Miss Peterson & The Colonel

by Fenella J Miller

  'It will take time to creep in under the bedchamber doors, Lydia.' By this time they were in the wide corridor that led to the main apartments. The guest suites were at the rear of the house, while both her rooms and David's were on either side of the main staircase. David hammered on the parlour door and Lydia shouted for attention. Hurrying footsteps greeted her call and the door was pulled open. There was no need for her to tell Martha the house was on fire. Smoke suddenly billowed up the central staircase, making them all cough.

  'Quickly, everyone, we must get out of the house. The main hall is still undamaged. We must exit through the front since the back of the house is already well ablaze.'

  Within five minutes Dorcas, Cook, Martha and the four maids were heading for safety. Lydia led the party whilst David chivvied from the rear. He had just guided the last two girls on to the hall tiles when a hideous roar, like an animal in pain, echoed around them. The girls screamed and clutched each other, refusing to budge another inch.

  The fire was approaching at a frightening speed. Lydia and Martha frantically drew back the bolts to the front door and lifted the heavy latch but it remained firmly closed. The key. They needed the key as well.

  'Dorcas! The front door key!'

  The housekeeper clutched her throat and wailed in anguish. 'I don't have it, ma'am. It's hanging on the hook in my bedroom. I never thought to bring it with me.'

  David shoved the screaming girls in front of him toward the drawing room. 'We must get out through the window in here. Hurry up! There's not a moment to lose—the flames might well be upon us at any moment. The smoke is getting thicker.'

  Lydia abandoned the front door and bundled the remaining women after her brother. She could barely see; they were all coughing and struggling to breathe. She slammed the doors behind her, praying they would act as a temporary barrier to the ferocious monster pursuing them. Dorcas took charge of the panicking girls and her sharp words were enough to calm them.

  'Help me remove the bar. I fear there's little time left,' David shouted.

  'Dorcas, you must all come over here away from the doors. The smoke is less thick on this side of the room.' As Lydia called her instructions she grasped the other end of the heavy bar that held the shutters. Together, she and David removed it and tossed it to one side. This window would push up sufficiently to allow them to scramble through.

  'Martha, take the girls through first, then you, Dorcas, and we shall follow. Run straight to the stable yard. You can shelter in the barn until something better can be arranged.'

  With a final jerk David achieved his objective. An icy gust of wind blew in, sending the curtains horizontal. The sill was high and was a considerable drop to the terrace below. He hoisted each woman up, one by one, and lowered her to the ground. As Dorcas reached safety David turned to assist Lydia.

  'I can't leave until I know Simon and the others are safe. They went to the library to fetch the book. They had to go through the worst of the flames, we must…'

  'I gave my word to him that I would keep you safe. He can look after himself. He would not want you to risk your life.'

  She drew breath to protest but he gripped her arms and all but threw her out into the night. She landed painfully on her knees, adding injury to her indignation. She was on her feet and prepared to climb back in when he slammed the window shut again. 'We can do nothing here. Your responsibility is to see that the female staff are safe and comfortable. I shall go around to the back of the building and see if I can be of any assistance.'

  It was cold outside after the heat of the fire, but at least she was fully dressed unlike the other women. David was right to chide her; she must tend to her charges and leave him to find Simon and his men. She refused to contemplate the awful possibility that the man she loved might perish in the blaze.

  *

  As Simon stepped into the conflagration, the heat seared his skin making him recoil. He waited until Jenkins and Sam were beside him and gestured that they take hold of his coat flaps; if the three of them became separated they would perish. He closed his eyes as he had done in the darkness of the servants' hall and trusted his innate ability to visualize his surroundings. Thank God they'd stopped to collect the blankets for without these all three of them would already be severely burnt.

  The fire had increased its ferocity, but believing they were safe gave him the courage to continue. A lesser man might have abandoned the search. No one would have thought the worse of him, but the lives of hundreds of military personnel might well be saved from the knowledge contained within the covers of the missing book.

  In order to reach the library he would have to go out into the vestibule and then take the first corridor on the left. His lungs were burning. If they didn't get into fresh air soon they would all suffocate. Smoke could kill as quickly as the flames in such a blaze.

  Putting his head down, he trusted to his instincts as they all ran for their lives. He erupted into the vestibule as his beloved whisked into the drawing room. What was she doing inside? There was no time to consider that now. She could escape through a window in the drawing room. He must take his chances in the library.

  He gulped a few sweet breaths of cleaner air and headed down the passage that led to the room he needed. The walls were red hot, the panelling creaking and groaning as if a living creature. How long did he have before it burst into flames?

  The library was at the far end of the house. When they reached it he could feel the soles of his boots burning. The fire was travelling beneath the floorboards, devouring the basements and storerooms. Only the thick carpet was preventing them from being consumed themselves. The smell of burning wool was enough to tell him their time was almost up.

  He groped for the door handle and on his third attempt found it. With a desperate heave he threw his shoulder at the door which had already buckled under the heat. It moved an inch. Jenkins and Sam added their weight and the panels, already brittle and smouldering, gave way.

  'Get to the French doors, open the shutters and unlock them. Whatever you do, don't open them until I tell you to. When I give you the signal get out – fast.'

  There was no need for a candle. The room was lit by a rosy glow from the fire raging at the rear of the house. David had put the book away; Simon prayed he would discover it in the same place as the original volume. He ran his hands along the leather covers. The volume he sought was slimmer and shorter than the ones it had been shelved with.

  Yes, he had it. He held it up briefly, flicking it open. He pulled aside his singed blanket and rammed the precious object into his inside pocket. 'Now, boys! Open the window now.'

  He covered the remaining few yards in one bound. The roar of the fire pursued him. He was engulfed in flames and tumbled like a fireball out into the night.

  *

  Lydia heard David shout. Forgetting her good intentions, she turned and raced toward the terrace that ran along the south side of the house. As she turned the corner she saw her brother racing towards two men who were attempting to put out the sparks on their garments. Then a wall of fire burst from the library doors and within it was a flaming shape.

  It was Simon. It could be no other.

  Chapter Twelve

  Lydia's scream ripped the night apart. For a second she couldn't move, paralyzed by fear as her worst nightmare was being enacted in front of her. Then her feet moved of their own volition and she was racing towards the burning shape.

  David was before her and physically restrained her from throwing herself at Simon to try and beat out the flames with her hands. His men had instantly smothered the colonel with two blankets and were rolling him over on the flagstones. Her heart was pounding, her stomach somersaulting within her. She struggled against her brother and eventually tore herself away. Desperately trying to control her emotions, biting her lips to hold back her sobs, she dropped to her knees beside him.

  He was lying face down. It was impossible to discern what damage he'd sustained. The smell of burning
and sodden fabric was so strong she gagged. 'Simon, Simon speak to me. Please don't die. I could not bear it if you did.'

  A muffled voice replied, 'I should not be best pleased myself. If you will kindly remove yourself I should like to sit up.'

  Too stunned to react, she remained with her knees on the edge of the blankets, preventing him from unwinding himself. Someone lifted her away and she glanced over her shoulder to see David grinning down at her.

  'He's trapped inside the covers. I believe he's come through the experience unscathed.'

  The bundle began to move and a pair of ruined boots appeared, smartly followed by the rest of him. Ignoring the outstretched hands, Simon sprang to his feet shedding burnt material in all directions.

  'It's a blooming miracle. I thought you'd kicked the bucket for sure this time, sir.' Jenkins spoke what Lydia was thinking.

  'A trifle singed around the edges, and I shall require new boots, but apart from that I'm unharmed.'

  'Simon, you should not have risked your life to save a book. No one would have thought the worse of you if it had been incinerated.'

  He shook himself rather like a large wet dog before responding. 'But, my dear, not only am I alive and well but the book is safely in my pocket.' He delved into his waistcoat and removed the volume. He smiled at her. 'See, this, too, is a trifle singed but still quite legible.'

  She wanted to fling herself into his arms and tell him how much she loved him, how brave he was, but he might not appreciate her gesture in full view of his minions. 'I'm sure that Fred or Billy might have something you can change into, Colonel Westcott.'

  Rather too late to resume the correct formalities but Jenkins and Sam would hardly care how she addressed their master and David, hopefully, had been too preoccupied to notice her public breach of etiquette.

  Then she laughed out loud, much to the surprise of her companions. Seeing her beloved home destroyed before her very eyes was hardly a cause for merriment. Her sudden concern for society's strictures at such a point was risible. Good grief, she was dressed in men's attire and had flouted practically every rule in the past twenty-four hours.

  'I beg your pardon, Colonel. I was not laughing at your predicament but the fact that I suddenly feel the necessity to address you correctly.'

  'I would much prefer it, Lydia, if you continue to use my given name. As you say, we are both so far beyond the pale it is scarcely worth the effort to conform.'

  'I hope that offer includes myself, sir. I give you leave to call me David.'

  The sound of falling masonry inside the house reminded them that they were far too close to the burning building. Shock was making them all lightheaded, and the ridiculous conversation was the way of bringing normality back.

  Simon resumed control. 'Everyone, to the stables. There's nothing we can do to save the building. We are in considerable danger where we are.' He took her hand and together they ran pell-mell for the relative safety of the yard.

  Once they were a safe distance from the conflagration, he reduced his speed. She gently removed her hand from his. Whatever his men might think of her ignoring convention, Martha would certainly take umbrage. Her abigail took her duties seriously and was quite prepared to take her mistress to task. As she had been looking after Lydia since she was in leading strings, it was only to be expected.

  'Colonel Wescott, have you considered the possibility that those dreadful men have stolen our horses? I should be very sorry if either of them were taken by those ruffians.'

  He shrugged, covering her in debris from his disintegrating jacket. 'No matter. Whatever mounts they've taken will be recovered when Major Dawkins and his troop arrive tomorrow. The villains will not be able to travel in daylight; they'll be too conspicuous. It will be dawn soon and they will have to find somewhere to hole up for the day.'

  Her first concern was to get the female staff somewhere more comfortable than the barn. They were in their night garments, having had no time to go back and change. Billy greeted her cheerfully enough considering the dire circumstances.

  'I've sent the women upstairs, Miss Peterson, into the men's quarters. It's warm and there's beds enough for all of them to find somewhere to rest.'

  'Good man. Which horses did the thieves take?' Simon asked David, who was listening to his sister.

  Simon gritted his teeth. He wasn't used to being ignored. David flapped his hand apologetically and prepared to follow Lydia. 'I asked you a question. It would be courteous to reply before you trot after your sister like a lapdog.'

  The young man stumbled over his own feet, shocked by the sharp remark. 'I beg your pardon, Colonel Westcott. They took one of Lord Grayson's carriage horses and five others. Brutus, it appears, kicked up such a fuss they abandoned the attempt to steal him.' He hesitated as if not sure whether to remain or follow Lydia.

  'Check on the broodmares. I wish to speak to your sister in private but first I must find something else to wear.' Billy shifted uncomfortably. What was the matter now? 'I believe you have some garment that might replace this jacket?'

  'I do, Colonel, but the ladies are up there now. I didn't think to…'

  Simon bit back a terse reply. 'In which case I must remain looking like a vagrant recently escaped from a bonfire.' The man's relief was a salutary reminder that, as commander of this small band, it was his responsibility to see to their welfare and not bark at them as if they were recalcitrant recruits. He would do better in future.

  'We could all do with a hot drink. Do you have the facilities to make tea or coffee down here?'

  'In the tack room, sir, we have a brazier and a kettle. I reckon we can manage to make a brew. We'll have to take turns as there ain't enough cups for all of us.'

  'I'll leave you to organize that. What about the two stable hands who remained in hiding here?'

  Jenkins and Sam appeared beside him. 'They are checking on the remaining livestock, Colonel. I reckon they will soon smell the smoke and get restless—but it's blowing away at the moment.'

  'Excellent. Collect all the buckets and get them filled. Also, see if you can discover a couple of ladders. It's best to be prepared. If the wind changes it will blow burning cinders this way and the animals will panic. They need to be moved whilst they are still calm.'

  'Here, sir. It ain't much but I reckon it'll fit.' Sam held out an ancient frock coat he'd unearthed from somewhere.

  'It will do, thank you.' Simon peeled off the remains of his own jacket, relieved to discover his waistcoat and shirt were relatively undamaged. They reeked of smoke, but then so did everyone who'd been caught in the fire. His valet held out the fresh garment and he shrugged it on. It was a trifle snug across the shoulders but a considerable improvement. The wind was bitter and he was grateful to have a warmer garment. How could he expect the men to obey him if he looked like a footpad?

  'Do you want me to assist Jenkins, sir?'

  'Do that, Sam.' He raised his voice. 'Can someone direct me to Miss Peterson?'

  'She's round the back, Colonel Westcott. Walk the length of the yard and turn right; you can't miss it. The building on the left is where the broodmares are stabled.'

  'Thank you, Fred. I have no wish to be interrupted, make sure that all the men are aware of that.'

  The groom grinned and touched his cap and a ripple of anticipation flowed around the circle of men. Good God! They remembered his actions in the kitchen and thought he was seeking out Lydia in order to propose. That was the last thing on his mind. What he had to say to her might well mean the end of his hopes, but he couldn't let the matter drop. There were things that must be made clear to this young lady if she was to become his wife.

  *

  Lydia flopped against the half-door of the barn where the young stock was stabled. They were unbothered by all the commotion a few hundred yards away and she sighed. At least her beloved horses were unharmed. But how could she run the stud without a home? Her eyes filled. Bracken Hall was her life. She'd poured all her love into building it up
to the prominence it had. Now everything was in ruins.

  Footsteps approached and she turned. In the flickering light of her lantern Simon's outline was clear. She swayed toward him but he didn't hold out his arms. He remained apart. Her despair made her more strident than she'd intended. 'Is something wrong? I expected my brother to join me.'

  Her criticism was implicit in the comment. Even in the glow of the single lantern it was apparent her remark had not pleased him. How was it possible that she loved this man to distraction but still, at this precise moment, disliked him? From the way he was glaring, he reciprocated her feelings in full measure.

  'I sent him to check on the mares. I wish to converse with you alone.'

  If he had said this two hours ago, she would have expected him to drop to one knee and make her a formal offer. From his expression, the only reason he would bend his knee would be to put her over it. She was not a child and had no intention of being treated like one. Drawing herself to her full height, her eyes blazing, she stared at him, daring him to make a move.

  'I believe you are aware that I am an officer. I command a regiment with every expectation of being obeyed. How is it that you, a young woman ten years my junior, flout my every wish?'

  'I am not under your command…'

  'More's the pity.'

  This was the outside of enough. How dare he speak to her in that offensive tone? What could have possessed her to believe that she wished to be his wife? Being tied to him would be no better than being a common soldier – her every move would be controlled. She would have no independence whatsoever.

  'You are neither my father nor my husband and have no jurisdiction over me. I have no intention of remaining here to be berated in this way. Stand aside, Colonel Westcott. I wish to join my brother. This is my home, my estate and here my word is law—not yours.'

  She attempted to step around him but he moved to block her path. From the rigidity of his body, she knew he was barely containing his fury. Perhaps it would be wise to remain where she was and endure whatever homily he was going to tip on her head. Hastily she moved back against the barn. He followed her, not stopping until he was a scant arm's length in front of her.