All in Good Time (34 page)

Dessa moved to the base of the ladder as Nadette’s cry confirmed her worst fear.

“A fire! I can see it between the boards of the carriage house.”

Dessa tried to climb the ladder, but Mr. Dunne reached for her, his ruddy face alarmed. “Stay here, miss. There’s naught you can do up there, but plenty to be done down here. I may need yer help in protectin’ them.” He nodded toward the sisters, who were still inseparable and full of stark terror.

Nadette bent down, catching Dessa’s attention. “I’ll go and see if there’s anythin’ we can do. I’ll be right back.”

Dessa loosened her hand from its grip on the ladder’s edge. “All right,” she called after Nadette. “But if there’s any hope—any at all—then call us to come up and grab a bucket.”

But Nadette was already gone, the trapdoor slamming in her wake.

38

“IT’S NO USE, MAN!
Come out!”

Henry refused to believe it. “Dessa! Dessa!”

Even now, the heat from the other side of the wall along the edge of the staircase scorched his palm when he reached for it to steady himself.

The smoke filled his nostrils, tore at the lining of his throat. Turk Foster still pulled at him, stopping him from going any farther up the stairs.

A crack sounded—close and fearsome. Something was caving in, though he couldn’t see what. The sound put more force behind Foster’s grip. He all but dragged Henry closer to him, and the two of them went flying down a half-dozen stairs to land with a thud on the hot wooden boards at the base.

The flames were closer than ever, but Henry didn’t care. He would have turned back up the stairs in search of Dessa, but Foster grabbed him again. Henry tried shaking him off—only to regain his freedom not by his own strength but through the dazzling finger of flame that reached out for the hem of Foster’s jacket. He cried out and Henry pushed him down to the floor, rolling him over to snuff the flames.

Then, seeing Foster go limp in a faint, Henry knew he had only one choice. Get Foster to safety.

Dragging him by what was left of his jacket, Henry slammed through the kitchen door, hauling Foster over his shoulder and out
to the yard. There he collapsed onto the grass with the weight of the man, coughing and sputtering.

Henry rolled over, checking Foster’s damage. The man was conscious again, coughing and mindlessly slapping at his own still-smoking jacket.

“I’m afire!”

But he wasn’t. The flames were gone. Henry reached over to pull away the tattered jacket, seeing with alarm that there was nothing left of the material on the side the flame had first caressed.

“Lie still,” he ordered. It was too dark to see the damage well, but Henry guessed he ought to make sure whatever remained of the man’s shirt was no longer pressed to his skin.

By the growing light of the burning house before them, Henry could see the side of Foster’s shirt had been singed as well. His trousers were still intact. Though Henry knew the house had indoor plumbing, he was glad to spot an outdoor pump between the back of the house and the carriage house nearby.

He coughed again when a new cloud of smoke hit them. The flames now filled the kitchen.

“Come on, Foster,” Henry said, climbing to his feet first, then pulling at Foster from his uninjured side. “Come farther away from the smoke.”

The towel Henry had taken from the kitchen fell from his shoulder, and he scooped it up. Once he deposited Foster against the far side of the carriage house, Henry went to the pump and soaked the towel, wringing it out with the meager hope of cleaning the material. Then he soaked it again with the tepid water.

Returning to Foster’s side, he moved the man’s arm out of the way to gingerly press the towel to the spot that had been burned. Foster winced but didn’t protest.

The sound of wood cracking and falling called Henry from his
duties. He let Foster hold the towel to himself, then stood to face the burning building.

“It’s no use,” Foster said dully.

He was right. Even a moment of frantic alarm over the thought of Dessa inside couldn’t persuade Henry to try going in again. The entire house was engulfed.

“She wasn’t in there,” Foster said. “She must have found them and made it back to my carriage.”

Henry nodded, wanting to believe it. Desperate to believe it. But if she’d been hiding . . . if she was hiding those girls from the mob in front—maybe inside a wardrobe upstairs or in a locked water closet—she wouldn’t have known the place was afire until it was too late.

Why,
why
hadn’t he thought to go right in, the moment he’d arrived out front? Why had he wasted time getting to Foster, simply because he’d been last seen with Dessa? Had she gotten out in time? Had Foster’s carriage taken them away to safety?

He stared at the flames eating Pierson House, knowing there was nothing he could do. Except pray.

“The house is afire! And there’s two men fightin’ in the yard!”

Nadette’s frantic voice reached those below before she did, even as she nearly fell from the ladder in her attempt to rejoin them.

“You think the flames’ll reach us here?” Nadette’s voice was breathless with agitation. “Will they set the carriage house afire too?”

Jane whimpered from the corner. She hadn’t spoken except to join them in song. Dessa glanced at her, seeing the girl wipe silent tears from her face. Her lips were moving, but no sound came out.

As much as Dessa wanted to join Jane in her tears, she knew she must offer courage to those around her.

“We’ll be all right,” she promised, nearing Jane and putting a firm hand to her shoulder. She looked at Liling and Mei Mei, who appeared as afraid as ever, then at Nadette. “Did you say there were only two men in the yard? Are you sure just two?”

“That’s all I saw—but I didn’t stay long to make sure, once I saw there’s nothin’ to be done ’bout the house.”

Dessa glanced up at the trapdoor. It was made of wood, like the rest of the carriage house. If everything above them burned, would the smoke find its way down to them, obliterating the relatively clean air they had now, with no way out? She looked at the uneven wood that was nailed into the hard ground around them. Would that catch fire too?

But if they went up and made a run for it, would the mob catch them?

Dessa forced away her fears. She must do
something
if she was to keep the others safe. Staying here seemed anything but.

She pulled Liling and Mei Mei from their seats. “We have no choice. We’ll have to run.”

Jane popped up from her corner but pressed back into the shelves behind her. “It’s not safe out there! And where will we go?”

Dessa was already directing the girls toward the ladder. “We’ll make a run just a couple blocks away. If Mr. Foster’s carriage driver is as loyal as I think he is, he’s still waiting.”

“But we might get caught!” Jane protested. “That mob is still up there!”

“We’re not going that way. We’ll circle around them, as far as we have to, and stay in the shadows.”

“What if we get caught?”

“Jane!” Dessa caught the girl’s shoulders and shook her hard. “Do you want to die of smoke down here or take your chances up there?”

“Oh, miss!” She burst into tears and flung herself into Dessa’s embrace.

“Hush now, Jane; we’ll be all right. I promise you.” She just hoped she could keep that promise.

Nadette went up the ladder first, scurrying faster than Dessa would have thought possible considering her skirt. Jane, Liling, and Mei Mei went afterward, though Dessa told them to wait inside the carriage house until she joined them.

She looked at Mr. Dunne before going up. He seemed content to stay where he was. It might not be wise to have a tottering man along with them, but she could hardly leave him here to die if the smoke got the best of the place.

“You’d better see to yourself, Mr. Dunne. And not down here. They’re not after you, so if you go up you shouldn’t be in danger as long as you stay clear of us.”

He lifted a careless palm. “Ah, miss, ’tis a saint you are to worry over me. But I’ll take me chances right here.” He grabbed one of the jugs and hugged it to his chest.

“Please don’t drink any more, Mr. Dunne,” she said. “You’ve done a noble thing, hiding the girls here tonight. I had no idea this place existed. I want to be able to say thank you in the morning—and not just to your memory.”

He’d been about to lift the jug to his lips, but her words stopped him. “Did I now? Do you think it’s true? That I played a part in savin’ anyone tonight?”

“Indeed I do.”

“Well, then,” he said slowly, recapping the jug. “Well. So there you have it.”

But Dessa could stay no longer. She climbed the rungs as fast as she could—relieved a moment later when Mr. Dunne followed. He’d left the whiskey below.

Even before she reached the others huddled together, the bells and whistles from a fire wagon came blessedly to her ears.

Thank You, Lord, for such clear direction!

The sound of the fire brigade whistles came as some relief to Henry, though it did nothing to lift his spirits despite his guess that the sound had dispersed the mob out front. The tarnished brick walls of Pierson House still stubbornly stood, but flames continued to devour everything inside.

Dessa wasn’t in there. She couldn’t have been.

He repeated the words over and again, silently, persistently. From moment to moment he went from trusting God and believing those words to waves of relentless fear.

If she wasn’t in there, then where would she go? Had she made it to Foster’s carriage? He only hoped she wasn’t alone. Only Remee had been in that line, miraculously but ineffectively protecting Pierson House.

Some bouncer Mr. Dunne had proven himself. Or maybe he
had
done his job, at least so far as Jane and the Chinese girls went, since they were nowhere to be found.

Mr. Dunne! Turning round to the carriage house, a burst of hope lit his heart. Mr. Dunne lived in that ramshackle place. Maybe even now the old sot was proving himself worth something and hiding
all
of them.

Henry lurched toward the door, yanking on the handle—but it didn’t budge. “Dessa!” His throat, still parched from the smoke, protested at the use, but he called her name again, then again, banging on the doors. He’d bust them down if he had to.

And then they fell open. A young girl stood there, her eyes wide, cautious. Maddeningly, Henry didn’t recognize her. Where was Dessa? Did this girl know?

He nearly leaped at her, wanting to shake information out of her even before giving himself a chance to ask. But shadows—several of them—emerged behind her, and he grabbed the door instead, flinging it wide so he could identify those standing before him.

Two petite shadows. Another he recognized as belonging to Jane.

With a cry of relief he was surprised to hear come from his own mouth, he saw Dessa—and pulled her into his arms.

Dessa was crying before she even knew it. He was here! He’d come after her! How foolish and miraculous—and
wonderful
.

When Henry’s mouth came down on hers, she didn’t even care what the others thought. She received his kiss as if it were her first—and certainly it was, at least the first one that had anything to do with love. She tasted smoke and cinders but didn’t care, except that it meant he’d been far too close to danger.

Pulling back, she saw something else on his face. A trail on his cheek that made its way through the soot covering him nearly everywhere. “Oh, but you’re bleeding!”

He raised a hand to his face. “Am I?”

“Are you all right?”

He pulled her close again. “I wasn’t until seeing you.” He threw a glance toward the house. “I thought you were in there.”

“You didn’t . . . you didn’t go in there after me, did you?”

“He certainly did,” said a new voice from just beyond the carriage house. Dessa looked to see Mr. Foster’s silhouette. He was somewhat crouched over, as if favoring one side, but when he stepped closer she saw he had a grin on his face—a face every bit as grimy as Henry’s.