He ached to see her, to talk to her, but knew that that if she threw herself into his arms again and begged him to love her, his willpower would evaporate. So, staying at work gave him some respite from the torture of loving Ellen. Work kept his mind occupied, and the long hours were spent in the hope that he would sleep instead of staring at the ceiling with pictures of making love to Ellen dancing in his head.
Thomas started to sing softly as he polished the jars. The contorted reflection of his thin face showed in the bulbous containers. Beside him were a small burner and sealing wax which he used to seal some of the more easily spoilt substances. The smell of hot wax drifted across the room from time to time as the stoppers received their overnight seals. Robert turned back to the letter in his hand. Thomas stopped polishing and came back to Robert’s desk, taking a pile of papers to store away.
‘Leave the letter on the top, Weaver, I have yet to answer it,’ Robert said.
Thomas tapped the papers into a neat bundle and walked over to the drawers where they were stored. ‘I saw your letter in
The Times
supporting the call to improve living conditions for the poor, sir. Have you considered standing for parliament? Lord Ashley is set to—’
An ear-splitting crash cut him off and, as Robert, turned towards the window, an oil lamp burst though the glass, shattering the panes.
As they watched, the lamp sailed in an arc across the dispensary and landed with an explosion of flames on the slate floor. Oil slithered across the floor and tendrils of flames leapt towards the storage cabinet, shelves, bookcase and the long curtains, igniting everything as they progressed. As Robert sprang to his feet another missile was propelled through the broken window and shattered on the stone floor. More lamp-oil gushed forth, sending up a wall of flame and setting the wallpaper and prints around the room ablaze. He shielded his eyes against the scorching heat and gathered the papers on his desk into one pile.
Arson! Strangely he wasn’t surprised. It was clear that he had upset those who didn’t want their sordid activities looked into too closely. In short, Danny Donovan. Because although someone else had no doubt lobbed the lamp through the window, it was Danny’s hand which had instigated the attack. Robert blinked hard to moisten his eyes.
Thomas was stamping frantically on the flames nearest to the shelf of storage jars. Robert went to join him. If the spirits and alcohol contained in the jars were overheated or touched by flame they would explode like gunpowder.
Through a heat haze Robert saw passers-by attempting to organise help. He tried to shout to them, but a wall of flame fuelled by the papers and notes on the low bookcase blocked him in. The chintz curtains were now ablaze and overhead some of the plaster was smouldering.
His records! He had to get his records.
Glowing wisps of wallpaper were falling from the walls like seared cherry blossom. He shielded his face as best he could with his arm and glanced towards his office behind the consulting room.
The whole room was ablaze now and the ceiling was in danger of collapsing. Above him, where the plaster had fallen away, flames were now taking hold of the support beams above.
He waved frantically at Thomas. ‘Get out, man. Now!’
A shrill screech from outside caught Robert’s attention. Peering through the sheet of flame into the street Robert saw onlookers pointing desperately to either side of the dispensary.
The lodging houses! Please God, don’t let the lodging houses go up, he prayed earnestly, thinking of the impoverished families crammed into them.
Thomas started making his way towards the front door. Seeing him stepping carefully through the debris, Robert turned to his office. The doorframe leading to his study was on fire and the wood surround was already charred black. A quick glance at the office ceiling showed smoke coming from the corner joists but it was not glowing like the consulting room. He had to get those papers.
‘You go, Weaver, I’ll get my papers, and then get out of the back door.’
His apprentice raised a hand in acknowledgement and resumed his path to the door. All around Robert plaster and charred wood were falling from above. Suddenly there was a loud groaning sound and the rain of sparks and ash increased. Then with one almighty roar the whole ceiling crashed to the floor. Thomas howled as the large support beam landed on him pinning him underneath.
‘Thomas!’ Robert called, as he tried to get to where his apprentice lay inert beneath the blazing beam.
The heat on Robert’s face was almost unbearable, and try as he might he could not go forward to help the fallen man. Another beam crashed down, sending sparks upwards in a pretty spray of red and yellow. Thomas was not moving and his eyes stared lifelessly at the ceiling. Anger and sorrow rose in Robert’s chest.
Sickened by the sweet smell of burning flesh, Robert turned back to the office. Quickly scooping up all the leather-bound files with his reports, Robert headed to the back door in the small scullery. The smoke from the room beyond was now filtering into the back room and Robert started to cough. Grabbing the handle he tried to open the door. It would not budge. He tried again with all his might, but still there was no movement. He was trapped. Whoever had thrown that oil lamp through the window wasn’t intent on just frightening him, but on killing him.
Robert pushed the door one last time knowing it was useless even before he jammed his shoulder against it. Unless he got out of this inferno within the next few moments he was a dead man. He looked back into the dispensary’s main room to see that it was now a mass of flames and thick black smoke. The fire was sapping the air and Robert was struggling to breathe.
Quickly scanning the rapidly igniting scullery Robert spied two large buckets of water in the corner by the sluice. Without a second thought he picked up the first and poured it over himself, then repeated the process with the second. Drenched to the skin Robert turned up his collar to protect his ears and neck as much as he could, tucking his head down and shielding his eyes with his arm. He secured the files under his other arm and dashed back into the smoke and heat of the blazing dispensary.
The heat hit his lungs like a wall as he re-entered the room. He could smell his hair singeing in the heat and the wool of his coat smouldering. Jumping over the prone figure of Thomas and the beam that straddled him, Robert sped towards the window with its jagged teeth of glass sticking out of the frame. He moved forward into the room and the heat beat him back.
But the window was his only hope.
A vision of Ellen floated into Robert’s mind, spurring him forward through the heat, flames and choking smoke. He was going to get out of here because he refused to die without loving her.
Judging the height of the sill, Robert launched himself sideways at the window and sailed through it. As he did, he heard the explosion as the flames reached the spirits and chemicals on the storage shelves and a mighty whoosh as the roof followed the upper floors of the house to the ground.
Robert landed with a thump on the hard cobbles and instinctively rolled to extinguish any flames that had caught hold of his clothing. Coming to a halt he was immediately surrounded by a crowd of people. Staggering to his feet, Robert glanced down. His clothes were soot black and burnt in places. He ran his hands over his face and head, feeling the wiry texture of burnt hair.
‘Praise be to the Blessed Virgin,’ a woman said, as she dusted him down.
She was right. Praise be. Other than a few cuts, bruises and the odd blister Robert appeared to be unscathed. He took a deep breath.
In contrast to the heat of the dispensary the evening air was cool and fresh. He glanced around and then the full horror of what had happened washed over him. The dispensary he had only just escaped from was now no more than a blackened hulk. The roof had collapsed, jeaving only the charred brick walls standing. But that wasn’t all. Not only were his offices and workroom razed, but the two lodging houses on either side were now becoming engulfed in the flames as well. He stood aghast and watched as men and women dashed back and forth with buckets of water in a vain attempt to stem the blaze. To one side a group of women stood, their shawls tight around their heads and their eyes red with tears, while men desperately tried to reach those still trapped inside.
The house to the right was still standing for the most part, and in the upper windows a woman with two children could be seen imploring those below to help. Men were shouting for her to throw the children down and, lifting an infant up, the distraught mother did just that. All, including Robert, held their breath as the small child travelled though the air towards the pavement below. Two strong arms caught it and it was swiftly taken by a woman bystander who tried to soothe its screams.
The men below called for the other child. The mother was in the process of lifting it to follow the first when there was an almighty sound of creaking timbers. The mother screamed once, then disappeared as the floor she was standing on collapsed. There was a deathly silence broken only by the crackle of flames.
The fire had been intended to kill him, but he had survived while others - Thomas, the mother at the window and others - had died.
He breathed deeply, sucking in life. Yes, he was alive and he wanted Ellen.
After saying goodbye to Maisy Turner, the ribbon and lace seller opposite the Bell foundry, Ellen left the market with her basket on her arm. She smiled at friends and acquaintances as they passed her by, exchanging the odd word and smile. But behind Ellen’s cheerful exterior, she sobbed. She sobbed as one who has lost everything in the world that she has lived for. She had lost Robert Munroe.
A vision of him leaning on the rail at the Angel and Crown took shape in her mind. No, she hadn’t lost him, she had refused him. And in doing so had ripped the hearts out of both of them.
She told herself during the long cheerless day that she had been right to refuse his offer of marriage. She loved Robert Munroe too much to ruin him, his career and his future happiness. But by the time she stumbled into bed, exhausted after battling with heart and body all day, Ellen had failed to convince herself. She then spent hours staring up at the ceiling.
Who had ever heard of a man refusing to make love to the woman he professed to love? A grudging smile crossed her lips as she stepped over the stream of sewage babbling along in the centre of the street. God, he was stubborn, as stubborn as she, and she loved him for it. What had he said?
I want you for my wife, nothing less.
What love!
Repositioning the basket that held the evening meal, Ellen crossed into New Road. In contrast to Whitechapel the thoroughfare to Wapping was quiet, with just a few barrows being taken back to their night storage and weary-looking souls shuffling home after a back-breaking day’s work in a sweatshop.
As she started down Cannon Street Road, Ellen’s attention was caught by a large pool of black smoke rising above the closely packed houses. She judged it to be be somewhere near to Chapman Street. She hurried on. Others now joined her as she turned into Cable Street and headed home and towards the fire. People were shouting and running to assist.
There were calls for the police and a hue and cry of outrage as men dashed past her with buckets in their hands. Now she could smell the acrid wood smoke in her nostrils. Running on down Cable Street and into Chapman Street, she was caught in a crowd and had to push forward. People seemed to be rushing with buckets full of water along to the other end.
Robert’s dispensary was at that end of the street. A cold hand clutched at Ellen’s heart and, dropping her basket on the pavement, she lifted her skirts and tore down the street. Forcing her way through the crowds of women, she stood and gasped at the sight before her. Where the dispensary once stood was now a gaping hole with only fragments of wall, like rotten teeth, where the house used to be. The charred beams that had crashed down jutted out at acute angles.
Sweet mother!
Her eyes fixed on the wreck of the dispensary. Was Robert lying dead under the rubble? A scream rose in her throat. How would she live without him? Did she want to? She stood frozen for a moment, then forced herself to action.
Ellen looked more closely at the scene. It wasn’t just the dispensary that had been consumed by the inferno but the lodging houses on either side which were now also mere charred rubble. How many people had been trapped in there, she wondered. She stood back as men carrying full buckets and shouting for more shoved past the group of women. The hiss of water turning to steam could be heard as bucket after bucket of water was thrown onto the fire.
‘They have taken three bodies out so far,’ a woman’s voice said behind Ellen. ‘One of ’em a bundle no more than its first birthday.’ She spun her head around to see who was addressing her. An old woman swathed in a dun-coloured shawl looked up at her with watery blue eyes.
The woman shook her head. ‘They are saying that someone was seen running away, and that some draymen from the sugar refinery gave chase.’
Someone caught at Ellen’s arm, and she looked down into the face of a young boy with an unruly mop of red hair. He tugged at her arm again, his thin fingers clutching at her arm.
‘I heard as how someone saw Bull Hennessey hanging around a few moments before the doctor’s gaff went up,’ he said, wiping his nose on his dirty, ragged jacket sleeve. All knows ‘ow ‘e as a grudge against the doctor for somefink.’
‘What about the doctor? Doctor Munroe?’ Ellen’s mind screamed at her and she managed to get her mouth to form words. Was he in the dispensary?’
‘He was when I passed by an hour ago, saw him through the door, but where he is now and if he is under that lot,’ the old woman nodded towards the rubble which rescuers were now climbing, ‘I couldn’t rightly tell you. Saint of a man so ’e was, and no argument to it.’