The Rake (17 page)

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Authors: Mary Jo Putney

BOOK: The Rake
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“The stairs are safe, just go down quickly and get outside,” Alys barked. The smoke had followed her up, and drawing in breath to speak made her cough.
Mrs. Haver's eyes widened in shock. Then she darted back into her room. Alys chased after her, swearing. “For God's sake, whatever you have here isn't worth the risk!”
“Easy for you to say.” Mrs. Haver's voice trembled on the edge of hysteria as she lifted one end of the mattress and pulled out whatever treasure she had hidden.
Alys grabbed the cook's arm and propelled her out the door and toward the stairs. “Move, dammit!”
Not waiting to see if she was obeyed, Alys sped down the narrow, dark passage. The only other servant was Janie Herald, the young housemaid. Her bedroom was at the opposite end of the attic, and in the dark Alys couldn't find the right door at first. She mistakenly entered two storage rooms before finding the correct one.
The little, slant-ceilinged chamber smelled faintly of the cheap perfume Janie used, but there was no response to Alys's call. She fumbled her way across the room, stubbing her toes painfully before falling onto the narrow bed.
The bed was empty, the blankets unwrinkled. Momentarily breathless, Alys's mind flashed through the possibilities. Janie had been walking out with a boy from the village. Perhaps she had slipped out to meet him?
Praying that was the case, Alys pushed herself upright and ran out of the room, her long legs carrying her rapidly down the length of the attic hall. Smoke was heavy on the steps, but much worse on the lower floor, where ravenous flames were devouring what had been her own bedroom.
Tickled by some vague memory, Alys dug a handkerchief from the pocket of her robe, then made a quick detour into Peter's room to dip the fabric square into his water pitcher. Holding the wet cloth across her nose and mouth and bending low into clearer air, Alys forced herself to run toward the inferno, and the steps that led to safety.
The staircase to the ground floor was still clear, but only just. Her left side scorched as she raced downward. She heard a hideous grinding noise, then a deafening crash as the timbers collapsed from the upper floors. A blast of hellish heat hit her, and the steps shook beneath her feet.
As she reached ground level, a cloud of sparks swirled around her, burning tiny black holes in the robe and stinging exposed flesh. The lung-choking smoke was so thick that she could see almost nothing despite the fiery glare.
She was starting toward the front of the house when she heard a wail of animal terror. Attila came flying toward her, his tail singed and smoking. She scooped the frantic, clawing cat into her arms, then turned the corner toward the front door.
There she stopped in horror. The main hall in front of her was completely blocked by smoke and flame. She whirled back the way she had come, but fire now engulfed the stairs. Her fear erupted into a scream of pure terror. She was trapped in the inferno.
She felt herself becoming dizzy as savage flames consumed the air. With no place left to run, she crouched on the floor, half fainting. Her suffocating lungs labored vainly for breath. The heat was unbearable, and there was no air left to breathe, no air at all. Her arms tightened around the cat's trembling body.
As she slid into unconsciousness, she wished with grim humor that she had seduced Reginald Davenport. Since she was going to burn in hell, it was a pity she didn't have any really enjoyable sins to suffer for.
 
 
When Reggie's shouts and pounding on the door of Rose Hall produced no visible results, he pulled off his coat and wrapped it around one arm. He smashed the neared window and unlatched the casements, then scrambled into the drawing room. From the noise and the heavy smoke, the fire was spreading swiftly.
He stepped into the main hall, and found the three Spensers racing toward him. Reggie shouted, “Merry, where is Lady Alys?”
As Peter hurried his young brother toward the front door, Meredith paused, her hair a pale halo around her face. “She went to the attic to wake the servants.”
“Get outside with your brothers and stay there.”
She nodded and darted away.
Reggie had been caught in a burning tavern once. No one who hadn't had such an experience could appreciate the unbelievable speed with which fire could move. Praying that Allie and the servants were on their way out, he started along the center hall that led to the stairs. He'd gone only a few steps when a woman emerged from the smoke and ran right into him. Heavy and middle-aged, she was stumbling and gasping for breath.
Reggie slipped an arm around the woman and half carried her to the front door. “Where is Lady Alys?” he asked sharply as he helped her outside.
“She ... she went for Janie.” After an endless interval of coughing, the woman added hoarsely, “Should be right behind me.”
Reggie turned to see the flames burst through the roof at one end of the house. The yard was lit by garish, wavering light. A safe distance from the house, the young Spensers stood watching the destruction of their home in mesmerized horror.
From the direction of the tenants' cottage, Reggie saw the dark forms of approaching people, several of them pulling a fire engine behind them. He doubted that it would do much good, but at least someone was thinking.
Seeing the engine, Peter turned and ran to help. Meredith simply stood, her hand holding that of her little brother.
Reggie turned back to the house, swearing. Allie should have been out by now with the missing servant, unless they had been overcome by smoke. He plunged into the house again.
Flames had cut across the center hall a bare dozen feet in front of him. The incredible heat struck him like a weapon. He halted uncertainly, trying to remember the layout of the house. Was there a way around the blaze?
Then he heard a soul-chilling scream from beyond the curtain of fire.
Allie.
His stomach turned as he realized that she must be trapped on the other side.
The Oriental carpet in the drawing room. Instantly he darted into the room on his right, where a thick Persian rug held place of pride. Only a few light chairs weighed it down. With a ferocious jerk on the nearest edge, he tugged it free. The carpet was small enough for one man to handle, just barely. He folded it in half, then in half again, before pivoting and returning to the flaming hall.
Going up to the searing edge of the fire, he hurled the weight of the carpet forward, keeping one fringed end in his hands. The heavy wool smashed down over the flames, creating a temporary fire-free zone. Eyes burning, he ran across between walls of flame, keeping low so he wouldn't pass out from lack of air.
Beyond the carpet the fierce, blazing light revealed Allie crumpled against the wall. Praying that she was still alive, he closed the distance between them and scooped her into his arms. Then, drawing on every shred of strength and stamina developed in an athletic life, he carried her back across the rapidly charring carpet. The walls of fire were nearer now, the flames scorching voraciously.
Lungs burning with smoke and strain, Reggie staggered through the dimly visible front door to safety. As he stumbled down the shallow steps, he thought dizzily that it was absolutely typical of Alys Weston that she would be rescued clutching a scorched and yowling cat in her arms.
 
 
Blessed coolness surrounded her. Perhaps hell was ice and not fire. Her lungs were working again, drawing in air uncontaminated by smoke.
Slowly Alys realized that she was being carried. A pair of familiar feline legs thumped against her stomach. Apparently Attila had just kicked away from her.
Her eyes stung as she forced them open. With some effort she brought Reggie Davenport into focus as he lowered her to the ground. He stayed kneeling beside her, one powerful arm supporting her in a sitting position. His soot-smudged face was only inches away, the blue eyes pale as ice.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice quiet against the sounds of crackling fire and smashing timbers. Swathes of black marred his white shirt.
When she nodded, he continued, “Is the other servant still inside?”
Alys swallowed and attempted speech, her voice emerging as a charred croak. “I don't think so.” She broke into a spasm of coughing.
Davenport's arm tightened around her as she struggled for breath. “I hope she isn't,” he said grimly. “No one else will be coming out alive.”
“I think Janie might have slipped out to see her young man,” Alys managed. “When I find her, I'm going to wring her neck.”
“You're entitled. You damned near died in there.”
“I noticed.” Alys lifted a trembling hand to her face. Her thick braid had come undone, and long strands of hair trailed across her cheek. Brushing them back, she looked up to see the children's concerned faces around her.
Smiling with as much reassurance as she could muster, she tried to stand, but Reggie held her firmly against him. “Stay still until you get your strength back. There isn't anything you can do.”
Alys looked toward the house she had lived in for four years, just in time to see the slate roof crash inward with thunderous force. Flames shot high into the dark night air, illuminating the men pumping water onto the blaze. It was a futile effort.
Her friend Jamie Palmer crossed the yard and squatted beside her, his face grave. “Are you all right. Lady Alys?”
She patted his arm, knowing that he was feeling guilty for not having been there to stop the fire before it could get going. The dear man was wonderfully protective. “I've been better, Jamie, but there's nothing seriously wrong.”
He nodded, then went back to the fire engine. Beside her, William's voice quavered. “Wh ... where will we live?”
Alys opened her arms, and he burrowed into them, seeking reassurance. Before she could answer his question, Davenport said, “You'll come back to the main house. There's plenty of room there, for you and your servants both.”
Alys had not thought that far ahead, and she was intensely grateful to let her employer take charge. They might have only the clothes they stood up in, but at least they would have a roof over their heads.
She heard a familiar voice, and looked up to see Janie Herald hastening across the yard, her young face frightened in the uneven light. “Oh, Miss Weston, it's dreadful! Did everyone get out?”
Reggie answered astringently, “Miss Weston almost died in the fire because she was looking for you. Remember that the next time you go sneaking off.”
Expression crushed and guilty, the maid began to cry. The young man at her side put his arm around her, and she turned to bury her face against his shoulder.
Alys quietly told Reggie, “You shouldn't have been so hard on her.”
His dark brows rose sardonically. “Am I correct that the extra time you spent looking for her was the difference between getting out easily and being roasted like a Christmas goose?”
Alys sighed, too drained to argue. “You're quite right.” His arm was still around her, and it was too pleasant a sensation to interrupt.
Reggie glanced at the young Spensers. “There's no point in lingering. Peter, collect the older woman—the cook, I think?—and help her to the house. The maid can come, too, unless she wants to go to her family, or her young man. Miss Spenser, you keep an eye on William.” Turning to Alys, he asked, “Can you walk on your own?”
She nodded and got to her feet, then almost fell when she took a step forward. For some reason, her knees were remarkably weak.
With a muttered oath, Reggie grabbed her. “Good God, woman, you don't even have shoes on.”
Without so much as asking permission, he scooped her up in his arms and started back toward the manor house. He carried her easily, though she was not a small woman. When he had brought her out of the burning house, Alys had not been conscious enough to appreciate the experience, but now she was very aware of the strength and warmth of his arms. Settling her head against his shoulder, she prepared to enjoy the ride, but could not resist a faint chuckle.
“If something amusing has happened, perhaps you can share it with me?” Davenport suggested.
“I was just thinking that I've never been swept off my feet before,” Alys murmured, too tired to censor her words.
He laughed. “You've probably never given a man a chance to do any sweeping.”
She was still trying to decide if there were any deeper meanings to his words when they arrived back at the manor house. The housekeeper had been wakened by the commotion associated with the fire. With a few quick words Reggie arranged for rooms to be readied, milk to be heated for William, and brandy poured for the others.
Then he carried Alys upstairs to a guest room. Alys was exhausted and three-quarters asleep, but she struggled to sit up after he deposited her on the four-poster bed. “The children ...” she said hazily.

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