.

  He tried again, but it didn’t budge.

  A ball of flame shot through the doorway and Maggie screamed. “It’s coming after us.” Flames consumed the oxygen and she gasped for air, her face scorched “Try again. Try.” Oh, dear God she was going to die here.

  Clayton.

  Edward tried, and tried and tried, but it barely shifted.

  “I can’t, it won’t budge.” Desperation etched across his smoke streaked face, his shoulders slumped.

  She was stuck. Going to die. She waved him away. “Go Edward. Go.”

  “You want me to leave you?”

  “Save yourself, but you must do one thing. You must tell Clayton,” her voice withered, a cough scouring through her lungs as she tried to speak. “Tell him I love him.”

  “Told you so, but you’ll tell him yourself soon enough. I’ll be back. I promise.” He eyed the flame momentarily, went to turn away, and then hesitated. “If... Tell him Carmichael and Tanner were behind it. They shot him.”

  “Those men.” But too late, her words evaporated as he disappeared into the flames and smoke.

  Maggie lay there, and though the noise of the fire and building falling down around her were chaotic and deafening, a sudden calm came across her.

  And so be it.

  She had found love.

  “Find me, Clayton. I have saved Josephine for you.” Then the world of fire and flame took over.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Arriving at the Savoy, his world that much lighter at his discovery, Clayton couldn’t wait to tell Maggie about it.

  Regret and guilt however clouded his discovery. He should not have treated her so appallingly. She deserved better.

  Something else played on his mind. Something…He wanted to tell her…“Mr. Abbott. Mr. Abbott.” A breathless, red-faced Detective Brownley rushed toward him. “I’ve been searching for you.”

  “Do you have news of Edward?”

  “I’ve news, sir, but none you’ll like.”

  Sudden fear swirled in Clayton’s chest. He knew that feeling.

  “It’s Miss Francis, sir.”

  His fear escalated. “Maggie?”

  “She has been kidnapped.”

  Kidnapped. “Impossible. She’s here, inside, I’m just about to go up to her.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but she is not.”

  It seemed so ridiculous, but… “How do you know she’s been kidnapped? Did you see it?”

  “Not quite, but we’ve received word.”

  “Who from?”

  “Anonymous, sir, but I can guess.”

  Edward! “The bastard.” Clayton’s fingers curled into his palms, digging viciously into his flesh. He ignored the pain, though he could not ignore the brutal pain scouring across his heart. Maggie. His Maggie.

  “We think she’s with the Chinese.”

  “The Chinese?” Was this their way to get at Edward? “How do you know this if the note was anonymous?”

  “I reckon the writer wanted us to know where she was and wants us to go there.”

  “Give me the note.”

  The man handed it over and Clayton scanned it.

  We have her. You have twenty-four hours to hand over the emeralds and our cargo.

  Clayton shoved the note in his pocket. “I know who they are and where they are. How did you get here?”

  “On foot.”

  Clayton waved to the doorman. “A taxi, immediately.”

  The man nodded and beckoned a waiting taxicab from its ranks.

  “Get in.” Clayton bounded in after the detective. “Limehouse, and hurry. There’s an extra fiver in it for you. A life is at stake.”

  The man glanced at Clayton via his mirror, and realized Clayton wasn’t joking. “Right-o, sir.”

  In record time, the driver fulfilled his promise and they turned into the market street.

  Clayton spied the alleyway to the restaurant. “Stop here.”

  The driver braked, but ahead a constable waved at them.

  The driver wound down his window and the young constable peered into the vehicle, glancing at the passengers, then spoke to the driver. “You can’t go any further. There’s a fire at one of the restaurants and we’re waiting for the fire brigade.”

  Clayton edged forward on his seat “Where?”

  He glanced into the rear of the cab again. “Tiger’s Eyes, sir.”

  “Bloody hell!” Clayton shoved open the door, only to have the detective grab hold of him. He wrenched himself from the man’s grip. “Let me go. Maggie is in there
.” He began to run, hearing the detective calling him to stop. He didn’t, but ran harder. Faster. Until his lungs burst. The sound of feet over cobbles behind him didn’t stop him. Nothing would.

  Ahead, plumes of smoke spiraled high, mingling with white cloud. Flames skyrocketed.

  “Sweet Jesus.”

  A flurry of workers hovered outside, some bent double as they struggled to breathe, behind them the building already a wall of deadly fire.

  Clayton didn’t hesitate and rushed towards the door, the same door he and Maggie had entered.

  Just as he neared, another constable shoved him aside. “You can’t go in.”

  “I can and I will.”

  “No one can survive that.”

  “Has a woman come out?”

  “Several.” The man pointed to a group of woman in various stages of dress standing to one side. Clayton searched.

  She wasn’t there.

  “Has a woman with auburn hair come out? Maggie. Her name is Maggie Francis.”

  The man shook his head. “Only those over there. Workers, if you get my drift.”

  Just then, a man stumbled from a side door, his face and clothing blackened, hair singed and smoking.

  The constable grabbed him. “Hold on to me, sir. Hold on. You’re safe now.”

  “I’ve got to go back. She’s in there.”

  Clayton recognized that voice immediately. “Edward, you bastard.” He lunged at him, grabbing him around throat. “Where is she, you bloody bastard?”

  Edward stumbled backwards, drawing Clayton with him. “Inside. She’s inside.”

  Clayton’s hands dropped from Edward’s throat and he backed away, eyes focused on the burning building.

  An explosion reverberated, the sound of the roof falling, windows blowing out.

  “I've got to find her, get her.”

  “You can’t go alone. I know the building.”

  “I bet you bloody do.”

  “It’s a rabbit warren of rooms, Clayton. Let me help.”

  For less than a heartbeat Clayton hesitated.

  “Trust me.”

  Grime and smoke obliterated most of Edward’s face, his blonde hair now a blackened thatch, and yet his blue eyes were as clear as always.

  Trust him?

  They’d played together, gone to school together. Become men. Friends always.

  In the distance the echo of police sirens punctuated the cacophony.

  Trust him?

  “Which way?”

  “Follow me.” Edward barged past the hovering workers. “In here.” He shoved aside a charred door, stepping over several beams that had fallen from the ceiling, ignoring the flames still singeing the blackened wood. “Whatever you do, Clayton, stick with me.”

  Clayton nodded, tightening his scarf across his face. At least it would come in useful, protecting him against the acidic burn of the smoke and ash swirling around them.

  Edward stopped at the entrance. “If I don’t get out of here, remember the letter you sent to me from Flanders after Passchendaele. That will explain everything.”

  Carmichael. Tanner. The stolen treasures. A gun exploding in his face.

  “I remember it all.” Clayton ducked into the building, following Edward’s lead.

  Heat scored across his exposed skin, seemingly about to char it from his bones. He held a hand up to shield his eyes as embers cascaded around them. His clothes began to burn and he slapped at the singed fabric.

  “Down here.” Edward pointed to the end of the corridor. “She’s through there.”

  Clayton shoved past his friend.

  Friend? Yes, his friend. There were things to talk out, but he was his friend. Deep down inside Clayton had always known that. Believed it.

  “Maggie. Maggie.” His voice hoarse from the choking smoke, he crouched low, dodging the lick of flames surging from every nook and doorway. “Maggie...” He could no longer think, his voice a bare whisper above roar of the fire. Dear God, she had to be alive.

  “Bloody hell!” Edward came to a standstill. All around flames engulfed them, threatening with every lick of their fiery tongues.

  “What the hell. Why are you stopping?”

  Edward pointed toward the gray pall of smoke. “The wall has collapsed. There’s no way through.”

  No way.

  “There has to be. We must get through.”

  “Clayton. It’s…”

  “Don’t try and stop me Edward or I’ll bloody kill you.” Clayton shoved past him and charged into the swirling thick smoke, hands grabbing at anything he could, ignoring the scorch of flames searing his skin as he thrust burning ruins aside.

  In seconds, Edward was at his side, and they both worked at creating a small opening.

  “Through here.” Clayton dropped to his stomach and wedged himself in between the small opening of smoldering beams. Working his elbows across the floor, it reminded him of the days, nights, weeks, in the trenches and the only way to move was to crawl on his belly through the mud and dead bodies.

  He shut that memory down. It didn’t matter. Not now. Only…

  Suddenly, he couldn’t move, something holding him back. His scarf, still across his face, hiding him from this burning world, tightened. He tugged at it. “Shit!” It had caught on something.

  “What’s up?

  “The bloody thing won’t shift.” He tugged harder. He glanced ahead.

  Maggie. Stay with me.

  Dear God, he needed to get to her. Kiss her. Inhale her intoxicating fragrance. Make love to her. But mostly he wanted to tell her…

  What?

  For a moment he hesitated, hand hovering above the thickly knitted woolen garment. It had been his visible crutch, his coat of armor against the world. But Maggie had helped him realize that people were just people and while some may be upset while viewing his face, he did not need to take on their angst. He was who he was and what he was. At last, finally, and thank God he really did not care what people thought of him, or saw of him. With utmost relief he drew the scarf over his head and tossed away his security blanket. He bared his face. His soul. Himself.

  Maggie had been right. It didn’t matter. He was who he was, as he was.

  The pain. The fear. Everything. Except hope. Hope and love, and Maggie. That he held close to his heart.

  ***

  The taint of burning hair dragged Maggie from hell. Her eyes fluttered open. The fire still burned.

  “Clayton, I love you.”

  The thought of not seeing him again seared across her heart as blatant as the flames wrapping her in their wrath. It was an unbearable thought.

  I’m strong and determined. A survivor.

  Get up. She had to get up. She would not give up and take the easy way out. She would escape this hell.

  Twisting as far as she could onto her side, she elbowed her upper body upwards so that she could gain purchase. Each time she tried, the beam shifted an inch.

  One inch.

  Two.

  And again and again.

  Suddenly she could use both hands and sit up partially. She shoved at the beam. It slipped down her legs, the other beam that had been holding it now a charred ruin; its weight no longer of any consequence.

  With one last shove, the beam fell away. She was free.

  Rolling onto her stomach, she tucked the diary inside her coat pocket, then pushed herself up on all fours and began to pick her way across the room. Wood and glass littered the floor, slicing into her hands and tearing at her clothing, shredding her stockings.

  Progress proved slow and painful, her ability to breathe negligible, but she would not give up. She had to live. She had to get out. For Clayton.

  “Maggie! Maggie!”

  Clayton?

  “In here. I’m in here.” She scrambled to her feet, but her knees gave way and she began to topple.

  He caught her in his arms. “Maggie. Oh, Maggie. Thank God you’re safe.”

  “How did you...?”
<
br />   “Stubborn girl. I knew you wouldn’t give up.”

  “I thought I was bossy.”

  “That too. Come on. No questions. Let’s get out.”

  Grateful for his support as he held her to him, he led her out into the hallway where Edward shielded them from falling debris. “Keep your head down.”

  “Come on, sweetheart.”

  Sweetheart!

  If she died now, she would be happy.

  Then, suddenly they were out and surrounded by the police and medical workers, and others that had escaped the fiery hell.

  “Mr. Abbott. Miss Francis. Thank the Lord you’re safe.”

  “All well, Detective Brownley, apart from a bit of smoke and being in dire need of a bath.”

  The detective smiled. “Aye, it’ll take a bit to get that lot off you.”

  “A word, detective, if you please.” Clayton turned to Maggie. “The doctor will check you out while I talk with Brownley.” He gently handed her over to a waiting nurse, though Maggie was reluctant to let go of him.

  At her resistance, his mouth hitched. “I won’t be long. I promise.”

  Releasing his hand, Maggie let the nurse lead her to the doctor, taking a glance over her shoulder at Clayton as if she needed reassurance he was real.

  He talked to the detective, pointing in the direction of Edward and two other men. Two English men.

  Carmichael? Tanner?

  Tears welled in her eyes and she scrubbed them away. Would this ever end?

  A moment later, Clayton was back at her side. “Is she all right, Doctor?”

  “Fit as a fiddle, sir. A bit of fresh air is what she needs.”

  “And I know just the place for her to get it. Tomorrow, sweet Maggie, we’re going home.”

  Home? Bellerose?

  No, she couldn’t go there again. Not now.

  “No, I’m not.”

  Clayton’s brow creased. “Not what?”

  “Not going anywhere with you.” She snapped her lips closed and wiped a hand across her eyes, shoving her smoke infested hair off her face. “I will not go with you to Bellerose.” Her voice shook as hard as her body. Inside she cried for what was, and what could never be. He wasn’t hers.

  Clayton’s expression dulled, his mouth instantly grim. “May I ask why?”

  “I saw you with her. Miss Perfect.”

  His emerald eyes clouded. “Miss Perfect?” Suddenly, realization dawned. “With Elaine.” He smiled.