‘I expect he has. He won’t be long.’
So they sat in silence a while longer watching TV. Dottie knew now that things were seriously wrong and that poor old Ralph had been keeping it all under wraps. Everyone in the village was aware of Muriel’s illness, but she didn’t think anyone had really seen just how bad it was.
Well, Muriel needed taking to bed. It was already half past ten and there was still no sign of Ralph waking up. What on earth should she do? What Muriel needed was a strong sleeping tablet to knock her out. No harm in that. At least Ralph would get some sleep. He couldn’t look after her twenty-four/seven without sleep, now could he?
Dr Harris! She’d ring Dr Harris. She’d know what to do. She was only next door.
So Caroline, staying up to finish reading a book she couldn’t put down, went instead to help with Muriel. She and Dottie tried to persuade her to take a sleeping tablet, but she refused point-blank, and finally they had to abandon the whole idea and get Muriel into bed without one.
Within a few minutes of lying down Muriel drifted off to sleep, and the two of them went to see Ralph.
He woke when Caroline tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Steady, Ralph, careful,’ she said. ‘Don’t get up straight away. Just listen to what I have to say. We’ve put Muriel to bed for you. She seems to be very settled and is asleep already. So there’s no need to worry. Would you like Dottie to make you a drink before you go to bed?’
Ralph was acutely embarrassed by the situation. He simply didn’t know what to say. ‘I’ve been asleep a long time, have I? Muriel! Did she get out? Has she been missing? Is she all right? I’d no idea . . .’ He stood up, dazed and alarmed.
‘Look, Ralph. Muriel managed to open the front door and go out. Dottie brought her home and then after a while she rang me because she was worried. And so am I. I’m very worried. Now go to bed and in the morning I shall come round and we’ll have a talk . . . about things.’
‘Hot chocolate, Sir Ralph? And perhaps a biscuit or two?’
Ralph nodded.
‘Go and sit by the fire in the sitting room and I’ll bring it in.’
So they sat with him while he talked a little, but always along the lines that there was nothing the matter with Muriel except she did get a little forgetful occasionally. Caroline didn’t press him. It was better left until morning.
Outside the house, after they’d waited to hear Ralph locking the door with every available security lock, they stood talking quietly.
‘I’ll give you a lift home, Dottie. It’s a long way to walk at this time of night.’
‘No, please don’t. It’ll do me good to have time to think for a bit. It’s blooming well upset me, this has. He just won’t accept she’s . . . kind of gone off the boil, will he?’
‘Once he does accept it that will be the end as far as he is concerned, so he won’t, but he obviously can’t go on like this. Thank you, Dottie, for looking after her. If she was able to think straight she’d thank you, too. Goodnight, then. Are you sure I can’t give you a lift?’
‘Absolutely. God, I hope I never get like that.’
‘She doesn’t know she is unwell - well, perhaps only occasionally - so that’s a blessing. Goodnight, Dottie, and thanks again for what you’ve done.’
By midnight the village was completely quiet. Not a light shone and nothing moved, neither car nor cat, except for an owl that swooped over the rooftops, briefly alighting on a thatched roof then diving away towards the fields again. Every other bird was asleep in its own secret spot. Even the badgers in Sykes Wood had given up their foraging for the moment. No smoke twirled from the chimney pots and there was no sound of a human voice, no squeak of a mouse nor scamper of a rat, not even a fox silently gliding by on the lookout for a foolish, unwary chicken. Quite simply, there was only the sound of silence, just as it should be in the autumn, in a village in the middle of the night when there was a hint of frost in the air.
But at about three in the morning, in the cottage with the heavily bolted doors, flames began leaping and crackling.
Chapter 9
It was Beth, sleeping on the first floor at the back of the Rectory, who was awakened first by the smell of smoke and the strange sounds of the crackling flames. She leapt out of bed the moment she recognised what had caused her to wake, and dashed to the window. All she could see was the weird, unaccustomed flashing lights in next door but one’s back garden, but she knew instantly what it was and screamed, ‘Dad! Fire! Fire! Get up. Now! It’s Ralph’s!’
Both Peter and Caroline jumped out of bed, forcing themselves to respond. They both rushed to the landing window and saw the colour of the flames lighting Ralph’s back garden. ‘Oh, God! Caroline, get Alex up! I’ll ring the fire brigade! Quick! Quick, Beth! Out, right away! Through the front door.’
Guessing how long it would take the fire engine to reach the village Peter knew that they all had to act immediately. He dispatched Alex to get the church key from under the seat in the porch and get into the church to ring the single bell. ‘For at least five minutes, Alex,’ he said urgently.
Then he raced to Ralph’s and hammered on the front door. But there was no response, so he shot through their own house and went through the back door and then into Ralph’s back garden to bang and bang on the back door in the hope of rousing them both. The fire had obviously started in the kitchen and was already flaring up both windows and the glass panel in the back door.
The church bell began ringing, sending out a huge clamour over the village. No one could fail to hear it.
But more pressing for Peter was the sight of Muriel standing in the kitchen, apparently unaware of what was happening. Suddenly a great spurt of flame caught her night-gown and in a moment she was engulfed. Muriel didn’t have time to scream.
Someone was screaming but he didn’t know who.
Caroline stood behind him holding the garden hosepipe with water already gushing out.
He smashed a window with the end of it and poured water into the kitchen. But the flames ignored it and roared higher and higher as though they had a source of fire which the hosepipe was too feeble to put out.
Without considering logically what he was about to do, Peter turned the hose on himself and drenched himself and then smashed the panel of glass in the door, reached in to prise open the bolts and stepped in.
There was still someone screaming above the sound of the whip and crackle of the flames.
Caroline turned the hose on Muriel, which enabled Peter to grab hold of her and carry her outside. He laid her reverently on the path, saying, ‘I’ll go in and get Ralph. Do what you can.’
Caroline was distraught. She doused Muriel with the hosepipe again to put out the last of her burning night-gown and then trembled when she saw the extent of the burning of her skin. ‘Muriel! Muriel!’ Beneath the shreds of nightgown the flesh was dreadfully burned.
‘Muriel! Muriel!’ she cried. But there was no response, no movement. She was breathing but it was rasping and cruelly torturous, and Caroline wept, ‘Muriel! It’s Caroline!’
The kitchen still burned and she daren’t go in. It was too hot, too dangerous, too frightening. Where was Peter?
She stood up and quickly studied the upstairs windows. Flames were already up there, greedily licking everything in sight.
‘Peter! Peter!’
Muriel’s rasping breath suddenly stopped. Caroline knelt beside her. Her pulse had gone. Dear, dear Muriel. There was nothing to be done.
The church bell kept tolling.
‘Peter! Peter!’
A window here and there cracked with the heat, and smoke began pouring out. Beth appeared and fell to her knees in horror when she saw Muriel. ‘Do something, Mum! Do something!’ Beth fidgeted with the remains of Muriel’s nightgown, trying to make her respectable.
‘Oh, Beth darling, it’s too late for Muriel. It’s your dad! He’s inside looking for Ralph.’
As she spoke, torrents of water came pouring over the
thatched roof, and drenched them. Water! Thank God . . .
‘It must be one of the neighbours wetting the roof to save the thatch. But where’s your dad. Where is he?’ Before Caroline could stop her, Beth shot inside the kitchen, dodging the flames as best she could. Caroline, paralysed by fear, hesitated briefly and then rushed inside to catch up with her.
‘Peter! Peter!’
The church bell kept tolling.
Through the smoke now enveloping the hall, Caroline could see Peter at the top of the stairs, struggling with something, a bulk that was fighting to escape. Coughing with the effects of the smoke, Caroline climbed up the stairs to help. It was Ralph, refusing to leave the house without Muriel.
‘Muriel! Muriel! My darling!’
‘She’s outside, Ralph. Let go of the banister. Come on, Ralph, come on.’
Caroline grabbed a leg and forced Ralph’s hand from the banister, and Peter was able to rush down the stairs, dragging Ralph with him, causing a thump-thump as he hauled him down each stair.
‘Out! Out!’ he shouted hoarsely. Between them they forced Ralph out into the back garden. His eyes were streaming from the smoke, and he couldn’t see. He coughed and coughed and coughed, and so did Peter and Caroline, fighting for breath, gasping for it, begging for it.
The church bell kept tolling.
Ralph lay on the path. For a man his age it was all too much, as indeed it was for Peter and Caroline, but they were younger and fitter, and so began recovering more quickly.
The fire raged more powerfully every minute and still the fire engine hadn’t arrived.
Then Caroline shrieked, ‘Oh, God! Where’s Beth? She went in.’
Peter forced himself off the path and, dousing himself momentarily with the hosepipe, he rushed in again.
The church bell kept tolling but here was Alex, panting with exertion. ‘Zack’s ringing the bell. Where’s Beth? Where’s Dad?’
‘Inside. Dad’s gone in to get her. No Alex! No!’
But he went, doing as his dad did and dousing himself with water before he plunged in.
Ralph, energised once more, carefully tried to rise, but the coughing got the better of him and he had to lie down again.
‘Stay there, Ralph, there’s a good chap.’ She didn’t tell him about Muriel and he hadn’t noticed as his eyes were still streaming from the smoke. He seemed grateful to be told to lie still. ‘I’ll get you a blanket and a cushion from our house. Won’t be a moment.’
And indeed she was back in a moment with two blankets, one to cover Muriel right the way over, and the other, plus a cushion, for Ralph. Then, with all three of her beloved family in the burning house, Caroline fled inside. The smoke was thicker than ever but she persevered, found her way into the hall and shouted upstairs. They were still intact as far as she could tell, so Caroline began climbing the stairs, then she heard Alex’s voice: ‘She’s here, Dad, she’s here!’
And through the smoke she could just see the outline of Alex’s tall figure carrying something and the something was Beth. Down the stairs he came with Peter right behind him and they all went out into the back garden.
Everyone coughed and coughed, and they were just recovering when the sound of a fire engine siren broke into their consciousness. It was the most wonderful sound they’d ever heard. After it came the sound of an ambulance. They heard a cheer go up and relief flooded them as they clung to each other, wet through and shocked.
The smoke was still spiralling above the roof of Ralph’s house and the thatch was smoking and blazing.
‘Ralph! Oh, God! Ralph.’ Caroline’s cry brought all four of them back to earth. Ralph was kneeling beside Muriel. He’d pulled the blanket back from her face and for the first time ever they saw Ralph weeping. Time after time he said, ‘Muriel! Muriel!’ Calling for her, because he didn’t know what else to do about losing her.
Caroline pulled the blanket up to her chin so he couldn’t see how badly burned she was.
His voice, incredibly sore with smoke inhalation, was husky and painful, but he said, ‘Say something for her, Peter. Say something. ’ Kneeling beside Muriel, Ralph put his hands together in prayer and waited.
Peter knelt the other side of Muriel and said, ‘Into thy hands O Lord we commend the spirit of Muriel, our beloved friend. Safe in the arms of Jesus for ever and ever. Loved by all. In your infinite mercy, Lord. Amen.’
Beth snapped a flower off a sweet pink dahlia and laid it reverently on the blanket covering Muriel, and then flung herself into her mother’s arms and wept.
Peter and Alex got Ralph to his feet, put the blanket around his shoulders and led him down the path, round on to their own garden path and then into the house, to find the firemen banging on their door.
‘Out, please. Out immediately.’
Peter opened the front door feeling ten years older than he had ten minutes ago.
‘Your thatch has caught alight, sir. Come on, out. Out!’
So there was to be no refuge in their own home. But outside they found almost all the village there, the firemen still striving to put out the flames, their own roof now well alight, Grandmama Charter-Plackett serving tea, aided by other neighbours, and a general air of caring and helpfulness despite the hour.
Caroline went to speak to the ambulance driver. ‘We have a fatality in the back garden. I’m Doctor Harris. I work in the Culworth West practice and I can certify her as dead.’
‘I see. Any idea how this started?’
‘None.’ In Ralph’s presence she wasn’t prepared to declare that Muriel had become senile and it could be her fault. Time enough for that. ‘This gentleman needs hospital treatment.’
‘No, no, I don’t. I have to stay with Muriel. Who will look after her? She needs me.’
‘Muriel’s going, too, Ralph.’ Very gently, Caroline steered him towards the ambulance, and he and Muriel were taken away.
‘Here’s a cup of tea, Caroline. You look as though you need it.’
It was Grandmama. This redoubtable lady had exhaustion written deep in her heavily lined face. ‘It’ll help, believe me. What’s happened to Muriel?’
Caroline shook her head. ‘It was too late for Muriel, I’m afraid. There was nothing I could do. Peter put the flames out but . . .’ All at once the two of them were holding each other, tears flowing. It appeared to be a night when old feuds counted for nothing.
Everyone rallied round. Jimbo had been in the Store and brought out packets of biscuits, which Fran was handing round to everyone. Offers of a bed for the night were made. The firemen were staying on duty in case the fire erupted again, thatched houses being notorious for staying alight when they looked to be safe.
Anxious eyes were watching the roof of the Rectory. Fortunately, whoever had sprayed water from a garden hose on to the thatch had very possibly saved it from destruction. Ralph’s house, though not a shell, was badly damaged by the flames, smoke and water, and would be uninhabitable for many weeks.
Peter dressed and went straight to the hospital to be with Ralph, leaving Caroline and the twins sleeping for what was left of the night in Grandmama’s cottage.
Beth and Alex lay on the sofas in her sitting room. They couldn’t settle and so they lay quietly talking.
‘My throat feels sore. Does yours?’ muttered Beth.
‘Mmm. A bit. You can see why smoke kills people, can’t you? You can’t see, you can’t breathe, your eyes are streaming, you don’t know where you are . . .’
‘Firemen must be so brave going in to rescue people. If we lived in Culworth they’d have been there in five minutes.’
‘Yes, but they are equipped for it, aren’t they?’
‘Yes, of course they are. Alex?’
‘Mmm.’
‘Do you think Muriel did it?’
‘Possibly. Making a cup of tea in the night and Ralph didn’t know.’
‘Exactly. She didn’t have an electric kettle. She always used the gas ring and a whistling kettle. But then . . .’
She sat up. ‘I remember the frying pan was on the ring and there was a smell of bacon.’
‘Poor Muriel. Ralph must be devastated.’
‘I know I sound uncaring, but perhaps it’s for the best.’
Alex turned over. His feet, hanging over the end of his sofa and sticking out from the end of the duvet, were icy. ‘She was much worse than people realised, but I don’t expect Ralph feels it’s for the best right now.’
The Village Newcomers (Tales from Turnham Malpas) Page 12
