The Sea Between (32 page)

She buttoned her lips and made no comment. There were some things that insurance cover couldn’t replace. As they reached the house, she dug her hand into her pocket and pulled out a bunch of keys—one was a house key, the others were the keys for the shop. George and Ann and young Charles were spending a day or two in Christchurch, so the house was empty and in darkness.

‘Keep an eye on the wind, Charlotte,’ Richard said, as she unlocked the door. ‘If it turns and the fire starts to head in this direction, pack a couple of bags with as much as you can carry then find somewhere safe.’ As she turned back to face him, he leaned forward, kissed her quickly on the lips, and turned to leave.

‘Richard.’ She reached out and clutched hold of his sleeve. ‘Be careful. Don’t take any risks.’

The corner of Richard’s mouth curled up. ‘You’re a fine one to be giving advice on not taking risks, Charlotte.’

She stood in the doorway watching him as he ran down the street, waited until he was out of sight, then locked the door again and headed off.

London Street was in chaos. The alarm had been raised and the street was full of people. Men of all ages, in various states of dress and undress, were running to the site of the fire; some carrying metal pails, some carrying rugs to use as beaters, others, like Richard, empty-handed. One man was pulling his braces up over his shoulders while at the same time trying to do up the buttons at his crotch. He’d
obviously come straight from his bed and hadn’t even bothered to put on a proper shirt—just pulled his trousers on and tucked his nightshirt into them. There were a number of women on the street, too, gathering together in anxious groups. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and fear. Those whose homes were close to the blaze were rapidly evacuating. Richard’s heart went out to them as he ran past. Mothers with their children, some still in their nightclothes, were standing in the street, clutching whatever bits and pieces they’d managed to hastily gather up, toss into a bag, or wrap in a blanket or tablecloth. The younger children were screaming with fright, which was hardly surprising. They’d been dragged from their warm beds and were now standing in a smoke-filled street where glowing bits of charred wood and sparks were dropping through the air, anxiousfaced people were running past them, and rising above all the rest of the clamour was the roar and crackle of the blaze.

Fanned by the wind, the fire was gaining ground by the minute. When Richard and Charlotte had passed London Street, so far as he could tell only the Queen’s Hotel was in flames. Now, the adjacent building and two premises on the opposite side of the street, including the Shades Hotel, were on fire.

Not sure where he’d be of most use, Richard skirted around the rear of the blazing Queen’s Hotel and assessed the situation on Oxford Street. As he expected, it was in a similar state of chaos. Men were rushing back and forth, shouting and waving their arms as they tried to bring some order to the fire-fighting operation. Someone had organized a line of men to pass pails of water from hand to hand, while a burly man, stripped to the waist, was furiously working the pump on the far side of the street. They were putting all their efforts into drenching the shingle roof and timber walls of Dransfield’s store, in the hopes of making them too sodden to ignite. Half a dozen men from the volunteer fire brigade had arrived with hook and ladder
equipment and were urgently discussing the situation, pointing to various buildings, obviously trying to decide upon the best way to fight the conflagration. If they couldn’t control the blaze with water, they might have to resort to pulling down a few buildings. Sometimes the only way to stop a fire was to cheat it of fuel.

Catching sight of a discarded pail that someone had dropped in the gutter Richard picked it up then joined the line of men who were passing pail after pail of water from hand to hand. Within ten minutes his forehead was dripping with sweat, partly from the exertion of handling the heavy pails and partly from the heat from the blaze, which the wind was carrying towards them. Within the next five or ten minutes they would find out if their efforts to save Dransfield’s store had been successful. Richard was fully expecting it to succumb to the fire’s fury, in spite of the gallons of water that they were throwing at it. As for Charlotte’s shop…he glanced down the street as he mechanically passed another bucket of water to the man next to him. If Dransfield’s store went up, there was only Reece’s store standing between the haberdashery and the flames. Through a weird trick of the light, her shop looked as if it was on already on fire—the glow from the blazing buildings was lighting up the sky like a midnight dawn, making the glass pane of the haberdashery window look a bright orange colour. He looked away again, wondering how Charlotte was coping back at the house on her own.

It didn’t take long for the blaze to reach Dransfield’s. Driven back by the heat, Richard, along with the rest of the men in the line, retreated further down the street, seizing a brief respite from their labours to see how the store would fare. For a few minutes, it looked as if their efforts had succeeded. Flames were licking across the roof and the north- and east-facing walls, and the wet timbers were hissing like angry snakes as the water in them turned into steam. Then came the cry that no one wanted to hear.

‘The fire’s got inside Dransfield’s! I can see flames!’

Richard closed his eyes. They were fighting a losing battle. Unless the wind eased, most of the town would burn to the ground. His eyes snapped open again as someone grabbed his sleeve.

‘Can you lend a hand with salvaging furniture from the Victoria Dining Rooms?’ The stranger, a bald middle-aged man, pointed down the street. ‘Load it on to a hand-cart then take it across to the railway yards.’

Richard nodded, dropped his bucket, and strode down the street to join four or five other men who were hastily carting tables and chairs out on to the street. Furnishings were also being hastily salvaged from the Canterbury Hotel. The Colonists’ Hall was safe for the moment, provided the wind didn’t change. He filled a hand-cart, and took it to the yards and unloaded it, with the help of a couple of artillery volunteers who were standing guard over the salvaged goods to prevent pillaging.

On his way back from his second trip to the yards, he could see flames leaping through the roof of Reece’s store. Charlotte’s haberdashery appeared to be well alight, too, and for some reason it seemed to be attracting a lot of attention. Five or six men, standing as close as the fierce heat would allow, were peering at the window and having urgent discussions about something. Leaving the handcart outside the dining rooms, Richard strode up the street to find out what was going on.

‘What’s happening?’ he asked the nearest man.

‘There’s a woman in there,’ the man returned gravely.

‘A woman?’ Richard whirled to face the shop window, but all he could see inside the shop was flames and smoke. Whirling back again, he grabbed hold of the man’s arm. ‘What makes you think there’s a woman in there?’

‘We saw her briefly.’

‘Where? Saw her where?’ Richard’s chest tightened as a knot of fear gripped him.

‘She was standing in the middle of the shop. We saw her head quite clearly, just for a moment or two.’

‘We did,’ agreed one of the other men sombrely. ‘Then something caught alight and the shop was suddenly a mass of flames.’

‘And none of you cowards tried to save her?’ Richard yelled. For the first time in his life he was on the edge of panic. If there was a woman in there, it could only be Charlotte. She must have gone into her bloody shop, despite him telling her that she wasn’t to go near it! Ripping his jacket off, he held it in front of his face then flung himself at the door. It gave under his weight and he landed heavily on the floor, just inside the doorway. He took a deep breath and pushed himself to his feet. The heat from the blaze was so intense that he could feel it searing his eyes and the skin of his face.

‘Charlotte!’ he shouted at the top of his voice. ‘Charlotte, where are you?’ Trapped in the store-room at the back of the shop—she had to be there. She couldn’t be dead. She couldn’t be! Shielding his face with his jacket, he leaned back and prepared to leap through the flames. A second later he found himself flat on his back, outside in the street, with two men holding him firmly down.

The man gripping his right arm said in a strained voice, ‘Sir, she’s lost! You can’t save her! You’ll lose your own life if you try!’

‘Let me go!’ Richard roared. Gritting his teeth, he struggled like a madman, frantically trying to wrench his arms free, thrashing about with his legs, arching and twisting his spine in a desperate attempt to free himself. But the more he struggled, the more hands grasped his limbs, until eventually there were four men holding him down, pinning him to the ground.

‘Let me go!’ he pleaded desperately. ‘For God’s sake, let me go!’ He squeezed his eyes closed to shut out the sickening sight of the
flames, but even with his eyes shut he could still see the orange glare, and inside his head he could hear Charlotte screaming to him to save her.

‘What’s going on here?’ someone demanded loudly.

‘This man’s lost his wife in the fire, constable,’ one of the men answered. ‘He’s distraught. We’ve had to restrain him.’

The constable was silent for a moment then asked quietly, ‘Who is he? Is he known to any of you?’

One by one, the men shook their heads.

Crouching down beside Richard, the constable said gently, ‘You wife—what’s her name, sir?’

Richard swallowed and forced himself to open his eyes. Wife…She would have been his wife in a few weeks time, if they’d let him save her.

‘Your wife—what’s her name, sir?’ the constable repeated.

‘Charlotte Blake,’ Richard said hoarsely. ‘She’s…’ He swallowed again, and with difficulty amended, ‘She was my fiancée.’

The constable glanced at the blazing shop then looked back at Richard and shook his head. ‘You couldn’t have saved her, sir. No one could survive that blaze.’

Richard looked away, too choked to speak. He offered no resistance as one of the men helped him to his feet and escorted him to the other side of the street, away from the blazing shops. All the fight had gone out of him. He felt numb, empty, as if something inside him had died. He didn’t even feel the urge to weep. It was like a bad dream, a nightmare that he would wake from in a minute. Everything around him seemed utterly unreal. The blazing buildings, people rushing about, shouting…A small part of him kept saying that it was all a mistake, that he’d go back to George’s house and find Charlotte there, alive, that it was some other woman they’d seen in the shop.

He turned his head, vaguely aware that someone was speaking to him. It was the man who’d escorted him across the road.

‘I’m very sorry you’ve lost your fiancée,’ he said hoarsely. The man’s eyes were watering, and Richard had a feeling that it wasn’t only on account of the smoke. ‘Truly, there was nothing we could do to save her. If I’d been a single man I might have risked it, but I’ve a wife and four children.’

Richard swallowed convulsively and gave a small nod of acknowledgment. He wanted to tell the man he understood but his throat was too tight for him to speak.

‘You’ll be all right, will you?’ the man asked uncertainly, as he handed Richard his jacket.

Richard nodded again and somehow managed to force out the word. ‘Yes.’

As the man walked away, leaving him standing alone, Richard was conscious of people glancing across the street at him as they continued to battle against the fire. Word had spread already. Bad news always travelled fast.

A loud crash sounded as the roof of Reece’s store suddenly caved in, sending showers of sparks and spitting, glowing embers cascading into the air, followed by clouds of smoke and ash. ‘Stand clear! Stand clear!’ someone yelled. Richard turned away and started walking with leaden feet down the street. When the haberdashery roof collapsed, he didn’t want to be there to see it.

Once on Norwich Quay, where there was less smoke and less noise, he took several deep breaths, trying to clear his head. It was spinning like a top. So many thoughts were racing through his brain, he couldn’t think straight. ‘Calm yourself! Get a hold of yourself!’ he said aloud. ‘You don’t know for sure that Charlotte is dead. They could have been mistaken, just thought they saw a woman in there.’ He gritted his teeth together hard. Could five men all be mistaken?
He gave an involuntary swallow. There was only one way to find out. He took another deep breath, then broke into a run.

Three or four minutes later he was on Exeter Street. He’d run up Canterbury Street so fast that his heart was thumping like a sledgehammer, he had a stitch like a knife in his side and he could hardly breathe. Up and down Exeter Street, despite the lateness of the hour, windows were lit up as anxious women kept a vigil. One house was in darkness, though. Richard checked his pace to a halfrun as a terrible sense of foreboding gripped him.

Coming to a halt outside George’s house, he stood in the middle of the street, looking at the darkened windows. Breathing heavily, he went to the door and gave half a dozen loud raps. Getting no answer, he knocked again but the only sound he could hear was his own heart pounding inside his chest and the distant roar and crackle of the blaze. Panic began to grip him again, and he was vaguely aware that he’d started to shake. He ran around to the back of the house. It, too, was in darkness. Unwilling to believe that the house was empty, he hammered on the back door with his fist.

‘Charlotte!’ he shouted, as he craned his head back to look up at the bedroom window. He lifted his hand and ran his fingers raggedly through his sweat-drenched hair, then banged on the door again. He waited, listening, still hoping to hear some sound from inside the house, but he knew none would come.

‘Oh God, no!’ he said in an anguished voice. It
was
Charlotte whom they’d seen in the shop. He turned and leaned against the door, then slid slowly down it and collapsed in a boneless heap on the doorstep. Burying his face in his hands, he broke down and wept.