Charlie looked at the house with the rising glow of the fire behind it.
“Oh, no!” Sarah clutched his arm. “Look!”
She pointed to the northernmost window of the attic. Behind the thick glass, a shadowy figure was struggling to open the sash.
“Her arm’s broken.” Katy came up beside Sarah. “She won’t be able to heave that up.”
Joseph came stumbling up. “The attic stairs are at the south end—up against the wall of the south wing. They’ll be impassable by now.”
Charlie swung to Kennett, standing staring, stunned, beside him. Grabbing Kennett’s shoulder, he shook him. “The ladders, man—where are they?”
Kennett looked at him, abject horror in his eyes. “They were in the courtyards.” He swallowed. “They’re gone.”
Barnaby appeared. “I’ve checked—none of the others brought ladders. Two ostlers from the inn at Crowcombe are riding back down to fetch one.”
They all looked at the house—at the attics and the frantic figure struggling with the window. At the thickening smoke billowing up from behind the main roof, reaching forward to embrace the building, the hot glare of the angry flames rising behind.
“We can’t wait.” Pulling his arm from Sarah’s grip, Charlie started striding across the forecourt, then he broke into a run.
By the time he reached the porch protecting the front door, he knew what he’d have to do. Quince had seen him coming; he’d waved her to the center window of the attic, above the front door and the porch roof.
There was a lattice attached to the side of the porch; Charlie prayed it would hold his weight. Carefully, distributing his weight as evenly as he could, he started climbing. The wooden slats started to give—he flung himself upward, caught the ridge of the narrow porch roof and scrambled up.
Barnaby watched. When Charlie heaved himself up and straddled the ridge, he called, “Don’t bother trying to break those panes—they’re too small and the glass will be too thick. Can you reach to push open the sash?”
Charlie looked up, then slowly got his feet under him, balancing on the ridge. The stone wall gave him something solid to lean against. Putting his chest to it, he reached up to the window that courtesy of the symmetry of the façade was directly above the porch. He got his fingers under the edge of the sash and eased it up—it was stiff, but it rose, then Quince managed to get her good hand and arm under it and heaved it up.
She gasped as fresher air rushed into the attic. “Thank God! Wait there, I’ll get the babes.”
“No—wait.” Charlie grasped the lip of the window; scrabbling with his toes against the stone, he hauled himself up and in. He tumbled through and landed on the timber floor—and felt the heat seeping through the boards.
As he struggled back to his feet, he heard someone—Barnaby he felt sure—scramble up onto the porch roof.
Quince appeared through the murk and handed him a bundle. She frowned. “What—”
He silenced her with a gesture. “Bring the other one as quick as you can.”
The fire was in the beams below the floor; how long they would hold he had no idea.
Leaning out of the window, he passed the first little bundle, well wrapped but worryingly silent and still, down into Barnaby’s waiting hands.
He watched as, balancing precariously on the roof, Barnaby crouched and passed the bundle down to a multitude of hands eagerly reaching up.
Charlie turned and took the next bundle from Quince. “That’s the last?”
“Yes. I’ll go down—”
“Don’t. Move.” He infused the words with every ounce of command he possessed. “Just wait.”
The fire was building beneath his feet; he could hear the welling roar. The floor below was a mass of flames. There was no way out for them that way.
Quince fidgeted, but remained by his side as he lowered the last baby. The instant the bundle left his hands for Barnaby’s, Charlie straightened and stepped back.
“What…?” Quince shrieked as he swept her up in his arms.
“Your turn,” he informed her. “It’s the only way out.”
With her broken arm, she couldn’t help herself to any great degree; Quince had to let herself be manhandled out of the small window, down into Barnaby’s steadying hands, then down again, to where Kennett was waiting to grasp her hips and ease her to the ground.
The instant she was safe, Barnaby turned to Charlie, his face drawn and tense. “Get out—now!”
The last word was all but drowned by a huge crack—then a roar as flames raced across the ceiling above Charlie’s head.
He’d been aware of the fire below, but he hadn’t looked up.
The entire roof of the house exploded into flame.
Barnaby leapt off the porch roof.
Charlie grabbed the windowsill and dived out of the window headfirst. He landed like a cat on the porch roof. Before it could give way under his weight, he leapt for the ground. He landed and rolled, coughing—aware everyone else was fleeing.
Gasping for breath, his lungs seared and burning, he looked up and back; smoke-stung eyes streaming, he had to blink frantically before he could focus—and see the inferno the farm house had become.
As he lay there watching, the roof started to fall—gathering momentum, it caved in with a roar.
“Come on!” Someone was tugging frantically at his shoulder.
He turned his head, and realized it was Sarah.
“You’re too close!” she screamed. “Come on— get up! We have to get back!”
He felt as if he were in a dream; it was so difficult to get his limbs to move. With Sarah’s help he got to his feet. They’d only staggered a few paces when a huge explosion detonated behind them. Sarah glanced back and shrieked.
Instinct took over. Charlie grabbed her and hauled her to him, sheltering her with his body.
Something struck him on the back, felling them both.
It hurt.
Sarah wouldn’t stay down. She wriggled frantically; he couldn’t make out what she was saying. Then she leapt to her feet; using her cloak to protect her hands she pushed and pushed—until the weight pinning him slid to one side.
He tried to breathe and coughed so hard he felt dizzy, weak. Sarah’s hands wrapped in her cloak patted all over his shoulders and back, then she grabbed his arm again—just as Barnaby skidded in the gravel on his other side.
“Come on—get moving, Morwellan.” Barnaby seized his other arm.
Between Sarah and Barnaby and his own feeble efforts, he managed to get his feet under him, managed to let them steer him across the gravel to where row upon row of anxious faces waited, rouged by the flames.
The row parted, clearing a space for them. Barnaby let him down. Charlie sat; drawing his knees up, he laid his forehead against them and concentrated on breathing.
Sarah sat beside him. He knew it was her without looking, felt her cool hand brush his cheek. Then she tucked her hand in one of his and leaned lightly against him as the orphanage burned.
The cool air revived him. Long before the last walls collapsed and the fire started to subside, he’d recovered enough to start formulating the necessary plans to deal with the disaster.
The flying beam that had hit him and Sarah had been flung out when the attic floor collapsed onto the floor below. The width of the gravel forecourt had protected all those watching from similar dangers, but the damage many had sustained while fighting the flames was quite real.
The children had to be his—and Sarah’s—first priority.
Slowly rising, he helped her to her feet. He held her hand, looked down at her pale, soot-streaked face, and simply said, “We’ll rebuild.”
She smiled weakly, mistily up at him, blinked rapidly, then nodded. “We’ll build better—no thatch.”
His lips twisted. “Indeed. Definitely no thatch.”
“I keep telling myself that we’ve lost nothing that really matters, nothing that can’t be replaced…but the children. Most have lost every last little thing they ever possessed.”
After a moment, he said, “We can’t give them back the mementos, but perhaps we can give them new ones. New memories. Better memories.” She flashed him another, rather stronger smile. He caught her eyes. “Now—how many children are there, and what groups can we break them into? How many groups, how many children in each?”
Sarah opened her mouth to answer, hesitated, then said, “Let’s find Katy and the others—we should plan this all together.”
Charlie nodded. They started moving through the crowd, making no secret of their intent—to deal with the immediate problem and look ahead, rather than dwell on the massive loss. Although the fire still raged strongly, they ignored it—or rather made use of its warmth and light as with the staff from the orphanage, assisted by many of those who’d come to help, they started gathering the children.
Maggs and Ginny came up and waited patiently until Sarah and Charlie looked inquiringly their way.
“Can we go and fetch our things, miss?” Ginny asked.
Sarah tried to smile but her heart wouldn’t let her. “I’m so sorry, Ginny.” She put one hand on the girl’s shoulder, with her other waved at the ruin of the farm house. “I’m afraid there’ll be nothing left.”
Maggs elbowed Ginny. “That’s not what she meant. We—all of us—stacked everything we could out back, in the lee of the hill, before the fire got properly going.” He shifted, then looking at the ground, admitted, “Staff wanted us to help, but, well, some of us’ve been in fires before. We didn’t want to take any chances. So while we older ones helped, the younger ones ferried—their things as well as ours.” He jerked his chin toward the rear of the burning ruin. “So everything’s back there—we just need to fetch it. And we’re sorry about not helping more, but…”
Guilt choked him; he kept his eyes cast down.
Charlie clapped him lightly on the shoulder. “A very wise decision.” He exchanged a glance with Sarah. “I’m sure no one, least of all the orphanage staff, would begrudge you what you’ve saved, nor the time taken to save it. We all did the best we could, but this time…that wasn’t good enough.”
Maggs glanced up at Charlie, confirmed he meant what he said. “So can we go and fetch our things?”
“Let’s see if we can’t make that easier.” Charlie scanned the crowd, then beckoned Barnaby over. A few quick words, a suggestion or two, and Barnaby was in charge of a group of men hauling the orphanage cart around the side of the house, well away from the still angry flames, heading for the lee of the dark hill behind the orphanage, with the older children in close attendance, many carrying lanterns so they could search for their possessions. The younger ones had ferried their goods earlier; the older ones were happy to return the favor.
“That’s some small relief.” Sarah turned back to Katy. Between them, Sarah and the staff had agreed on their dispositions—which children would go together and who would supervise. On hearing Sarah and Charlie’s suggestions on where they would go, the staff visibly relaxed.
“So it’s agreed then,” Sarah said. “We’ll keep the older children together—they’ll be best accommodated at Casleigh. Mr. Cynster and Lady Alathea will know how to cope, and Joseph and Lily can stay there, too—we should keep their studies and daily lives as ordered as we can.” She went on, sending the younger children to the manor, where her mother, sisters, and Twitters could be counted on to assist Jeannie and Jim to keep the youngsters amused and happy. “All the babies, Quince, Katy, and Kennett will come to the Park. I’ll need you three close so we can make plans for the new orphanage.”
The staff nodded, exhausted and relieved.
Charlie touched Sarah’s sleeve. “I’ll go and check what carriages Gabriel’s summoned. We may need more.”
Sarah nodded and briefly squeezed his hand, then released it and turned back to the staff. As Charlie moved away, he heard them organizing to split the children into their groups, ready to be ferried away.
Gabriel, Alathea, and Martin Cynster had ridden all the way from Casleigh; although they’d arrived too late to help fight the flames, they’d brought numerous grooms, all mounted, with them. While Alathea had joined forces with Doctor Caliburn, tending to the injured and dispensing salve for the numerous burns, Gabriel and Martin had moved through all those present, determining how much transport would be needed to ferry exhausted men and women home to their beds, and were steadily dispatching their grooms to ride to all the nearby houses with carts and carriages with requests for said conveyances. There were no house holds in the valley likely to refuse a Cynster request.
Charlie found Gabriel and detailed the children’s needs.
“I’ve already summoned all the carriages from our three houses,” Gabriel said. “The children and staff can have first call on them—it’s been a dreadful night and we need to get them out of the cold. The shock will be bad enough as it is.”
Charlie looked at the still burning farm house. “Those of us up to it will make sure the fire’s contained before we leave.”
Gabriel nodded. “We’ll call up enough carriages and carts from the other houses for all too exhausted or injured to ride.”
Charlie moved on. Barnaby returned with the orphanage cart piled high. He grinned through the soot blackening his face. “The children did well. It seems all of them got their favorite things out.”