No, we must get out. My life can’t end here.
She stood on something – her small travelling bag. She picked it up and slotting her left arm through the leather handle dragged it up to hang from her shoulder, leaving her hands free. Then she clutched Suzette’s hand and they stepped onto the square of landing.
She was aware of two figures, one scrabbling about near the floor over to her left, the other reaching out to seize her hand.
Lord Branford’s voice choked at her, “I opened our skylight. Too narrow to get through. But there are people down in the street. I can hear Peter yelling from below that we mustn’t go down the stairs. That end of the floor has collapsed. But this disused door leads to the roof. Put this round your mouth.” He was fumbling at her face with his neckerchief. She grasped the ends and tied it behind her.
Suzette was coughing and crying at once. Deborah pulled her small kerchief from her sleeve. “Hold that to your face.”
Will Smyth’s voice was spluttering, “This hasbeen a door. I’ve pulled back a bolt, my lord, but it’s still not opening.”
“Can we smash it with something?”
Deborah peered down the stairs. She recalled something she had seen last night. She must go down and look. She grabbed the wooden rail and almost fell down the narrow flight feeling the heat increase.
Lord Branford was shouting, “Deborah! No!”
“I’ve found something,” she yelled back. She was sure the door was on fire on the other side but beside it stood a great iron shape with a neck like a bird, used she supposed to hold the door open. It was already warm to the touch and very heavy when she lifted it. She thanked God for all the outdoor work she loved to do at home. Would she ever see those beloved woods again? Rapidly remounting the stair she made out Lord Branford peering down to her. The smoke was clearing through the skylight he’d opened in the larger room. He looked different. What was it? Of course! He was not wearing his wig. His head looked small, with a close crop of darkish hair. And his ears stuck out. Her father had spoken only once to her of his dear friend Henry’s head rolling on the deck with its protruding ears.
“Use that.” She thrust the ornament at him.
He passed it at once to the substantial hands of Will Smyth, who stood up as far as he could and attacked the panels of the door. There was little space for him to swing it on the small square of landing so Deborah pushed Suzette back into their room and clambering onto the bed felt at the pale square in the ceiling. Was day dawning? Her hands touched a wooden rim and she found the little window would yield to pressure. She forced it as wide as it would go. There was a creaking, cracking noise and it tore away and slithered down the roof. She pulled down Lord Branford’s neckerchief and took a deep breath of fresh air.
She jumped down and ordered Suzette up. “Go on, breathe.”
Crashing and splintering sounds came from the landing. She could see the same pale light filtering through gaps in the woodwork. Will was panting. He was too tall to get his full force behind the blows.
“Let me.” Lord Branford seized the thing from him and with both hands smashed it into the half broken wood. A large chunk flew off and he fell against the gap. Deborah could hear him gasp as he tore his cheek and hand on the splinters. But he drew in the weapon again and with two more blows had opened up a hole big enough for a body to pass through.
Shouts were still coming up from the narrow street below. Deborah could hear both Peter’s and Joseph’s voices, so they were safely out, thank God.
Lord Branford had now knocked out the worst of the jagged bits of wood protruding from above and below the hole.
“I’ll go first and see what the footing is like the other side. When I’ve helped the ladies through you bring up the rear, Will.”
Deborah marvelled at the steadiness of his voice after his exertions. She saw him bend down and insert his right leg through and feel for the surface out there.
“It’s level. We can manage.”
She glanced back down the stair. The door at the bottom seemed to be glowing now. Desperate, she turned back to their only way of escape. Frederick Branford was manoeuvring his lithe body sideways through the hole. Keeping a grip on a slither of wood above him he straightened up. She could see him against the sky.
“Is there a way? Is it daybreak?” she called out.
“No, moonlight. There is a narrow ledge till we can reach a sloping roof which seems to lead to a flat area. It is all higgledypiggledy tops of houses built on the hillside. The men below have seen that I’m out and are trying to call directions. I think the patronmust be with them who knows the way. We must go straight ahead.”
Deborah was coaxing Suzette through the hole. She was small enough to do it easily but squealed as her skirt caught on splinters and pulled her back. Deborah kept unhooking it for her. She saw Lord Branford grip her arms and raise her to her feet. But when the girl looked down and saw how far above the street they were she screamed and swayed. He held her tight.
“Deborah,” he hissed as she was about to follow. “I must get her to a safer spot before you come. There isn’t room on this ledge. I’ll come back for you.”
Deborah could now see that sloping tiles came down on her left to this two-foot wide ledge and a steeper slope went down into the darkness below. She was no lover of heights herself but she said in her heart, I can and will walk that ledge. The wind has dropped. There is no reason why I should fall off. He called me Deborah in his urgency. I like that.
She saw him slide one hand round Suzette’s back so he could grip her arm and hold her other arm at his waist. Evidently he meant to edge her along sideways. She could hear him saying, “Keep your head turned to me, Suzette, look only at my ear. Now move your feet with mine. Pretend we are doing side steps in a dance. There, that is very good.” Suzette was gasping with fright but had set her feet in motion and was not looking at the drop below.
Oh Frederick, Frederick, Deborah was saying to herself, if she panics you will both fall together. But they were nearly at the end. He was telling her, “Look now. A slope of tiles leads to a wide flat roof. We are going to sit down on that and slide together.” Deborah couldn’t think how he could move her onto it but somehow he lifted and swung her shrieking off the ledge and they went rolling down out of sight.
It was only two seconds of horror and then she saw their heads appear. They had reached somewhere where they could stand up and feel secure.
Deborah at once gathered her skirt up and gripped a clutch of the material in front. She looked Will Smyth in the eye. “I can do this. Follow me as quick as you can before that fire breaks through.”
She compressed herself into as small a shape as she could and edged into the hole. Her travelling bag caught at one side but Will inserted his hand to free it. As she straightened up on the ledge she felt desperately for any protruding piece of the wall at her side.
He called out, “Wait there for me now, Mistress Horden.”
“I can manage, thank you, Will.” She wasn’t going to hesitate or she would never be able to do it.
She gritted her teeth and placing one hand lightly on the tiles beside her she turned her body and walked forward on the ledge. Then came a horrible moment when she felt an urge to steady herself and her hand dislodged a tile. It tumbled down in front of her and bounced over the ledge to crash to the street below. She froze, unable to move. She heard Will coming through the hole and Lord Branford shout, “Deborah!” That set her in motion again and she completed the distance to the slope where she could see the area of flat roof and Suzette standing quite confidently on it. She sat down at once and bumped down the tiles into Lord Branford’s arms.
At the same moment there was an explosive sound and she swung round to see a sudden rush of flame from the hole behind them. Will wobbled on the ledge. Deborah gasped and Lord Branford cried, “God help him!” The moment passed. Will almost ran forward and leapt onto the tiles and came tumbling down beside them. In one hand he was
clutching his lordship’s valise.
He got to his feet and looked back. “The door below gave way, my lord. The stairwell acted like a funnel. The whole place will go now. We need to get off here. These houses are built jammed together.”
There was more shouting from the street and the top of a ladder banged against the flat roof. Peter’s head appeared a moment later.
“It’s s-s-steady, Mistress Horden. I’ll help you. Jo and some Italian fellow have hold of it below.”
“Help Suzette down first,” she ordered him. “I can manage alone.”
Will Smyth had stepped up to the edge and looked over. “There is a crowd just clamouring for entertainment. Who is putting the fire out?” He glared at Peter. “Why were we roused so late? You and Joseph made your escape. Why were we exposed to such danger?”
“Truly we c-c-couldn’t help it, Mr Smyth. We were w-w-wakened by the floor c-c-collapsing at that c-c-corner. The f-f-fire had been smouldering b-b-below and suddenly c-c-combusted.”
“You and the other men were all dead drunk.”
Deborah led a quivering Suzette to the ladder.
“Will Smyth, your inquiries can wait. Peter, get this poor girl down.”
Lord Branford stepped forward to coax Suzette and actually lifted her feet one after the other and placed them on a rung. As soon as she felt Peter’s arms either side of her she was able to loosen her grip and move her hands down.
Deborah watched her progress for a few moments and then turned to meet Lord Branford’s eye. He had a gash down one cheek where he had fallen against the splintering wood, his poor head was wigless and his ears stuck out. His hand dripped blood. He was a pathetic sight but for the glow of admiration in his eyes. His gaze up at her was intense, awestruck. She was desperate to tell him how brave he’d been, how calm. He should be so proud of himself.
She said it aloud. “Lord Branford, you should be so proud of yourself.”
He shook his head vigorously. “You,” he said, “you were magnificent.”
He turned quickly to Will. “And you, Will. You even saved my valise.”
Will was looking over the edge again. “They have reached the foot. Would you wish me to assist you, Mistress Horden? I can go first and steady you.”
Deborah just shook her head. “You may grip the ladder as I get on.” First she handed Lord Branford his neckerchief. “Bind that round your hand.”
She descended with care and found herself greeted by cheering Italians. Suzette broke from among them to cling to her, sobbing with relief.
“Oh my lady, I thought we were going to die.”
Deborah realised she too was shaking. Now that she was on solid ground it came home to her how near they had been to death. Flames were curling round the broken door through which they had just passed. Was nothing being done to quench the fire?
She demanded this of a stout man who pushed his way to the front of the crowd. He was so like the captain of the feluccathat for a moment she thought it was he, only this man was distinctly wider in girth. They are brothers, she realised, and this is the patronwe never met last night.
“I am desolated,” he cried out to her and to Lord Branford who had now descended too. “My livelihood is gone! But that you English should have suffered such danger, that is a million times worse!”
Will Smyth stepped off the ladder and several hands laid hold of it and carried it away.
“How did the fire start?” he demanded in English.
“Is no one trying to put it out?” Deborah asked. She was looking about to get her bearings. The steps they had climbed yesterday must be further down the hill round the corner, beyond this building with the flat roof.
The patronthrew up his hands. “A vagrant was sleeping in the storeroom below. He must have been smoking a pipe – oh where can I take you to clean up, to recover, to eat and drink. I am desolated. I was out with friends. Did my wife make you comfortable?”
“Is your wife and all your household safe?”
“They are, God be praised.”
Now a voice shouted from the back of the crowd, “Are my passengers alive and well, Pedro?”
That wasthe captain of the felucca. Deborah turned to Lord Branford who was obediently winding his neckerchief round his hand. She saw him as a young brother, heroic but vulnerable.
“Frederick,” she said without thinking, “you need to have those wounds dressed.” She felt Will Smyth stiffen at her familiarity. She found herself gabbling on. “Perhaps we can sail on in the felucca today. I think I will feel safer at sea. There is little wind now. What a blessing that we left the bulk of our luggage aboard!” She thought, I was calm before. We were all calm but are now all of a tremble. Frederick – Lord Branford – seems scarcely able to speak now.
He was gulping, swallowing. He drew out his pocket watch with a quivering hand and tried to read it by the moonlight.
“I think it’s still night. We must go somewhere else. A drink, tea or coffee – if they have such things. We could all lie down for a while.”
Will Smyth shouldered his way to the captain of the felucca “Get us to a decent eating place where we can rest. You sent us to that hell hole and must make amends.” Deborah followed to repeat this in Italian more tactfully phrased.
“I’ll rouse Luigi,” the captain shouted to his brother. “You’d better help your fire-fighters or you’ll be in trouble for it spreading to all your neighbours. Come this way, my lady,” he said to Deborah. She turned to make sure Peter and Joseph were following. Suzette was still holding tightly to her skirt.
They were led away along the hillside a little distance to the head of a steep cobbled alleyway where there was a glint of the waters of the harbour at the bottom. Before they entered it Deborah looked back and could now see the building they had been sleeping in as a whole column of flame between the other houses. There wasactivity, the clashing of buckets, the sound of a pump, and people frantically carrying out furniture and other possessions from the houses nearby. The crowd that had watched the English party’s escape had all headed down round the corner to view the progress of the fire. She thought of the fire of London which her poor mother had lived through but could hardly bear to recall. How fiercely it had spread! Could that happen here? She wanted to run. The sight of the sea ahead was reassuring.
It was suddenly dark in the alleyway. A cloud had spread over the moon. A wind rose up from the sea and a spattering of rain began.
“Thank the Lord. It may put out the fire.” Deborah spoke into the darkness. She could sense the shape of the captain ahead of her and felt Suzette panting beside her. Frederick Branford was close behind with Will, Joseph and Peter for she could hear several footsteps. In fact there was much stumbling and bumping into each other as the way down was steep and the cobbles were very uneven.
The rain grew heavier.
When they reached the quayside the captain led them to a tavern, shuttered of course, but he hammered at the door and yelled “Luigi.”
A shutter above was thrown open. “Is that you, Giorgio?”
“Open up. I’ve brought you customers.”
By the time they were all inside they were drenched but a fire was soon roaring in the hearth. Luigi, a youngish man with a great mop of black curls, brought wine and ale and they all crowded, steaming, onto two wooden benches, Will Smyth directing Peter and Joseph to the end furthest from the fire.
Presently a young woman with a shawl round her nightgown padded in on bare feet carrying a tray of bowls of some sort of broth, which looked and smelt good.
“Why did you not bring us here last night?” Deborah said, looking round for the captain but he had slipped away.
They ate and drank while Will again interrogated Peter and Joseph about the outbreak of the fire. They had to admit they had been drinking late with the Italians and it was the patron’s wife who had woken them, coming screaming from the kitchen premises where her household slept. It seemed the vagrant had woken and escaped fro
m the storeroom below leaving that door ajar. This had caused the smouldering room to burst into a mass of flame. The rotten floorboards by the attic stairs had given way but they could all reach the door to the stone steps.
Joseph protested, “The serving-man who had a little English kept telling us there was a safe way from the attics. The patron appeared when we were all safe in the street and assured us in gestures that you had another way out.”
“Yes,” snapped Will, “when we had broken down the door and got onto a narrow ledge. Is that how we protect his lordship? What sort of report can I make of this night to the earl?”
Deborah saw Frederick frown in distress. He laid a hand on Will’s arm.
“No, Will. There was nothing they could have done. If I tell my grandfather of this night it will only be to praise your bravery and Mistress Horden’s ingenuity in finding us a weapon and displaying such courage. We owe our lives to her.”
Will gave a curt nod and Deborah thought, he disapproves of me even more than before. But at least he hasn’t said, “I told you not to come ashore, my lord.”
Will pursed up his lips and shook his head slowly from side to side. “I did warn you, my lord, that you would be better aboard ship.”
Deborah smiled ruefully at Fredrick. Oh Will, she was thinking, you are a stalwart servant but that speech diminishes you a little in my eyes.
She now questioned Luigi and learnt that they had six children asleep and no spare rooms. He ran a tavern only but she and her maid could lie down on the table and the men on the floor. He would bring bedding. It was still two hours to dawn.
She looked down at Lord Branford. “Frederick, I couldn’t sleep.” The name slipped out again. ‘Lord Branford’ was too absurd after all they had been through. Had he not called her Deborah? She was past caring for Will Smyth’s opinion. “You should have some salve for those cuts. How is your hand?”
Prue Phillipson - Hordens of Horden Hall Page 12
