by Lynn Landes
“You’re too kind, Lady Hubbard,” she whispers and keeps her eyes on her shoes.
“Well, get on with it, and be sure to have Reagan on time for her date with Declan tonight. He mustn’t be kept waiting. She’s made a remarkable turnaround. I knew she’d come to her senses. Any woman would be lucky to have a man as virile as that. What am I saying, Mouse? Any woman except you,” she laughs as she walks away.
London glares at her retreating back before hurrying into the office and sends a telegram to her broker. She directs him to sell everything and hold all her money in one account. To gain the majority of shares, she will have to buy higher than she normally would. It depends on how badly this goes. If she's quick enough, she will get there in time to warn him, and all of this will be for nothing.
Reagan’s dress is already steamed and ready for the night. London rushes up to her room to wait. “Mouse!” Reagan’s voice shouts for her.
“Coming,” she calls and hurries to help her dress for her date.
Two hours later, she watches from her window as they leave for the evening. London runs from the room using the servant entrance. Bundled in a heavy coat over her maid uniform, she is plenty warm. She is thankful to be in a city the size of New York. She runs toward a hackney carriage and tells the driver, “I need to go to Sheridan Furniture Store, in a hurry.”
“Climb in Miss,” he says with a grin.
As the city blurs through the carriage window, London prays she will arrive in time to warn them. No one ever listens to a mouse. How do I get them to listen?
Declan throws himself into his work. When he's carving and working, he often loses track of the time. He's in the middle of hand carving a king-sized headboard and footboard with a matching dresser and mirror. It's his best work. The hard work and long hours take his mind off the fact that he's to be married in a week.
His grandfather is beside himself with excitement. Perhaps Grandfather should marry the young girl? He chuckles out loud, and his laughter echoes in the empty shop. It's growing dark outside. “Time to go home.”
“Way past time to go home, Son,” his grandfather’s deep voice echoes, startling him.
Declan turns with a grin and watches him walk across the shop. The large bay doors behind him are on sliders, allowing cold air and light inside. Now they are allowing the stony night air to infiltrate his clothes.
“What are you doing here?”
“Someone has to look out for you.” He uses his cane to amble towards him. His silver hair has grown long, and the beard he sports is as thick and lush as the hair he's so proud of.
“Looks like you could use a keeper too. You need a haircut,” Declan teases and hurries to shut the bay doors. He struggles to slide the wooden doors together.
“I’ve been telling you to get those doors fixed,” his grandfather teases. “The cold air always makes them stick.”
“I know.” Declan pulls and grumbles at the rusted hinges as they finally give, allowing him to close them. He drops the cross beam of wood down, securing them in place. “Sit down while I lock up,” he urges and guides him to a stool next to a lantern on his worktable.
Declan extinguishes the kerosene lanterns and puts away his tools. He walks to the corner to hang up his leather apron when he smells smoke.
“Are you smoking?” he whirls in shock to look at him across the shop. He’s not at the stool, but instead is holding the lantern and running a hand over the intricately carved headboard. His stomach drops.
“This is your best work yet, Declan!” Matthew declares proudly. The scent of smoke drifts to him, and he turns to stare at his grandson in shock. “Where is the smoke coming from?”
Identical shocked eyes meet across the shop an instant before the first eruption of fire roars inside the building.
London’s heart almost stops when the hackney stops in front of Sheridan Furniture store. It is closed, all the lights are out, but a flickering light inside the connected workshop tells her someone’s inside.
The driver drops down and offers a hand to help her down, “Should I wait?”
“Yes, please,” she turns to walk away when the first explosion of flames happens. The driver fights with the horse to calm him, and London stares in horror at the rear corner of the warehouse engulfed in flames.
A darkly dressed figure runs out from behind the building and runs off in the opposite direction.
“I’ll bring help! The firehouse is a few streets over!” the driver shouts and leaps back into his carriage, snapping the reigns with a shout.
London runs towards the building, praying no one is inside. She skids to a stop when she hears a deep voice inside, shouting.
“No!” Declan is struggling with the bay doors trying to pull them open. London jumps to help. Pulling, “They're stuck!” she shouts!
Put out the fire, London tells herself! She hurries into action again and runs around the back of the building, toward the flames. A large pile of debris and scrap wood, is on fire, licking up the side of the building. What was the explosion from? Smoke and flames pour in through a broken side window, filling the shop and making it difficult to breathe. London kicks at the fire spreading the burning wood apart and sending it cascading away from the building. She grabs a bucket and dips it into a barrel, tossing water on the flames. It flashes the moment the liquid hits it and flares back towards her, burning her hand. She screams in shock and drops the bucket, staring in horror. It's grown bigger, and she knows she's fighting a losing battle.
The building is constructed of wood, and it's already heavily aflame. In the distance, she can hear the fire brigade. Running towards the side of the building, she pulls open the single door and squints into the smoky darkness.
“Hello! Is anyone in here?” she shouts.
“Help!” a shaky voice calls.
Declan's grandfather must have fallen during the explosion, he is holding his head, and a small bleeding cut stains his hand. “Mr. Sheridan!” London runs to his side and slips an arm around his waist. “You have to stand with me,” she urges.
“NO! My Grandson!” He fights back and holds his head tightly in his hands.
“Declan will be alright! I heard him out front, come on, now!” She pulls and lifts him to his feet. He leans heavily on her groaning and struggling to see as she guides him towards the side door. They are almost to the door when the flames roar inside the window following the smoke like a river. The second the fire reaches the shelf on the wooden wall full of supplies, the oils and turpentines erupt, sending fire and debris raining across the shop.
London shoves Matthew through the door and into the alleyway to safety only to scream when a flaming piece of wood slams into her lower leg. She is knocked dizzy for a few seconds and sits up slowly. Flames catch the bottom corner of her dress on fire. The pain registers after she shoves the fiery wood off her leg. London coughs and limps from the building, just as the from bay doors are pried open. Fresh air hits the flames, and they erupt, larger than ever.
Matthew Sheridan lays sprawled on the ground. He struggles to his knees and fights to stay conscious. “You’re going to be okay,” a woman’s soothing voice says in his ear. Gentle hands help him to safety, and she can hear Declan shouting at the fire brigade inside fighting the flames. Steadying him against the next building. London whimpers as the pain registers. She rips a strip of cloth from her dress and presses it to the wound on his head. “Hold this,” she insists.
“I can't see! Where's my grandson?” Matthew asks, and she instantly reassures him.
“Declan is fine. You have smoke in your eyes. I'm sure you'll be okay, but we need to get you to safety.”
“Oh,” she groans and fights nausea back.
“You’re hurt!” Matthew tries to help her, but she pushes him against the second building.
“Stay here. I’m going to get help.” London stumbles through the alley toward the front, shouting for help.
“Help!” she screams and waves a hand.
Two fire officers run to her aid. “He's back there!” she points. They run, and London turns, limping slowly away. The carriage driver is nowhere to be seen. He did his bit, she thinks. “Time to disappear, London.” She swipes at her tears and pushes through the group of people rushing to gawk at the excitement. Perfect, she thinks. Now, I can disappear, she limps to a hackney cab and rides away.
Declan rushes towards the building shouting for his grandfather, only to have a fire officer pull him back out front. “My Grandfather’s inside!”
“No, we have him, and he's asking for you,” he tells him.
“Thank you!” His heart drops when he sees him resting on the ground with two people tending to him.
“I tell you she was hurt!” Matthew shouts and fights to get up.
“Stop. You need to be still, Mr. Sheridan! We will search for her as soon as we see to you.” They pour fresh water over his eyes, rinsing them, and he snarls and grumbles.
“Grandfather! Do what they say,” Declan drops down beside him and laughs as he hugs him. “I knew you were tough, but I feared the worst,” he is shoved back as Matthew fights to be heard.
“She protected me, Declan! You have to help her. She was injured, saving me!” Wide-open eyes stare up at him, and he holds out the rag she pressed to his head.
“He’s been raving about a woman helping him,” the officer says.
“I’m not raving, young man! She shoved me through the door just as the second eruption occurred. I heard her scream out. I would have been hurt much worse if it weren’t for her, Declan!”
“Who is she?” Declan asks.
“I don't know, but she was in pain. I couldn’t see. The smoke and fire were too much for me.” Matthew slumps back, coughing heavily, and they quickly tend to him, scaring Declan.
Once they clear him to leave, he sends for a doctor and arranges for a carriage to drive him home just as the snow starts.
After seeing his grandfather home and sitting with the doctor, Declan returns to the workshop to check in with the Captain of the fire department and the Police officer. He gives a statement, and they ask to speak to his grandfather the next day to take his account regarding the woman.
“Two of our firemen reported speaking to a maid. She led them to your grandfather.”
“A female voice tried to help open the doors. Do you think she had something to do with the fire?” Declan asks.
“It's possible, or she was a witness. Either way, we need to speak to her.”
The next few hours are spent cleaning up and assessing the damage.
“Lord Sheridan?”
“Yes.” He turns, dropping the shovel of burnt debris into a bin. “Do you know the cause yet?”
“Yes, Sir. We think it was started in the back corner. Unfortunately, the fire rolled up the walls and inside, igniting the solvent fumes. The second explosion occurred when the flames reached the shelves.”
“I see. Is the building a total loss?”
“No, Sir. You lost a third of the shop. The building should be sound. Mostly water damage and flame. I would suggest having it shored up. The furniture store was left unscathed. You were lucky, Lord Sheridan.”
“Lucky? How so?” Declan asks as he stares at the destroyed back corner of the workshop. His new piece was damaged, and the debris and black soot cover everything in a soggy murky tar.
“I believe this fire was set intentionally, outside. If it had been inside longer, we could have been looking at a catastrophic fire like the one in California.”
“Intentionally set? What makes you think that?” His dark blue eyes are wide with shock, followed by anger.
“Walk with me.”
Declan follows him to the side of the building and stares at the scattered charred remains of a woodpile.
“We are trained to look for accelerants, and this fire started here. A woodpile is never a good idea.”
“I understand that’s why we keep the scrap pile wet down, that’s what the barrel of water is for. To avoid fire.”
“Lord Sheridan, that’s not water, it’s oil.”
“What!” he stares in shock.
“Why would someone fill the barrel with oil?”
“I’m not sure, Sir, but I’d say you have some enemies.”
“I see, thank you for all you’ve done. I’ll speak to the Police tomorrow about this.”
Chapter 6
“You did what?” Dillon asks as she strips the maid’s uniform off and helps her change into a clean dress. Her maid uniform is ruined. Thankfully, she keeps clothes in Dillon’s guestroom with her trunk.
“Place your hand in this bowl, it will help with the burn,” Elliot says softly.
“Thank you,” she hisses as she lowers it into the water. She sits and lets him tend to her hand. “Dillon, I had to try to warn them.”
“Yes, but you could’ve been hurt…”
“She is hurt, Dillon,” her husband snaps, “now’s not the time.”
“I'm sorry, you're right. How bad is her leg?” Dillon wrings her hands with worry.
“I’m fine. Just patch it up so I can get back to the house before they do!” London glances at the clock, fighting back nausea.
“You’re lucky Elliot was here,” she drops a hand on his shoulder as he peels back the cloth and looks at her leg.
London hisses when the fresh air hits the burn. “Oh,” she groans, and tears threaten. London breathes slowly, struggling to control the pain.
“I need my other bag,” Elliot hurries from the room up the stairs in their brownstone to the second floor.
“I’m sorry, Dillon, but I didn’t know where else to go,” she sniffs.
“We’ve been friends for years, London. You can always come to me,” she sits beside her and grasps her good hand.
Elliot returns with a small glass jar of salve. “This is burn ointment. It should help alleviate some of the pain. Use it on your hand and leg twice a day. Your layers helped prevent a deeper burn on your leg. You were lucky, but your hand is worse. Don’t pop the blister forming on the palm. It is a protective layer.”
“I understand,” sweat beads on her forehead, and she bites her lips while he spreads it on her lower leg.
Dillon tries to distract her by talking about her students while he treats her hand and wraps it. She’s teaching and loving it. Elliot nods at her, “That’s all I can do for now. I would give you something for the pain,”
“No. You know that I can’t work on morphine. I have to get back.” London tries to stand, but Dillon stops her with a hand on her arm.
“We've been talking, London, and we want you to know you are welcome to move in with us.”
London stands and shakes her head. “No, thank you. I’m almost at my goal.”
“If your plans fall through, you will always have a place with us,” Elliot insists. “Thanks to your investment tips, we are in a much better place financially. We owe you.”
“No, your friendship is everything. Thank you, both.” Tears fill her eyes. “Now, where are my spectacles.” Dillon laughs and holds them up.
“I wish I’d never told you about this job.”
London laughs and hugs her tight. “I am trusting that the Lord wants me to bloom where I’m planted. I’m trying to do that.”
“I know, but at what cost?” she says, touching London's shoulder. “Don't let your pride keep you from asking for help. We're always here for you.”
London wipes a tear and sniffs back a second wave of tears. “I know. Thank you.”
Dillon and Elliot give her a ride back to the house. Watching her walk around the back-entrance, Dillon reaches out and squeezes her husband's hand. “How do we help her, Elliot?”
“We will pray and be there for her when she needs us. For now, that is all we can do.”
As they ride away, London turns and waves before hurrying inside. “What a day this turned out to be.”
London makes it to her room without incident and changes into her
own clothes, stashing the dress in a drawer. She will use gloves to hide the burn on her hand. In a short time, Declan is set to marry into a family that almost killed him. Now the plan they set in place will work if she doesn't do something.
The only remaining option is to buy the stocks before they do. It will take all of her savings, but surely once she explains everything, he will reimburse her. Tomorrow she will be able to think clearly, for tonight exhaustion is seeping in.
She yawns and falls into a heavy sleep. Her dreams are full of Declan screaming for help through a fiery door.
Chapter 7
“What about his vision?” Declan asks, “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name?”
“Doctor Elliot Bradley, at your service.” Elliot snaps his bag shut and glances at the door. “I agree with Dr. Culp’s assessment from yesterday. “It’s already much improved. His eyes will be sore for a few days and swollen, but I’d say he’s one lucky man.”
“That he was,” Declan shakes Elliot’s hand and smiles.
“He seems more concerned with finding his savior than the accident.”
“We owe her for saving his life,” Declan frowns. “I’m not ready to lose him yet. He’s all the family I have left.”
“Lord Sheridan is in excellent health. He will make a full recovery and be driving you to distraction by tomorrow.” Elliot picks up his bag and glances at Declan. “This person he’s looking for might not want to be found, but it is a good distraction for him.”
“That’s one way to look at it. Why wouldn’t she want to be found, unless she took part in the fire?” Declan frowns and runs a hand over his face.
Elliot looks at him closely. “Have you seen a doctor yet? Breathing in that much smoke isn’t good for anyone, no matter the age.”
“Yes, thank you. I’m fine.”
“If you have any concerns for his health, don’t hesitate to send for me,” Elliot says.
