Marrying Miss Hemingford (24 page)

‘I am very glad to hear it.' He paused as a maidservant came in with a tea tray. She set everything out on a small table bedecked with a crisp white cloth and, at a signal from him, withdrew. ‘Mrs Bartrum, would you be so kind as to do the honours?'

Aunt Bartrum busied herself with the teapot and the cups while he watched admiringly. Anne was amused and could not believe her aunt was indifferent to him.

‘Tell me, Miss Hemingford,' he went on, when they were each balancing a cup and saucer in their hands, ‘why were you at Cliff House that afternoon? I thought you had decided not to go near it?'

‘My aunt decided she would not, but that did not mean I concurred,' she answered. ‘I went to see how Mrs Smith
was faring. She has worked so hard and made a vast difference.'

‘But it is still in a state of disrepair?'

‘Not so much now. The roof tiles and window glass have been replaced and I believe the stairs repaired. It needs only painting before the furniture and equipment can be brought in and then we shall have our hospital.'

‘Splendid! It is a shame it was allowed to fall into such a state, but people were reluctant to take on the lease…'

‘Because of the ghost, you mean?'

‘Yes. I assume you saw no evidence of it?'

‘No, I did not, but something strange did happen.'

‘You did not tell me that,' her aunt said.

‘I did not want to agitate you.'

‘Do you mean it was the ghost who pushed you down the stairs?'

‘No, no, Aunt. No one pushed me and besides, there is no malice in that house, none at all. If there is a ghost, it is a kindly one.' She smiled at her aunt's expression of shock and eager anticipation as she leaned forward to learn more. Anne proceeded to tell them about Tildy's little friend. ‘It is nothing out of the ordinary, so Mrs Smith tells me,' she finished. ‘Tildy is sometimes lonely and often conjures little playmates up from her imagination, but to her they are very real.'

Aunt Bartrum shuddered. ‘I do not know how you can go near the place, Anne. You have quite overset me.'

‘Oh, dear lady, do not be alarmed,' The Captain said, taking her cup from her trembling hand and setting it down on the table. ‘Do let me show you round my house; it has no ghosts, I assure you.' He offered his hand and she
took it to rise. ‘Miss Hemingford, would you like to accompany us?'

Anne smiled; the last thing he wanted was her company. ‘No, I think I shall stay here and rest my foot, if you do not mind.'

They were gone a long time. Anne could occasionally hear their footsteps and doors shutting and sometimes a light laugh and when they returned, her aunt had shining eyes and bright pink cheeks. ‘It is a lovely house, Anne,' she said, resuming her seat. ‘So comfortably furnished, so elegant. You should have come too.'

‘Another time, perhaps.'

‘Yes, of course,' the Captain said. ‘You will always be welcome, especially if my hopes are fulfilled.' He looked straight at Mrs Bartrum as he spoke and left Anne in no doubt that he had again proposed.

‘Oh, dear, look at the time.' Mrs Bartrum jumped to her feet, compelling him to rise too. ‘We really must be going home. I promised Mrs Barry I would attend her soirée this evening. I think there is to be an announcement of Jeanette's betrothal to Lieutenant Harcourt. Her little adventure seems to have brought it to a head.'

Reluctantly he ordered their carriage to be brought round to the front of the house from the stables where the horses were being rested, and escorted them to it. ‘I shall see you again very soon,' he said, handing Mrs Bartrum up. ‘Then I shall hope for my answer.' He turned to Anne with a polite smile. ‘Miss Hemingford, if you have any influence at all, I beg you to use it on my behalf.'

‘So, he has proposed again,' Anne said as they left the
farm behind. ‘And from what he said, you are still holding out against him.'

‘How can I think of that when you are not yet settled? What would Harry think of me?'

‘What has it to do with Harry?'

‘I promised him I would find you a husband.'

‘That was a foolish promise, Aunt Georgie. I shall have words with him when we get home. You must both have known I would be too headstrong to fall in with your scheming.' She turned to smile reassuringly at her aunt. ‘And it is as well I am, for by now I would be a very disappointed woman. Captain Gosforth has eyes only for you.'

‘So he told me.'

‘And what do you think of him?'

‘He is a fine gentleman. I like him well enough.'

‘Enough to accept him?'

‘Perhaps.'

‘I remember you said you liked a man to be persistent as a measure of his regard. He certainly seems that.'

‘Yes, he is, isn't he? I begin to believe he is in earnest.'

‘Of course he is in earnest. But he is not the only one, there is the Major…'

‘Oh, he is too puffed up for me and too influenced by his mother. She is a friend, but I do not think I should like her for a relation.'

Anne laughed. ‘I am sure you did not tell him that.'

‘No, of course not. I said we should not suit.'

‘And did he accept that?'

‘I believe so. I think he was not serious and prefers you, after all.'

‘Then he will be doubly disappointed, because I know
we should not suit. Aunt, do please give up this crusade on my behalf. If I want a husband, I think I can manage to find one for myself. I am sure Harry will understand.'

They were approaching the town and there was still an hour or so of daylight left. ‘Aunt, do you mind if we go to Cliff House? I want to see how Mrs Smith is doing.'

‘Very well, but I shall stay in the carriage. Nothing at all will persuade me inside.'

Anne asked the coachman to turn up the lane and leaned forward in her seat to catch her first glimpse of the house, then she gasped with dismay. Plumes of smoke spiralled above the trees. ‘It is on fire. Oh, Daniels, do make haste.'

Almost before the coach had stopped, a fair way from the burning building because the coachman did not want to spook the horses, she was out of it and sprinting. ‘Anne, do take care!' Aunt Bartrum called to her. ‘Remember your promise.'

The words were carried away on the breeze that was fanning the flames. In any case, Anne would have paid them no heed. Her only concern was for Mrs Smith. Had she been in the house? Had she got out safely? Who else might have been inside? Mrs Armistead? Tildy? Justin? Terror filled her whole body, so that she did not feel the increasing heat as she battled her way towards the kitchen door.

Through the open door she could see someone inside; whoever it was seemed to be surrounded by flames. She put her arm up to shield her face, but the heat drove her back. Other people were arriving behind her, she could hear shouts of command, saw men cranking the handle of
the well. God in heaven! They could never get enough water that way. And then someone burst out of the house, a body in his arms.

‘Justin!' Her voice was a terrified shriek as she saw his blackened face and scorched clothes.

He looked up, still stumbling on with his bundle. ‘Get back, woman! For God's sake, get back!'

She retreated, sinking to the ground as others, stronger than her, made a water chain, handing buckets from one to the other. It was a futile exercise, but it was something to do. The flames roared and the windows cracked with a succession of loud explosions. She looked up at it and then back to Justin, who had laid his burden on the ground. ‘Get me some water,' he said in a voice so cracked and hoarse it was barely audible. ‘Hurry.'

She went to the well, grabbed a pail of water from one of the fire-fighters and ran back with it to Justin. He was bending over the still figure of Mrs Smith. ‘Oh, no! Oh, Justin…'

He grabbed his cravat from his neck, but it was so black he could not use it. Anne lifted the hem of her gown and grabbed her underskirt, pulling at the ties to release it. She stepped out of it quickly and handed it to him. He tore it up and dipped one of the pieces in the water and squeezed it over Mrs Smith's lips. Her clothes, though scorched, had saved her body, but her hands, which she had used to shield her face, looked raw. He tore up more cloth, wetted it and laid it across her hands and arms. She moaned.

‘Thank God!' Anne said.

‘Tildy,' the woman gasped, trying to sit up. ‘Tildy…'

‘Tildy?' Justin repeated. ‘Tildy was with you?'

‘Yes. She was playing upstairs. I 'eard 'er talking to her little friend.'

He looked up at the inferno, wondering if he could get back in and try to find the child, but he knew it was not possible. Strong as he was, used as he was to the carnage of war, this was too much and he felt his eyes fill with tears. The little girl had embodied all his hopes for the future of the poor children of Brighton, poor children everywhere, and now she was gone. And so was his dream. He could hear it crashing about his ears. He looked bleakly across at Anne. The tears were coursing unchecked down her face. Mrs Smith saw them too, and understood. She struggled to rise, saw the burning house and fell back in a deep swoon.

He reached out and touched Anne's hand. ‘Look after her.' Then he ran back towards the house and, seizing one of the buckets, tipped it over himself before trying to reenter the building. Heat drove him back. ‘Leave it,' he told the men. They were at least two dozen, drawn by the sight of the flames to come and help. ‘Leave it to burn itself out. I don't want anyone else to die.'

‘Someone died?' one of the men asked.

He nodded. ‘Tildy. A little girl.'

‘There's a curse on this house, right enough,' another said. ‘Two little girls…'

Justin could hardly bear to talk about it. ‘Thank you for your help. I will stay until it is safe.'

He suddenly noticed Mrs Bartrum sitting in her carriage, her face a white mask of terror. He went over to her. ‘Madam, are you all right?'

She turned slowly from gazing at the flames to look at him. ‘Are you hurt?'

‘No, a little blackened, that's all, but Mrs Smith is in need of urgent medical attention. Will you take her in your carriage to my rooms, where you will find Professor Harrison? He will know what to do.'

‘Of course I will Oh, how dreadful it all is. How very dreadful.'

But he did not hear her last words; he had hurried to where Anne sat over Mrs Smith, shielding her with her body from the sight and heat of the furnace. ‘Mrs Bartrum is going to take Mrs Smith to be looked after. I am afraid there will not be room in the carriage for you, but I will see you safely home later.'

She nodded. Her voice seemed to have dried up in her throat, so that speaking was almost impossible. She could think of nothing but Tildy and the young mother's grief, which she, in some measure, shared. She had taken the little girl to her heart and she would never see her again, never hear her tinkling laugh, nor hear her say, ‘Hallo, lady.' She looked down at the woman, lying on the ground and a huge sob escaped her. She could not weep, not in front of the woman who had lost so much more than she had. She choked her tears back and tried to find a wobbly smile as she dipped the cloth back into the water, squeezed it out and mopped the woman's face.

‘Where am I?'

‘You are safe. You are going to be taken Dr Tremayne's in my aunt's carriage.'

‘Tildy?'

She looked up at Justin, then back again. ‘We will find her.'

The fire-fighters had all left. Justin called Mrs Bartrum's coachman over to help him carry the woman to the carriage, followed by Anne whom, after reassuring her aunt she was not even the slightest bit hurt, Mrs Bartrum reluctantly agreed to leave behind.

‘How are we going to tell her?' Anne asked, as the carriage rumbled out of sight.

‘I do not know.' He was looking at the building, now a smoking shell. ‘I looked all over the house. I thought Mrs Smith was alone. I should have guessed, done more.' His voice was cracked.

‘What happened?'

‘I came up to see how everything was going and found the place already alight. I cannot for the life of me understand how it happened. Mrs Smith had not lit a fire, there was no naked flame that I know of. It is a mystery. I rushed in and went from room to room, trying to find the seat of the fire. Then I heard Mrs Smith screaming in one of the bedrooms and fetched her out.' The account was spoken flatly, but she could easily imagine the scene.

‘Tildy must have been playing somewhere, perhaps she wasn't in the house at all. She might be hiding in the garden or the sheds, too frightened to come out.'

It was a long shot, but they set about systematically searching the grounds, but without any luck. The fire was almost out and Justin was tempted to go inside to try to find the child's body. It was something he dreaded doing, something he did not want Anne to witness.

‘Could she have gone down to the cove?' Anne asked.

‘Possible. I suppose.' He did not want to give up hope, though he had never had much to start with. ‘Let's see.'

They went down the steep path, not speaking, their hearts too full for words. The tide was coming in and there was only a thin strip of beach still dry. It seemed to be another turn of fate, that the child might have come down here, escaped the fire and been drowned. Anne began to run along the shore line, leaving Justin to go in the opposite direction. And then she saw her, sitting on a rock about six feet from the ground. ‘Justin!' she shrieked. ‘Over here.'

She clambered up, scraping her hands and knees. ‘Oh, Tildy, Tildy, we have been looking everywhere for you.'

‘Hallo, lady. Have you come to take me home?'

‘Yes.' She was sobbing with relief as she gathered the child to her

Justin was climbing up behind her. ‘How on earth did she get up here?'

‘I didn't climb up,' the child said. ‘I came that way.' She pointed behind her and for the first time, Anne saw that she was sitting at the entrance to a cave.