Lady Dearing's Masquerade (28 page)

“Yes, Mr. Selford came along. But they are both gone now, and I think it is time you came back to the house.”

His face contorted with the effort of hiding his feelings. “I’m s-so
sorry . . .
”

She patted his shoulder. Recently he’d outgrown—or pretended to outgrow—the desire for hugs. She sensed the tension in his lanky body, and her heart ached for him. For all her children, really. The stigma of their birth would follow them throughout their lives, and she would not always be able to protect them. Somehow, she had to help Ben and the others learn to deal with such insults without either getting into deeper trouble or coming to believe they deserved them.

“Walter
was
very provoking,” she said with a slight smile. “But next time something like this happens, you will be wiser, won’t you?”

He nodded, and she withdrew her hand from his shoulder. “We will talk more of this later. Shall we return to the house now?”

He nodded again.

They scrambled to their feet and Livvy looked up at high windows on the west side of the toolhouse. The sun was not yet low enough to enter; it was earlier than she’d thought.

An instant later something smacked into one of the windows, causing the glass to shatter. For a moment she thought it might be a bird. Then she saw that some hard, flaming object had struck the shelf on the opposite wall, near the entrance, where Furzeley kept bags of seed and also sacks and flasks of the powders and oils he used to treat diseased or infested plants.

Almost instantly, the contents of the shelf caught fire.

Chapter 21

“And then her ladyship went out to look for the lad.”

Thurlow came to the end of his recital just as Jeremy was reaching the end of his patience.

“I’m going to look for them both,” he said, heading out of the library through the French doors.

“Very good, sir.”

The butler’s approving tone only added to Jeremy’s remorse as he stepped onto the terrace. His blood boiled when he thought of that sad creature, Dearing, attempting to bully her. But she’d managed to stand her own, his Livvy!

He strode across the terrace, eager to pull her into his arms again. Surely she would understand and forgive him for his harsh words when they’d parted. It would be harder to convince her that he’d cleared the major obstacles against their marriage, but he would do it.

At the edge of the terrace, he glanced across the neat enclosures spread out below. The orchard . . . Somehow he felt Ben would be there, perhaps hiding behind one of his beloved fruit trees, or in the toolhouse.

As Jeremy raked his eyes across the scene, a chill came over him.

He hadn’t mistaken it. A small plume of smoke rose in the distance, from the direction of the orchard. Perhaps Furzeley was burning some garden debris.

But it was Sunday. The servants’ day off.

Distant screams pierced the silence.

It was Livvy.

“Thurlow! There’s a fire! Send help!” he bellowed back across the terrace.

Fear clutched his heart as he hurtled down the steps and into the gardens.

* * *

Livvy screamed with all her might.

She held Ben close as they huddled in the far corner of the toolhouse, praying someone would hear her. Orange flames grew in the opposite corner, near the door. Now they were spreading to the next shelf. Smoke billowed toward the ceiling.

There was no time to wait for help.

She glanced around. The windows were too high for her to boost Ben out. It was forty feet to the doorway, but they could manage it. They had to.

She stripped off her gloves and handed one to Ben.

“Ben, listen to me,” she said over the low crackle of the fire. “We’re going to make for the door. If we have to go through smoke, put this over your nose and mouth. Do you understand?”

He nodded, eyes wide with terror.

“Be careful of the glass!” With an arm around his shoulders, she set off along the opposite wall from the fire. The blaze continued to spread; heat radiated from the burning wall. Flames licked the potting table.

It collapsed just as they passed the glass beneath the broken window. Several smoking pots came crashing down. Livvy held Ben back as one rolled just ahead of them. Then she ran on.

All the shelves on the opposite wall were now in flames, lacing the smoke with acrid smells of burnt lime and tobacco water.

The cloud of smoke above them spread.

Holding Ben’s shoulders, she hurried forward in a crouch, telling herself all would be well. The floor was slate; it would not burn. There was a clear path to the doorway.

Now the heat came from both sides; the shelves on the adjacent wall were burning, too. She shrieked as a rake fell from its peg into their path. But the wooden handle had not caught yet; she stumbled over it, pulling Ben along with her.

Terror gripped her as she saw the doorway ablaze. The heat was stifling; popping sounds came from the windows as the glass began to distend and shatter. Black smoke descended toward them.

“Get down!” she shouted over the crackling roar. “Hold onto my foot!”

She pulled her skirts up around her waist, fell to the floor and began to crawl, Ben touching her ankle as he followed. The slate was hard and hot. She could no longer see the doorway clearly. She began to pray.

Let the doorway be close. Let us survive this. Let me see Jeremy again.

She crawled on, eyes streaming. The stifling heat intensified and the cloud of black smoke pressed down on them; she lowered herself to a creep.

“Ben!” she screamed, panicking when she did not feel his grasp.

She started to turn around, then his hand gripped her ankle again. She pressed on.

Let me see Jeremy again. Give me a chance to tell him the truth and see if together we can make things right.

“Livvy!”

Jeremy.
His beloved voice sounded faintly, unbelievably, over the roaring of the fire.

He couldn’t be here. She crept a few feet more, praying she had not lost her mind and they were still heading in the right direction.

Jeremy shouted again, his voice barely cutting through the noise and blackness.

Smoke filled the building.

“Cover your face!” she cried to Ben.

Lifting her skirt to cover her own nose and mouth, she plunged into the black wall ahead of her, trying to hold her breath, hearing Jeremy’s voice ever closer. She crept a few more seconds, gasped, and then emerged suddenly, choking and coughing, into the sunlight.

Through streaming eyes she saw Jeremy flying down the gravel path toward her. She turned and sent thanks heavenward as she saw Ben emerge from the smoke, coughing but unhurt. An instant later, Jeremy was there, helping them up. Putting an arm around each of them, he began to drag them away.

The fire roared louder. She glanced behind her and saw that the roof had caught. Sparks flew from the burning woodwork; smoke poured out though the shattered windows.

She stumbled, looked down and let out a hoarse scream.

* * *

Jeremy stared down at the flaming hem of Livvy’s gown for a horrified instant, then shoved her to the ground. Falling to his knees beside her, he pulled the burning fabric to one side of her. Pain seared his hands as he beat and crushed the flames into the damp ground.

“We’ve got to get further away!” he shouted.

He pulled her back up, then dragged her and Ben a few dozen yards from the blaze. A crowd of servants ran toward them, bearing buckets.

Jeremy lowered Ben and Livvy onto a grassy patch next to the path, then dropped down with them, relieved to find both were breathing easily. Thank God they hadn’t been caught in the smoke for too long.

But Livvy’s dazed expression alarmed him.

“Were you burnt, Livvy?”

“No. But . . . I don’t understand  . . .” She stared up at him and began to shake.

“Hush, Livvy.” Despite the stinging of his hands, he pulled her and Ben into his arms and held them tightly as both trembled in a delayed reaction to their ordeal. “You’re safe, thank God. Livvy . . . Ben . . .” Then he stiffened, fighting an appalling thought. “
Ben.
”

The boy raised his head, his expression distraught.

“No, it was
not
Ben!” Livvy raised her head quickly. She put an arm around the lad before looking back at Jeremy, her eyes regaining their focus. “Ben didn’t set the fire; we have to find out who did!”

He tamped down useless rage as the likely culprit occurred to him. “What exactly happened?”

“Ben was hiding in the toolhouse. He was upset because—”

“Yes, Thurlow explained it to me. Go on.”

“Do you think there could be a connection?” She shivered.

“Don’t worry,” he said, rubbing her arm. “We’ll solve this; just tell me what you saw.”

As she related what had happened, he held her close, trying to reconstruct the crime. A rock or brick, wrapped in oily rags, lit and cast through the window . . . He arose and shouted for Charles, the burly footman, who had taken charge of the servants working to douse everything surrounding the toolhouse to contain the spread of the fire. As Jeremy sent him off with orders to take half the servants to search the surrounding area, Miss Burton hurried into the orchard with a basket on her arm.

“Is anyone hurt?” she cried as she neared.

“I don’t think so.” Livvy glanced up from where she still sat, an arm around Ben. “Except . . . Oh dear God, Jeremy . . . Show me your hands!”

He held them behind him. “There are more important matters to deal with.”

Giving him a stern look, she rose to her feet. But she turned to the governess first. “Jane, did you bring the rose water and the Turner’s cerate?”

“Yes, and bandages and scissors.”

“Well then, leave me the basket and take Ben to the house.” She gave Ben a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t worry about anything, dear. None of this is your fault and we are all safe.”

“Should you not go back too?” Jeremy asked.

“No. I am perfectly recovered, and I wish to see this through.” As the boy walked off with Miss Burton, Livvy fixed him with another fierce look. “Now show me those hands!”

Her stringent command released any lingering fears for her well-being. Grinning, he gave her his hands. She grasped them and turned up his palms. Angry red burns covered most of his right palm and fingers; the left was not so bad.

“Good God! How long did you plan to hide this?” she scolded him, dropping his hands and bending down for the basket Miss Burton had left.

She guided him to the closest bench, clucking over him in a most satisfying manner, then bade him sit down while she rummaged through the basket.

“Now you must sit still; this may sting a little,” she warned him.

She poured some of the rose water over his burns.

He grimaced. “Now I’m going to smell of roses.”

“It will help keep off infection.”

“You remind me of Aunt Louisa,” he teased, spirits soaring as she carefully dried his hands.

“I hope she did not allow you to neglect such injuries,” she snapped.

It was almost worth the pain to have her fuss over him so lovingly, he thought, as she spread ointment on his burns and bandaged them loosely in gauze.

“There. Later I’ll give you a decoction of bark for the pain, but I think you will do.”

“With you to care for me, I haven’t a doubt I will.”

She edged closer to him, her soot-and-tear-stained face breaking into a smile that lit his heart. Ignoring the agony of his hands, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her hungrily, first on the forehead, then her cheek, then claiming her mouth in a sweet burst of mingled relief and desire.

She looked up some time later, eyes glistening. “Jeremy, while Ben and I were crawling out of that fire, I vowed to myself that if I survived I would meet with you and tell you how sorry I was to have hurt you so terribly.”

“It is
I
who should be sorry, for calling you a coward. I should have realized the sort of coercion used on you.”

“But what of Lord Bromhurst? Sir Digby?”

“It’s all settled. It’s a long story which I’ll tell you later. But now, just know that I am here, and that I am not going to leave you again. Not ever.”

After another kiss, he cleared his throat. “Now we need to bring someone to justice.”

He had just arisen from the bench when a masculine voice echoed across the orchard.

“Livvy! Fairhill! What the devil is going on here?”

Debenham ran up to them, his blue eyes wide with shock as he took in the sight of the burning toolhouse, Livvy’s smoky appearance, Jeremy’s bandaged hands.

“Good to see you, Debenham,” Jeremy replied. “We may need your help.”

He had nearly finished explaining the situation when Debenham pointed in the direction of the back gate.

“I think we have our culprit,” he said.

Charles came through the gate towing Lord Dearing along with him, while Furzeley brought up the rear brandishing a pitchfork.

“I found him in the woods,” Charles told them impassively.

“And I found this just outside the gate,” said Furzeley, holding up a tinderbox.

“I have no idea where the tinderbox came from!” Dearing blurted, struggling to escape the big footman’s grasp. “I saw the smoke from the road and was coming to see what was the matter.”

“He was running the other way, ma’am,” said Charles.

“Thank you, Charles,” said Jeremy. “Now you and Furzeley may leave us to deal with this creature.”

Reluctantly, Charles let go of Dearing, whose eyelid twitched wildly as he goggled at Jeremy and Debenham, seeing no possibility of escape.

“Well?” asked Jeremy, once the servants had withdrawn.

“Don’t look at me that way!” Dearing cried. “Do you think I—I, a gentleman—could have set a fire, when my aunt has been harboring a firebrand in this very house?”

“Damn you, Adolphus!” Livvy cried furiously, leaving Jeremy’s side to glare at her nephew. “So it was to implicate Ben that you did this. Oh, you are unspeakable, to involve an innocent child in your schemes! May you burn in hell for this!”