Lady Jane's Ribbons (25 page)

The evening shadows were so long and dark as the town carriage conveyed Jane to the corner of Arlington Street that she knew it would not be long before the light had gone. Her portmanteau was on the seat beside her, containing what she would need overnight, and the clothes she and her aunt had chosen for her appearance on the Swan the next morning. It was strange to be without Ellen, but the poor maid really was indisposed, sneezing constantly. She suffered with hay fever each year and had only a day or so before been saying that it was a miracle how she’d escaped so far this summer; providence had evidently felt too tempted. Still, being alone at this particular time was perhaps the best thing, for it gave Jane time to think.

She had left her aunt and Blanche taking a cozy dinner
à deux,
the latter being worked on by the former to patch things up with Henry, but proving as stubborn as he was when it came to making that first all-important move.

Thomas drew the carriage to a standstill and Jane prepared to alight, to procure a hackney coach for the last time. Piccadilly was still crowded and along Arlington Street she could see Lord Sefton’s house, with a positive gaggle of sporting vehicles outside it, from cabriolets, curricles and gigs, to a phaeton almost as outlandish as Henry’s. Evidently, the marshal of the race was
entertaining
his fellow coaching enthusiasts to a congenial dinner on the eve of the great event, so that they could all talk about their pet subject to their hearts’ content. She wondered what they would have said had they known that a mere woman and not Lord Ardenley was the mastermind behind the Swan.

Thomas wished her well as she took her portmanteau and beckoned to one of the hackneys waiting nearby, but as she smiled and turned away from Ellen’s young man, she froze, for another carriage was approaching the corner, apparently making for Lord Sefton’s house; it carried a number of young sporting gentlemen, among them her brother. She could hear great hilarity – evidently they’d imbibed a little too much at a club – but Henry sat in almost morose silence by the window nearest to her. His expression was withdrawn and she knew instinctively that he was thinking about Blanche. She couldn’t have said why this conviction was so strong, but she was certain. He was gazing out without seeing, and although he stared
directly at her carriage as he passed, he didn’t seem to see it at all.

She breathed out with relief as the noisy carriageload turned the corner and drove away toward Lord Sefton’s residence, where a moment later they all poured out and went rather rowdily to hammer on the elegant door. They were admitted and the street became peaceful again.

Her hackney carriage drew alongside then, and with a final smile at Thomas, she climbed into it and sat on the worn seat with her portmanteau. The little coach lurched away, its window glasses rattling alarmingly.

The streets were almost completely dark, the lamps shining above the pavements, as she drove across the city toward Cheapside. She felt better now that she’d taken her aunt’s advice, for if she’d stayed at South Audley Street she knew she’d have been dismal company. She was still a little
uncertain
about how she’d be if Lewis was still at the Feathers, but on reflection it seemed hardly likely that he was – he must have left now in order to be at Maywood for the race.

The little coach entered Cheapside, and quite suddenly she became aware of shouting somewhere ahead. At first she thought it must be yet another of the queen’s excursions, but then realized that the shouting was tinged with alarm. People were hurrying along the pavement in the same direction the hackney was traveling, and she lowered the glass to lean out and see what was happening. The air was acrid, and a little way ahead, just where the Feathers was, a pall of thick smoke cloaked the street. The Feathers was on fire!

Unable to proceed because of the crush of people, the hackneyman drew his vehicle to a standstill, unwilling to press through the smoke. Jane flung open the door and alighted, snatching up her portmanteau before putting the fare into the man’s outstretched hand. He looked concernedly down at her. ‘Don’t go that way, miss, it’s too dangerous!’

‘I must!’ she cried, gathering her skirts and hurrying away along the smoky pavement, where people were reduced to mere shapes and shadows by the thick, choking fumes. The smoke caught in her throat and stung her eyes, but in a moment the air was relatively clear because of the way the light breeze was blowing, and she could see the entrance of the inn. People were gathered there, staring through the archway and courtyard at the fire in the stables beyond. The leaping light from the flames dancing horridly on their faces and on the cobbles where they stood.

Jane was about to push through them to go inside when the sound of hooves and wheels echoed beneath the archway. One of the stableboys led a cabriolet out to safety, the frightened horse capering and tossing its head. It was Lewis’s cabriolet. He was still here! But was he safe? Alarm span wildly through her then and she pushed through the small crowd and hurried into the yard, where the breeze carried the smoke high over the inn and down into the street beyond. She could see the flames leaping beyond the inner archway, and the noise and roar of the conflagration was loud and fearsome, an eager, greedy crackling which told of how strong a hold the
fire had upon the tinder-dry buildings.

There was pandemonium beyond as men dashed to and fro with buckets, trying to contain the flames while they waited for the insurance company’s fire engine to arrive. She searched each shadowy shape, but couldn’t make Lewis out among them. And what about the others? Were they all right?

Behind her came the sound of a jangling bell as the fire engine reached the inn, its team striking sparks from the gleaming cobbles as they clattered to a standstill in the yard. The firemen followed on foot, two teams of
fourteen
to take turns manning the engine’s long handles. They unharnessed the horses and then dragged the engine past Jane into the stableyard, where within moments it was at work, spraying water into the searing flames and adding another sound to the already deafening din, a hissing, bubbling roar as the fire resisted with all its might.

Jane moved slowly toward the inner archway, her heart thundering as she went through into the mayhem beyond. The flames leapt into the blackness of the sky above, sending a shower of sparks into the shimmering air. The heat was intense, beating against her face and making her throat more dry and painful than ever. Sparks were carried toward the adjacent properties to the west, and the firemen worked hard at their pumps to try and stop the fire spreading.

Jane searched the scene, hoping that each dimly seen figure would be someone she knew, but they were all strangers. She cast around desperately for a familiar face, and then heard Betsy calling tearfully for her kitten as she searched a row of empty stables nearby, the horses having long since been removed to safety. ‘Tabitha? Oh, Tabitha, where are you?’

‘Betsy?’ Jane hurried gladly toward her. ‘Is everyone safe?’

The girl whirled about with a gasp. ‘Lady Jane! You shouldn’t be here – it’s dangerous!’

‘Is everyone safe?’ Jane asked again.

‘Yes, my lady.’

‘Lord Ardenley?’

‘Yes, he’s helping Dad and the others put out what they can by the
coachhouse
. The new coach is in danger.’

‘How did the fire start?’

‘Will saw one of Chapman’s men hurrying away.’

Jane stared. ‘You don’t mean…?’

‘It’s no accident, Lady Jane.’

Dismayed, Jane glanced around at the dreadful scene again. It was all her fault – her foolishness had put them all in danger! And it might mean the end of the Feathers!

Betsy touched her arm. ‘Have you seen Tabitha, my lady?’

‘No.’

‘I can’t find her anywhere. She’s terrified of fire.’

‘I’ll help you look. Have you searched those stables over there?’ She
pointed through the smoke and heat to the other side of the yard.

‘No, my lady. I’ve only just realized she’s not safe in the kitchens.’

‘I’ll go that way then,’ said Jane, putting down her portmanteau and
hurrying
across the slippery cobbles where water from the engines had begun to spill.

The jet forced out by the pumping men made a boiling roar all the time, and the flames recoiled a little, their brilliance shining in the collecting puddles and reflecting in lurid shapes on the walls of the surrounding
buildings
. The firemen were chanting, working rhythmically at the pumps. She reached the other stables and began to look in each one, and she didn’t see the sparks settle on the roof above, taking hold and springing into small flames which began to lick stealthily along the eaves before slipping inside the building, to burn unseen for an almost fatal minute or two more.

She paused in one of the doorways for at last she saw Lewis. He was
working
with a group of men by the coachhouse, his face glowing in the firelight, his excellent shirt torn and smoke-stained. He and the men with him stopped work for a moment, watching to see if the fire engine was tipping the scales in their favor. Most of the stables along the north side of the yard had been gutted now, and one of the coachhouses was going up like touch paper. She saw him glance toward the inn itself, where the windows glowed as if the fire was inside, although actually it was only shining on the glass.

The firemen’s chants were compelling, making those who watched join in. ‘One, two; one, two; one, two….’ Up and down they moved, first one side and then the other, their faces gleaming with perspiration, their muscles bulging with the effort. It was thirsty work. The men were called Beer-Ohs, and such parching labor earned them their name. If they saved the inn, they would be well rewarded with its finest beer, as much as they could swallow.

Jane watched them, almost mesmerized by their pumping rhythm. Then, quite suddenly, she became aware of another sound, a tiny mewing coming from the stable behind her. Tabitha! She’d forgotten Betsy’s kitten! Whirling about, she went into the shadowy stall and immediately the noise and searing heat of the new fire was all around her. She stared up at the roof, where the flames roared and licked in the darkness. Involuntarily she screamed, the shock rooting her to the spot. She was terrified, it was as if the flames had been lying in wait, ready to reach down to her the moment she stepped too near. But beyond her dread she could still hear the kitten’s pathetic mewing. It was coming from the straw in the corner. Distracted at last from the fire above, she turned, hurrying to the straw and searching wildly through it for the terrified kitten. Finally, her fingers touched trembling fur and with a glad cry she scooped the little creature up into her arms, but as she did so there was a
splintering
, groaning noise and a sudden scorching heat as a beam fell from the
blazing
roof.

Sparks showered over her, catching in her hair and skirts. She screamed again. Then someone had hold of her, lifting her bodily into his arms and carrying her out into the safety of the yard. It was Lewis – she could feel the
gold of the pin in his cravat pressing against her cheek, and beyond the acrid tang of smoke she could smell the richness of costmary on his clothes. He held her tightly, and she clung to him, sobs catching in her stinging throat. Her eyes smarted with tears and she could barely hold on to the struggling, ungrateful kitten, which was soon whisked safely from her by Betsy.

As Lewis set Jane gently on her feet again, Betsy was very anxious. ‘Are you all right, my lady?’

Coughing and almost overcome by the smoke, Jane could only nod. The firemen were turning their attention to the blazing stable now, and Lewis nodded at Betsy. ‘Take her somewhere safe, Betsy. The kitchens are out of danger now.’

‘Yes, my lord.’ Betsy took Jane’s hand to lead her away.

Jane looked back at Lewis. He smiled at her, the flames reflecting in his gray eyes; then he turned away to continue helping fight the fire.

She hesitated, wanting to go after him. She could feel the strength of his arms around her again, bearing her so surely to safety. She loved him and she had to tell him so, but Betsy was drawing her away. ‘Come, my lady, there’s nothing more you can do.’

‘I must speak to him….’

‘Later, Lady Jane, there’ll be time enough. You’re in no state now. You must come to the kitchens and rest a while.’ Betsy would brook no further resistance, firmly ushering her aristocratic charge through the arch to the outer courtyard and into the kitchens. In a blur, Jane glanced at the entrance from Cheapside, a sea of faces gazed in, kept back only by the determined efforts of two constables who wouldn’t allow anyone in.

It was quiet in the kitchens and somehow the smoke hadn’t penetrated, leaving the air soothingly fresh. The moment the door closed behind them, Tabitha made a final bid for freedom, leaping from Betsy’s protective hold and dashing off into the laundry. Betsy let her go, for there was no escape that way and the kitten was safe. Leading Jane to a settle close to the range, she then hurried to fill a kettle from the hand pump above the stone sink, placing it on top of the range to make a restoring cup of tea. As the kettle began to sing, she brought a bowl of clean water, some soap, and a cloth to wipe the smoke stains from Jane’s face. Jane could only sit there, suddenly feeling drained of all strength. It was delayed reaction, she knew that because she was trembling, and she was only now beginning to realize how very close to death she had come in those few brief moments in the blazing stable. If it hadn’t been for Lewis….

Betsy put the bowl on the table and looked concernedly at her. ‘How are you feeling now?’

‘All right. I think.’ Jane managed a weak smile.

‘I think his lordship got you out just in time. Another few seconds and … well, best not think about that, eh?’

The kettle was boiling now and soon the sweet aroma of the tea filtered
through the still air. The blue-and-white cups and saucers clinked and a moment later Jane was accepting the universal cure-all which without fail seemed to produce a beneficial effect upon those in need. It tasted good, better than any tea she had ever had before, and this in spite of the
lingering
acridity of smoke in her mouth and throat.