Change of Heart

by Margaret Eastvale

  ‘Did you see Lord Ashorne inside?’ she asked anxiously.

  Weston shook his head.

  ‘It’s too thick to see anything clearly in there. He spoke to us earlier on, but he went on into the blazing part, telling me to help Rosy here. I thought he’d be out before us. There’s little chance of escape now.’

  Was she imagining that triumphant glint in his eye? Weston was a gambler, ready to make the most of any chance. Had he taken advantage of the confusion inside to harm Edmund?

  Uneasily she remembered the hatred Weston betrayed for his master earlier. He could have found a way to give vent to it.

  ‘Edmund!’ she called despairingly, staring hopelessly into the smoke that billowed out, making all efforts to see inside in vain.

  Was Edmund to die there? If he did it would be her fault. Why had she let Kit persuade her to go out by that wretched gap? She might have guessed that Edmund would return to help them.

  How could she live with the knowledge that he had died because of her stupidity?

  CHAPTER

  SEVEN

  Edmund had been astonished at the depths of his dismay as he watched Anne follow Kit into the smouldering confusion while he was powerless to prevent them. That sickening lurch of fear for her safety showed him, as nothing else had, how radically his feelings had altered since he came home. Anne was necessary for his happiness now. The emotion he felt for her was far stronger than the weak sentiment he had cherished so long for her sister. Now Julia’s demands caused only annoyance. He tried to break loose from her grasp to go to Anne, cursing his .lack of foresight. Laughingly intent on Rosy’s coquettish antics he had missed her father’s mishap with the candle; it was not until he saw smoke drift across the stage that he had realised what had happened and the danger it threatened.

  The fire had taken hold all too swiftly, and fear spread with equal rapidity. He had tried to shout above the clamour, to calm the headlong rush, but it was useless. No one listened. He had to give up and concentrate on getting his own party to safety. Furthest from the exit, theirs was the most hazardous position. He had glanced quickly along the line of chairs. No panic yet. If he kept them calm they might all escape unharmed.

  Then a fierce draught of air whipped through the barn as the great doors were flung wide. It fanned the flames into great fury, engulfing the curtain dangerously close to Anne and Kit.

  Edmund saw Anne flinch, then deliberately calm herself to smile reassuringly down at the child. He must get to them, draw them out of harm’s way! Where they stood now there was every chance the curtain might fall and shower them with burning fragments.

  His sudden move startled Julia. As he tried to pass her she clutched frenziedly at him.

  ‘Don’t leave me, Edmund!’ she sobbed. ‘Save me!’

  Impatiently he tried to shake her off, but she clung more tightly. Unable to free himself, he saw Kit dart from Anne’s side and run towards the blazing stage. What was the foolish child up to? He must stop him! Struggling against the grasping arms that pinioned him he exclaimed, ‘Let me go, Julia! You’re quite safe. I must get to Kit before he does anything stupid.’

  ‘Don’t leave me here!’ Julia was beyond reason now. She clung like a limpet. ‘Help me; Edmund!’

  ‘Come back, Anne!’ he roared as he saw her move forward to follow the child. She took no heed. Held back in Julia’s tenacious grip, he could do nothing to prevent Anne going after her nephew into danger. He watched helplessly as the smoke swallowed them up. Try as he might he could not make out where they had got to. How would he ever find them now?

  The action was typical of Anne’s courage, he thought with a pang of grief. She made no loud fuss about the child; instead she acted. Understanding the danger, she was willing to risk her safety for Kit. That was a far more valuable love than one which showed itself only in hysterical outbursts.

  Julia’s screams were so wild now that he had to stop her forcibly. The first mild attempt had little effect. Losing patience, he shook her violently and slapped her across her cheek.

  Between exasperation and concern for Anne, the blow turned out rougher than he intended, but it did the trick. The glazed panic faded from her eyes; her struggles ceased and she drooped weakly in his arms, crying more naturally.

  Edmund looked down at her with mingled regret and vexation. Tears were trickling down the lovely face, marred now by the scarlet impression of five fingers; just as her charm was spoiled by selfishness and vanity. It was growing harder to combat his disillusionment with her. He tried to tell himself that this was Julia he held in his arms, the dream of perfection he had worshipped for six empty years, but it meant nothing to him.

  There was no rush of tenderness or passion such as her touch had inspired in the past. All that he could think was that, beautiful as she was, the loveliness was flawed. He had fought hard against the knowledge, finding every excuse for her behaviour, but he could deceive himself no longer. He had been mistaken in her. That surface charm was only a thin covering for the conceit and pettiness beneath; in times of stress her true nature showed through.

  Despite all her loudly proclaimed devotion to her son, it was evident that she was more concerned with preserving her skin than his. And Anne was hazarding her life for the boy.

  But however great his sense of let-down, he could not abandon Julia now to help her sister.

  She drooped helpless in his arms, obviously incapable of getting herself to safety unaided if he left her. He must take her out before he began to search for Anne.

  Lifting the exquisite figure up, he followed the last of the crowd, struggling across the overturned benches towards the packed doorway.

  ‘Is she going to be all right?’ A distraught voice beside him reminded him of James’s presence. Why had the stupid fellow fussed around them instead of trying to help Anne?

  Could he not see that she was worth ten of her sister?

  ‘Of course. There is nothing wrong with her but panic. I can manage. See if you can reach Anne and the child,’ he ordered impatiently, but James was too intent on fondling Julia’s limp hand, murmuring broken reassurance, to heed him. If Edmund had had a free hand he would have struck him too. How on earth had Anne contrived to involve herself with such a weak-kneed nincompoop—one so patently devoted to her sister, too?

  He was tempted to leave James to deal with Julia, but even if he could free himself he doubted if the portly baronet could manage to get her to safety unaided. Red-faced and shaking, teetering on the edge of panic, he looked scarcely in a condition to help himself let alone her. Frustrating as Edmund found the delay he must go on. Nearly at the doorway now!

  He was thankful to find someone clearing the mass of morbid sightseers from the exit so that they could get out relatively easily. Once in the open Julia revived a little, and he tore himself free and thrust heron to James. Ignoring her protests he hurried back to the barn, praying that he would not be too late.

  Already a line of men had formed, passing buckets hand to hand to cast on to the burning timbers. Weston was among them, helping, but he was not surprised to see that it was Jonas, standing at the head of the line, who was directing the operation.

  ‘Don’t reckon we’ll douse this in a hurry, Major,’ the groom greeted him dourly. ‘It’s got too good a hold on that hay, but we should be able to stop it spreading any further.’

  ‘Good man,’ Edmund encouraged him briefly, but his main concern was elsewhere. ‘Have you seen Miss Wetherly or the boy?’

  ‘No,’ Jonas shook his head decidedly. ‘They’ve not come past me, and I was one of the first out.’

  ‘Then they must be still inside. The wretched child panicked and Miss Wetherly went after him. Goodness knows what has happened to them both.’

  As they struggled to make out anything in the smoke-filled interior of the building, Mr.

  Delamare’s drink-sodden face pressed close to them. All the bombast had been drained from him, leaving him a hunched, pitiful husk. A re
ek of stale brandy hung about him.

  ‘My properties, all gone!’ he whimpered. ‘Fifty years’ work destroyed. How am I going to be able to support my innocent babes now?’

  ‘Out of my way!’ Edmund thrust him ruthlessly aside. ‘This is all your fault. If anyone dies as a result of this night’s work I’ll see you suffer the consequences of your drunken folly.’

  Wrenching off his neckcloth, he soaked it in water from one of the buckets, then, holding it to his face, he plunged further into the barn. The air was thick with smoke now. Choking, Edmund bent low to escape the worst of it, but still the scorching heat and fumes took his breath away.

  ‘Anne!’ he gasped, then more loudly, ‘Anne! Where are you? Kit!’

  There was no response, and he peered desperately into the swirling gloom. Already his eyes were sore and aching from the acrid smoke. It was impossible to make out anything for certain. The crackle of the flames was so loud now that he doubted whether he could she make herself heard over it even if she were still capable of speech.

  He forced himself to be calm, to think the thing out logically. Dashing about at random would do no good He must work to a system—it would be too easy to lose his sense of direction in this darkness. He was in the centre of the barn now. Best to quarter it, searching every part. Anne might be lying injured or unconscious anywhere.

  He began on the far side where he had last seen her. Nothing among the chairs and scattered benches that hampered his progress. Then through the swirling smoke he caught a glimpse of movement in the middle of the stage area.

  It was tantalisingly indistinct, but surely that was a woman’s form straining to lift something? Hope flared.

  ‘Anne!’ he gasped, struggling towards her. ‘Thank God I’ve found you!’

  Relief was short-lived. As he drew closer the woman turned to greet him, and he recognised Rosy’s anguished face peering through the smoke haze. All the coyness had gone now; sweat had cut furrows down her painted cheeks. She was panting with the effort of trying to drag a singed trunk from the wreckage of the scenery.

  ‘Give me a hand,’ she grunted.

  ‘What the devil do you think you are up to? What’s that you are risking your life for?’

  ‘My jewellery’s in there,’ she wailed. ‘All the bits and pieces my gentleman gave me are locked inside, and I can’t find the key. Give me a hand to carry it outside!’

  ‘Never mind that rubbish, woman,’ he exclaimed, disappointment making his voice harsh.

  ‘Get yourself clear while you can.’

  ‘But I can’t leave it all to burn. All my decent clothes are in here. What will I wear if they are all ruined?’

  ‘Don’t waste time arguing! This roof can’t last much longer. Get yourself outside, or a shroud is all you’ll need to wear—if there is enough of you left to put it on.’

  With a menacing creak the timbers shifted above them. Reluctantly Rosy dropped the trunk handle and clambered off the stage.

  ‘Have you seen anything of Kit or Anne—Miss Wetherly—round here?’ demanded Edmund urgently as he helped her down. ‘They came this way.’

  Rosy shook her head. ‘I didn’t see no one, but I was too busy to notice much.’

  ‘I thought I caught sight of the boy in the far corner there a moment ago, my lord,’ a fresh voice from behind them gasped. ‘I couldn’t be sure, but I suppose Miss Wetherly might be with him.’

  ‘Is that you, Weston?’ Thankfully Edmund pushed Rosy towards the sound of the steward’s voice. ‘Make sure Miss Delamare gets out safely. I’ll try to reach the others.’

  Not waiting to see his orders obeyed, he moved in the direction Weston had indicated, calling hoarsely, ‘Anne! Are you there?’ Pray God he would be in time. Unbearable to lose Anne just when he had discovered how much she meant to him.

  A great lump of smouldering timber crashed down beside him as he climbed up on to the stage. The barn was old and in ill repair; any minute now the roof must collapse, burying them all inside. Little hope of saving anyone then.

  Edmund’s skin felt stiff and dry in the fierce heat. His cloth had long since dried out and gave little protection from the smoke. He forced himself on, picking his way carefully across the charred boards, skirting the main heart of the fire. There was a creak behind him. He spun round. ‘Who’s there?’

  No answer. He strained to see through the gloom, but it was impossible to distinguish anything. Edmund shivered. For a moment the dull red world around him had seemed filled with menace. He had felt an irrational shudder of apprehension as a wave of antagonism seemed to reach out of the darkness towards him.

  Impatiently he dismissed the fancy. No time for such foolishness now. The hellish atmosphere was causing absurd delusions. He must not let his imagination take charge of him in this ridiculous fashion. He had to find Anne, and quickly before it was too late.

  ‘Are you there, Major?’ Jonas’s voice came indistinctly. It must have been the groom’s approach he had heard, he decided with relief.

  ‘Over here,’ he moved towards the sound. ‘Have you found them?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  The voice was closer now, and Jonas’s broad form loomed up out of the red gloom. With a rustling slither the roof timbers shifted and strained. Edmund stared up in alarm. The roof could not last much longer. As he turned back he glimpsed something moving behind Jonas.

  A hunk of wood crashed down on the groom’s head. Had it fallen or had some hand aimed it? His eyes were too sore from the smoke to be sure whether it had been a person he had seen in the darkness, or only a flickering shadow.

  Jonas stumbled and pitched forward as the wood struck him. Carefully Edmund picked his way across the debris to kneel beside him. Jonas lay clutching his head. Blood trickled down his face and already a great bruise was forming.

  ‘Somebody hit me!’ he groaned.

  A huge piece of bloodstained timber by him showed the weapon, but had it fallen by accident or design? Impossible to be sure. If anyone had been there he was gone now.

  Another heavy lump of wood thudded behind them. Edmund cast a last despairing look round. Too late to find Anne now. He must get Jonas out, unless they too were to perish in the ruins of the barn.

  Clasping his arms round the groom’s massive chest, he managed to heave him on to his feet.

  Jonas protested faintly, but he paid no heed. Half dragging, half guiding, he somehow got them both to the doorway. With the last of his ebbing strength Edmund lurched out into the blessedly fresh air.

  There willing hands grasped at his burden and laid him on the grass. Edmund crouched by him, drawing in great gasping lungfuls of air. Dully he realised that it had all been in vain.

  Though he had got out in time, he had failed to find Anne.

  As she saw the great timbers of the barn shift, the roof begin to sag in a menacing curve, Anne could bear to watch no longer. It was impossible for Edmund to come out in time; he must be crushed in the inevitable collapse. Choked by tears, she turned away, not wanting to witness the final catastrophe. Slowly she retraced her steps to where she had left her sister.

  Before she had gone more than a dozen paces a jubilant shout told her that something unexpected had happened. Scarcely able to breathe for the painful surge of hope, she spun round. The firefighters were running to support two sooty, exhausted men who had just emerged from the blazing interior of the barn.

  Anne’s eyes blurred with tears, so that for a moment, it was difficult to make out the figures. Then, with mounting emotion, she distinguished Edmund and Jonas. Pale beneath his smoke-grime, Edmund nevertheless seemed in better shape than the groom, who had to lean heavily on his rescuer, a gory wound gaping on his brow.

  Relief overwhelmed Anne; her knees suddenly felt too weak to support her. As she swayed, too shocked to move, another great beam crashed down, showering sparks over the excited group. Edmund bent to lift Jonas out of harm’s way, but bystanders took the groom from him and bore him to a, safer di
stance. Edmund was left staring stunned into the crackling flames, regardless of his own danger.

  Anne forced her jellied limbs forward. A few shaky steps brought her to where he hunched dejectedly, oblivious of his surroundings. Too moved to dissemble, she stretched both hands to grasp his.

  ‘Thank God you are safe, Edmund!’ she breathed from an overflowing heart.

  For one breathtaking moment he stared incredulously at her. Then his tense face relaxed.

  The alteration in his expression made her pulses race. ‘Am I dreaming?’ A tenderness she had never encountered before softened his stern features. ‘I thought you buried in that inferno, my love.’

  ‘No, I escaped long before you did. It was you who nearly died!’

  Now that her dreadful fears were removed, reaction set in. Anne’s breath came raggedly, tears burned her eyelids. Scarcely aware of what she was doing, she tightened her grasp, as if only by touching him could she convince herself that Edmund was truly restored to her.

  The neck of his shirt, torn wide in his exertions, revealed the firm column of his throat, the broad inviting chest. With an inarticulate cry Anne buried her face in his breast, pressing herself close to draw comfort from his nearness. His arms closed protectively around her, cradling her close.

  ‘Oh, Edmund!’ she clasped him frantically, sobbing, ‘I—I thought you were dead—I could not bear it—not again—I wanted to die too!’

  The warmth from his body flowed into her shivering form, soothing her. His hand stroked her hair in rhythmic comfort.

  ‘Hush, my love,’ he murmured. ‘It is all over now. Don’t distress yourself. No one is harmed, thank God.’

  In a daze she felt him draw her closer still. Engrossed in each other, they clung together in the shadows, forgetful of all else but their need of each other.

  ‘I still cannot believe it,’ Edmund vowed, his voice husky with emotion. ‘I thought I should die when I saw you disappear in that dreadful confusion.’

  Gently he lifted her chin till her gaze locked with his. The intensity of his gaze deepened.