Wedding Rows (24 page)

The flames were now devouring the coats and scarves on the hallstand, and the smoke curled up to the ceiling. Elizabeth coughed and started toward the door. She never saw Malcolm’s fist coming. All she saw were stars, as a jolting pain shot through her jaw and her knees buckled under her. From a distance she heard Fiona scream again, then everything faded into black.

 

Elizabeth opened her eyes and blinked. She lay on a couch in an unfamiliar room, and people milled around, all seemingly talking at once.

“She’s awake!” said a gruff voice, and then George was bending over her, his red-rimmed eyes full of concern. All right, your ladyship?”

Elizabeth coughed and sat up, feeling immensely uncomfortable. She recognized Arnold, the elderly ironmonger, and his wife Trudy, who was hovering at her husband’s elbow, her face taut with anxiety.

“I’m quite all right,” Elizabeth assured them, surprised to hear her voice so hoarse. Actually she felt rather dizzy, but she wasn’t about to admit that. “What happened?”

“I got there just in time to see Ludwick dragging Mrs. Farnsworth out of the burning flat,” George told her. “I hit him with my truncheon and he went down like a wounded pheasant. Mrs. Farnsworth told me everything. Luckily the fire hadn’t got much of a hold. Arnold and some of the other shopkeepers managed to put it out. The fire brigade is on the way to make sure everything’s under control. I’m afraid the new bride will be coming back to a bit of a mess, though.”

“What about Fiona?” Elizabeth swung her feet to the ground. “Is she all right?”

“She’s at the station, helping Sid write out a report. The inspector’s on his way to take Ludwick into custody. Right now he’s locked up in our cell.”

Very carefully, Elizabeth got to her feet. She had to hang onto the arm of the couch to steady herself, but gradually the room stopped swimming around.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you, your ladyship,” George said, looking anxious. “Trudy here rang the doctor. He’s on his way to look you over.”

“Oh, I wish you hadn’t bothered him.” Elizabeth smiled at Trudy. “I’m sure some fresh air is all I need.” She started coughing again and Trudy hurried forward.

“Come with me, your ladyship, into the back garden. You’re right, you need some fresh air. You can wait for the doctor out there. I have a nice comfortable deck chair you can sit on until he gets here.”

She refused to take no for an answer, and Elizabeth allowed herself to be led outside onto a pleasant square of lawn where Trudy settled her onto a deck chair.

“There,” said the ironmonger’s wife, as she handed Elizabeth a copy of
Woman’s Weekly.
“You just rest there and I’ll bring you a nice cup of tea. I’m sure the doctor will be here in no time.”

Thanking her, Elizabeth made herself more comfortable on the chair. Perhaps she was just a little tired. She couldn’t help wondering what Earl would say when he heard about her narrow escape. Perhaps it was foolish to go into Priscilla’s flat without George. Then again, they might never have got a confession from the man if George had been there. So it all worked out, after all.

A faint drone in the distance drew her attention to the sky. Airplanes. She shaded her eyes against the bright sunlight, and finally she could see them—a huge formation of bombers flying low toward the coast.

They drew closer, the leading formation almost overhead. She could see the markings on their wings. The distinctive white star on the blue circle confirmed her fears. American airplanes. Earl must be up there somewhere with them.

She watched them until they disappeared from sight, the drone of their engines fading into silence. Someday she would not have to watch like this, her heart full of fear for him and his men. Someday the war would end, and all this agony of uncertainty and despair would be over.

Someday.

She could only hope that day would come soon.