Barely a Lady (20 page)

“Fire! Fire! Everybody out of the house!”

Olivia jumped to her feet so fast she tipped over a chair. Jack struggled to get out of the tub. Livvie yanked the door open, and Jack caught the smell of smoke. He could hear the commotion of running, raised voices, the crash of something shattering against the floor. And beneath the commotion, he heard something far worse: the crackle of flames.

The house was on fire.

Chapter 15

B
y the time Olivia got the door open, there was smoke curling over the lip of the hall from the main staircase.

“Harper!” she yelled. “Can we get down the back stairs?”

“If you hurry!”

“Is everybody else out?”

“We’re workin’ on it. Come on, then, lass!”

She slammed the door closed and spun around to find Jack struggling with his pants. Taking only long enough to grab his shirt, she ran over to assist.

“Livvie…”

She slapped his shirt against his dripping chest. “If you apologize, Jack Wyndham, so help me God I’ll march you right into the flames.”

She couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. Not what Jack had said. She should have anticipated that. What
she
had done. The distress of it knotted up her throat and weighted her belly. It made her want to just sit down right here and wait for the smoke to come. It made her want to bash Jack over the head and leave him on the floor.

“I have neck cloths,” she snapped, handing them over. “Bind your feet. You have no shoes.”

“Don’t worry about that,” he retorted, buttoning his pants and shrugging on his shirt. “Wet some towels for our noses and mouths. Did you see which way the smoke was coming from?”

Her laugh was edged with panic. “Everywhere.”

He nodded, as if this were something he did every day. “Remember to bend low. Smoke rises.” Then, before she could shake him off, he grabbed her hand. “Time to go, Liv.”

Bending over the tub, he helped her wet the towels. She could see that he was hurting. She prayed she could get him downstairs.

She needn’t have worried. Jack was the one who led the way. Her hand in his, he checked the doorknob, then turned it to open the door. In the few minutes they had taken, the smoke had grown worse, oily and black and thick. Olivia could hear the definite crackle of flames now, and muffled shouts and clangs.

“Keep low,” Jack reminded her, and bent himself.

She heard his grunt of pain and tried not to notice. “You don’t have shoes,” she reminded him, following. “Be careful.”

His grin was a bit wild. “I’d hoped we would be anyway. Now get the towel over your face. Looks to be a long way down.”

Hands clasped, they checked the front hall to see orange light flicker against the foyer walls. Without a word, they turned toward the servants’ stairs. It was impossible to see, and the smoke stung eyes and lungs. Olivia felt it collect in her chest, even through the thick towel she held over her face. She wanted to cough. She wanted to cry. She just prayed that Jack’s strength held out until they escaped.

Jack seemed to be able to see in the dark. The stairs were steep and narrow, but he navigated them easily. By the time they reached the first-floor landing, though, he was panting and weaving. Struggling to get in a clear breath, Olivia slipped her arm around his waist.

She was just about to start down the next flight when she heard an odd whimper.

“Jack,” she said. “Stop.”

He did. “What?” Even his voice sounded strained.

She tilted her head, trying to hear over all the noise. It came again, from one of the drawing rooms.

“Who’s there?” she yelled, hanging on to Jack for dear life.

“I’m afraid…” came a thin voice.

“Thrasher?” she demanded. “Thrasher, get out here now!”

“Can’t… can’t…”

She moved to lean Jack against the wall. “I have to get him.”

Jack wouldn’t let her go. “Thrasher?” he called, limping toward the drawing room. “Come on, lad. Time to go!”

And suddenly Olivia thought Jack might well have been in the military. How could anyone ignore that voice of command? But he was coughing, clutching at his ribs. Running up, she slid her arm around him.

“Don’t make me!” Thrasher cried, his voice sounding horrifically young. “I’ll burn up!”

Jack straightened and stared into the parlor, as if he could see the boy. “If you can’t see, crawl to my voice!” he called. “It’s not a real fire, boy. Just a diversion. If you use it as camouflage, they’ll never see us!”

Jack’s words stopped Olivia where she stood. He was bent over, searching the smoke. She knew he hadn’t realized what he’d said.

“You promise?” Thrasher asked.

“Connors, come out here!” he yelled. “Hurry up! No time!”

“I… can’t…”

“We’ll be caught!” Jack barked. “Now move!”

And before Olivia could catch him, Jack dove into the room.

“Jack!”

She lurched forward, only to run into him as he ran back toward her, Thrasher tight in his clasp. The boy’s eyes were running, and he was fish-belly white beneath the soot. It seemed their fearless Thrasher was terrified of fire.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed. “I looked and looked but I swear I didn’t see nothing ’til it ’appened. I woulda told. I woulda.”

Olivia had no idea what he was babbling about. “I believe you, Thrasher. Now come along.”

“Watch the floor, now,” the urchin cautioned. “That’s ’ow me mam died. Went right through like it was water.”

And Olivia understood. “Master Jack needs a hand,” she urged, trying to break through his terror. “Can you take hold of his other side?”

“Hurry,” Jack was muttering. “I don’t know what will happen if they find out what I’ve done.”

The boy slid in under Jack’s arm. “What’d he say?”

It took Olivia a second to understand the boy’s confusion. Then it dawned on her that Jack had spoken the last in French.

“He says hurry, Thrasher. Now come along.”

By the time they reached the ground floor, Jack was barely conscious. Olivia’s heart was hammering in her chest, and she couldn’t take a full breath without coughing, but Thrasher had begun a steady monologue that kept them going.

“Jus’ a few more steps now,” he rasped. “Good thing I’m ’ere, ain’t it? This’ll sure be a story to tell back ’ome.”

“Indeed it… will,” Jack responded, panting. “Someone should set it… to… music.”

They reached the kitchen to find Harper heading their way.

“There you are,” he called, looking relieved. “Let me take his nibs now. We’re after gatherin’ in the garden.”

“Buckets,” Jack gasped.

“Already swingin’ away, milord,” Harper said, and without apologies, slung him over his shoulder.

Olivia tried to ignore Jack’s
umph
of pain. Thrasher trotted off after them, leaving Olivia to follow, skirting footmen in various liveries who passed with buckets. Reaching the garden, she took a moment to fill her lungs with clean air before showing Harper where to lay Jack on the grass.

The cool air hit her like a punch, making her cough harder. But it smelled sweet and clear. Harper gently settled Jack, and Thrasher plopped himself down alongside like an underfed guard dog.

“Is everyone out, Harper?” Olivia asked, still gasping.

“All that’s here. I sent a messenger for Lady Kate.”

Olivia nodded, glancing around to see that Harper and Finney had handily organized the work. “I don’t suppose there’s a way to get inside and rescue some brandy for the earl.”

The sergeant grinned. “Ah, sure, ma’am, there’s always a way to procure a drop—for medicinal purposes, of course.”

She grinned back and patted his arm. Then she turned her focus to Jack. He lay sprawled in the grass, his sides heaving, his good arm wrapped around his middle as he coughed, his skin waxy and pale. Coughing herself, Olivia dropped down next to him and lifted him against her chest so he could breathe more easily.

“Thrasher?” he asked, not opening his eyes.

“Right ’ere, y’r ’eroship,” Thrasher responded with a toothy grin. “Imagine a flash cove like you savin’ my groats. Cor.”

“Nonsense,” Jack rasped, his eyes still closed. “You walked out yourself. We just gave a push to guide you.”

“Well, you guided me pretty good.”

“How are your ribs, Jack?” Olivia asked, feeling him split them at each breath.

His grin was pure Jack. “Reminding me that I’m breathing.”

And so they sat, the three of them, coughing and wheezing as the rest of the staff and a few neighbors mingled dazedly on the lawn and the bucket brigade put out the last of the fire. Harper managed to secure brandy, which Olivia fed in sips to Jack, taking one good gulp herself. She even gave a bit to Thrasher, who, even though he continued to entertain them with a running monologue of what was happening, still shivered like an ague victim. Without a word, she wrapped her free arm around him and let him rest against her other side. She barely noticed that she was shivering even harder herself.

That was how Grace, Bea, and Lady Kate found them when they arrived some minutes later, still dressed in their finery.

“Devil take it, Olivia,” Lady Kate snapped. “I can’t leave you alone for a minute.” She looked furious, but Olivia could see the real distress in her eyes.

“We didn’t want you to have all the fun,” Jack said from where he still rested against Olivia’s breast.

Lady Kate huffed at him. “You have an odd definition of
fun,
sir. Harper? What’s to do?”

Olivia hadn’t seen Harper approach. He gave Lady Kate a little bow and rubbed the back of his sooty neck. “Well, now, it’s thick with smoke in there and all, but, sure, didn’t we get to the fire before there was much damage? Might have been somebody who spilled an oil lamp. There was oil all down the curtains in the dining room.”

“An oil lamp? What fool did that?”

“Wouldn’t that be what I’m after trying to find out? Seemed like an awful lot of smoke for such a little fire. We didn’t even lose all the drapes. Looked like the smoke screens we used to use to confuse the froggies.”

Olivia looked at Jack, who wasn’t attending. Then she looked at Lady Kate, who was. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Bees,” Lady Bea abruptly announced, her hands clutched around her gold-beaded reticule.

Everybody turned to Lady Bea, but it was Grace who gave a slow nod. “Beekeepers use smoke to drive the bees out of their hives. Literally, ‘smoking them out.’ ”

“Are you saying somebody did this deliberately?” she asked, and suddenly remembered that man Jack had seen from the window.

Harper was staring at Lady Bea in astonishment. “Faith, if I don’t believe that isn’t just what happened?”

As if choreographed, one by one, each of them turned to Jack, who was lying against Olivia, his eyes closed.

Outside. In the open. Where anyone could see where he was.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Harper whispered.

“Get him inside,” Lady Kate urged. “I don’t care where you put him.”

For the first time, Olivia realized that the little yard was crowded with strangers.

“What?” Jack demanded, startling awake as Harper bent over him. “What’s wrong?”

“Go with Harper,” Olivia said quietly, helping him up.

Jack protested, but he never stood a chance, especially with Thrasher helping to chivy him along. Olivia wanted to stay and search the crowd, as if she could recognize the villain who might have done this. Lady Kate had different ideas.

“Come along, ladies,” she announced, reaching for Olivia. “I believe we’ve provided enough of a raree-show for this evening. This calls for one of Mrs. Harper’s famous tisanes.”

“Bollocks,” Bea retorted, leading the way. “Brandy.”

All four women laughed. “You’re right,” Lady Kate said, and reached into her reticule. “Here, Livvie. You look like you should be first.”

Gaining her feet, Olivia instinctively reached out her hand to see that Kate was setting a flask onto her palm.
The
flask. Jack’s flask. Holding Lady Kate back with a hand, she let Grace and Lady Bea precede them.

“How did you get this?” she asked the little duchess.

Lady Kate’s smile was mischievous. “Jack had it when I went to see him this afternoon. He was looking a might bemused and asked if it was mine. I told him yes. Don’t you think it will enhance my image?”

“Taking snuff from a gentleman’s wrist isn’t enough anymore?”

“So passé. I’m quite smitten with the idea of carrying my own brandy. Do you mind if I keep it?”

Olivia laughed. “On the contrary. I insist.” She reached out her hand. “Here. Allow me to complete the jest.”

Olivia took the flask and slid her nail beneath the seam. It snicked open, and she handed it back.

Lady Kate took one look and whistled. “Why, it’s the pony.”

“That, my dear Lady Kate,” Olivia disagreed dryly, “is nothing less than a show horse from Astley’s.”

A show horse Jack had spoken of in a moment of ecstasy.

“ ‘Is not the first fruit sweet, my love?’ ” Lady Kate read from the flask, then frowned. “That’s not right.”

Olivia stared. “You recognize it? I certainly don’t.”

“Hmm.” She shook her head. “Well, no matter.” Snapping the flask closed, she slipped it into her pocket. “I will set
such
a trend.”