“It is useless, Mrs. Morrison,” Jem countered harshly. “The stairs will be burning any second.”
“You can’t abandon him!” she sobbed, beating against the arms that restrained her.
They argued for nearly a minute, her desperation growing when she could not break free. Then miraculously, Norwood appeared and headed into the house.
Now her fear was trebled. With startling clarity, every detail imprinted on her mind. Jem had been right, of course. There was little chance the stairs would remain open long enough for anyone to get upstairs and return. Flames already raged in the sitting room and flickered across the ceiling, burning fiercely through beams that must soon crash down. A glance at the windows showed that most of the upper floor was engulfed.
Why had he gone in? If he was trapped in there, she would never forgive herself. Nor could she live with the knowledge that her demands had killed him.
* * * *
Norwood was reliving his own hell. The blast of hot, choking air that surrounded him the moment he passed through the front door brought back all the terror of the fire at the Blue Boar and every flaming nightmare he had suffered since. What was he doing here?
It was not a question he could answer without thought, and there was no time for reflection.
He cast a fearful look at the burning beams overhead and dashed up the stairs. The smoke was even heavier up there. Holding his handkerchief to his mouth, he coughed and turned left. The hallway to the right was fully involved, part of the ceiling already collapsed.
The boy was in the end bedroom, but he lay as though dead, sprawled on the floor, having apparently tried to crawl to the door. Norwood recognized him instantly – the lad who had fallen in front of his horse. He pressed an ear to that small chest, gasping in relief when he heard a heartbeat. Tossing the boy awkwardly over his shoulder, he headed for the stairs.
More of the roof collapsed, dropping fire into the hall. He briefly considered going back and jumping from the window, but a glance over his shoulder revealed flames racing up from below.
“Please, God,” he prayed. “Let the stairs be open.”
Leaping across a blazing beam, he dodged a burning stretch of wall, weaving his way through the worsening fire. His head swirled dizzily as more and more smoke clogged his lungs. But the stairs were still clear.
“Watch out!” shouted one of the men who clustered near the door.
Norwood looked up. The ceiling seemed ready to come down. Increasing his speed, he took the stairs three at a time, slipping when he hit the water that had been thrown on the floor to impede the fire. As he sprawled full-length in the hall, Ben flew forward to smash head first into the wall. The ceiling collapsed, scattering debris across the duke.
* * * *
Amanda watched in horror as Norwood tripped. Time screeched to a halt as the ceiling slowly tumbled down to cover him.
“No!” she screamed. “Dear God, no!”
It seemed an eternity before Jem reached down and pulled the duke free of the wreckage, slapping out fire on his sleeve.
“I-is he alive?” she asked haltingly.
“I s’pect he’s just stunned,” reported the farmer.
“Thank God. Get someone to help you carry him to the orchard. I’ll bring Ben. If anyone else is hurt, send them there as well.”
By the time she had carried Ben to the relative coolness under the apple trees, the boy was stirring.
“How is he?” asked Norwood, again coughing.
She looked up in surprise. “Are you all right?”
“I’ll live. How is Ben?”
“A little singed around the edges. Can you get my bag?”
Her gig was parked close at hand. By the time he had retrieved the bag, she had pulled the torn bedgown from Ben’s shoulders and was examining a scrape.
“How did you recover so fast?” she asked, smoothing salve into the wound.
“I wasn’t unconscious,” he replied. “Just stunned and in need of some air. The smoke was rather thick upstairs.”
“I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Don’t try. Where are the other children?”
“At a neighbor’s house. There wasn’t anything they could do here except get in the way.”
He nodded. “I had best go throw water on the barn.”
“First let me take a look at your arm..” She finished applying a soothing cream to Ben’s burns, none of which looked to be very serious. He was breathing easier but had slipped back into unconsciousness, the growing knot on his head evidence of his skid into the wall.
“I am fine,” he protested.
“Hardly, your grace. You’ve a scrape on your forehead, and that sleeve is burned through to the skin.”
Norwood looked down in surprise, suddenly aware that there were pains in several parts of his body. “Dear Lord, I never felt a thing.”
“That is quite normal under the circumstances,” she assured him, pulling off his coat and cutting away the remains of his shirt sleeve. “It happened often on the Peninsula. The mind becomes so engrossed in the job at hand that ordinary pain does not register.”
“It comes back with a vengeance,” he admitted, gritting his teeth as she applied ointment to his arm and wrapped it in a strip of linen.
“You’ve changed,” she commented as she treated several other cuts and scrapes. “What happened to the icy arrogance?”
“You taught me to care about people..” He caught her eyes with his own and held them. Something swelled in his heart at the look in those brown depths. “It’s something I did as a boy but had grown away from.”
“It has only just occurred to me to wonder what you are doing here. Oughtn’t you to be at dinner?”
He shrugged. “I picked up a copy of Donne’s
Devotions
in Middleford yesterday. You were right, of course.
No man is an island.
Like him, I must now proclaim that
I am involved in mankind.
It seemed natural to lend a hand when I heard about the fire.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted. Jem and Frank arrived with a third man suspended between them. Behind them the last of the roof collapsed, sending sparks and flames high into the air. The kitchen wall was down and louder shouting arose from the direction of the barn. Frank raced back to the fire.
“Rob was kicked by one of the draught horses,” reported Jem. “Part of the barn is burning, but I think we can stop it there.”
“Is anyone else injured?” asked Amanda, ripping away Rob’s shirt. The blow had hit the shoulder after glancing off the side of his head.
“Nothing serious..” He left at a run.
“That shoulder looks dislocated,” commented Norwood, kneeling on the other side of Rob’s inert body.
“We’ll have to send for Dr. Robinson..” Amanda shook her head. “But not until one of the men can be spared.”
“In the meantime, let me see if I can do anything for it. A friend had this happen while hunting a couple of years ago..” He was feeling along the bones as he spoke. With a sudden twist, he snapped the shoulder back into position.
“You’ve a talent for this,” observed Amanda, wrapping Rob tightly to keep it from shifting out of place again. “I hope his head is all right. He is incredibly lucky. A kick there is usually fatal.”
“It doesn’t look like much,” commented Norwood. “He seems to be breathing normally.”
Amanda gently prodded the swelling on the side of Rob’s head and nodded. “It is not as bad as the knot you had that day. Or Oliver’s.”
Another crash was accompanied by a scream. Both of them looked toward the house, but nothing had changed on the near side.
“Dear Lord,” murmured Amanda. “That sounded like the Blue Boar.”
“I keep seeing that fire,” agreed Norwood. “It froze me for a moment upstairs.”
“How did you get out that night?” she asked.
“Fitch pounded on my door to wake me,” he replied slowly, determined not to allow emotion into his voice. “But by the time I realized what was going on and had dragged on some clothes, the hall was filled with flames. So was the window. I had to break through a locked door into the corner room before I found a window that was clear so I could jump. It overlooked the ravine holding the stream.”
“So that was the picture that returned – the flame-filled window.”
He nodded. “And the hall was burning by the time I got Ben. It was much too similar. How did you awaken so much earlier?”
“Too much war. The smoke triggered my Waterloo nightmare.”
“To the benefit of us all. Ultimately, you saved my life. If I had been roused even two minutes later, I would not have escaped.”
She stared at him for a moment, knowing it was true. She wanted to tell him how terrified she had been when he had been buried beneath that ceiling, but she could not. He was betrothed to her sister. In fact, the announcement would occur on the morrow. His eyes again met hers, and she gasped to see the anguish blazing there. His hand reached out to lightly stroke her own, and she knew her tears showed.
“Help,” begged a strained voice, breaking the spell and returning their attention to the immediate crisis.
Norwood sprang up and caught the man Jem was carrying alone.
“What happened?” the duke demanded sharply.
“A corner of the barn come down, trapping Jacob here. There are several others who were hurt, but he’s the worst. The good news is that I think we’ve got it stopped.”
“Thank heaven,” responded Amanda.
“Dear God!” choked Norwood as he lay Jacob down under the trees. One side of his body was burned, and a broken arm twisted grotesquely.
“Cut his clothes off,” ordered Amanda. “Jem, can someone be spared to fetch blankets from the Court? And Dr. Robinson must be found, if he has not already been summoned.”
“Immediately,” promised Jem.
“Will he survive?” asked Norwood as he helped her spread greasy salve over the burns.
“It is possible, though his chances are not good,” she said softly. “Burns are the worst kind of injury. Deep ones like these frequently turn putrid. If that happens, there is nothing that will save him.”
“Why do you use grease?”
“It seems to help. I suspect that it forms a barrier between the wound and the air. It does not dissipate like liquids do.”
They worked in silence for some time. Amanda finally stood up with a sigh.
“That is all I can do,” she said. “The arm will require Dr. Robinson’s attention. It is too mangled to set it myself.”
More patients were heading their way, for as the fire waned, they could be spared from the fight. Norwood found himself treating burns and wrapping up cuts. Most of the men returned to the farm yard as soon as he was done with them. Ben stirred. Norwood went to sit with the boy for a few minutes when Amanda did not need him.
His mind churned as he glanced around. The shell of the house was growing dark as the flames dwindled inside. Four men and a boy remained in the improvised hospital under the orchard trees. The shouts of those fighting to save the barn had grown less urgent and more tired as the reflected flickering from the farmyard waned.
He thought again about Donne’s powerful words and had to admit that he truly believed them, though he knew that much of the
ton
did not. But titles were compatible with compassion, and not just for a few pet causes. Wellington had argued fiercely in favor of a pension bill for Peninsula veterans, yet decried Whig efforts to improve the lives of ordinary people. With that thought, the blinders finally fell from his eyes, and he realized that the Whigs were right. It would cause a nine-days-wonder, but he would have to come out as a reformer. He was not the man he had been at the end of the Season, and it was mostly Amanda’s doing. She had challenged him to look outside of himself, to see the world as a collection of people, each with a different position, but all worthwhile. His own high place did not exempt him from being human.
Chapter Sixteen
Norwood was binding Jem’s arm when he felt the farmer stiffen. An elegant coach drew up at the edge of the orchard, disgorging Lord Thorne. The marquess’s face reflected resignation to an unpleasant duty, with no hint of warmth or sympathy. It stiffened even further when he caught sight of Amanda, who was soothing a wailing Ben.
“You are here?” gasped Thorne disapprovingly, his expression changing to shock as he identified Norwood.
“As you see,” said Norwood, drawing Thorne’s attention from Amanda.
“Who had the effrontery to force you into this?” demanded Thorne.
“No one. I volunteered,” said Norwood calmly. “Who could watch a tragedy unfold and not try to avert it? Certainly not I, nor any other who claims to be human. I presume you are also here to offer support and assistance to the family.”
Thorne’s face appeared thunderous, but he could find no rejoinder. Turning abruptly, he went to examine the damage.
“You are lucky to be a duke,” murmured Amanda as Jem departed. “He would have combed your hair with a joint stool if you did not outrank him.”
“He has already done so – when I insisted on summoning you to attend Mr. Stevens. But he would have had no cause three months ago,” admitted Norwood. “I must thank you for your salubrious lessons in compassion. It is a concept I had forgotten, much to my mother’s delight. She is very like your father.”
“I cannot imagine enjoying life insulated from other people. Nor can I remain aloof from those whose birth is below my own. Not that I think we should erase the class boundaries, but it is possible to treat those lower than oneself with dignity and respect. And one can learn lessons from them. It was Granny Gossich who taught me to care.”
“Would there were more like you.”
“Has your mother always been so cold?” she asked, pursuing that flash of camaraderie she had felt before.
“Always. She was the perfect match for my father. If anything, he was worse.”
“Yet you spent years patterning your behavior after them.”
“I must have been mad. But I needed the façade at the time.”
“To cover your pain?”
He nodded.
“That is understandable. Your only mistake was in forgetting that it was, in fact, a facade.”
“So wise. I wish—”
“No you don’t,” she interrupted firmly. “Just live the remainder your life with compassion, your grace. And teach Emily to care. The capacity is there, but she has lived for seventeen years under Thorne’s thumb. You will need patience..” She went to check on Jacob and Rob, leaving him with Ben.