She paused in one of the doorways for at last she saw Lewis. He was working with a group of men by the coachhouse, his face glowing in the firelight, his excellent shirt torn and smoke-stained. He and the men with him stopped work for a moment, watching to see if the fire engine was tipping the scales in their favor. Most of the stables along the north side of the yard had been gutted now, and one of the coachhouses was going up like touch paper. She saw him glance toward the inn itself, where the windows glowed as if the fire was inside, although actually it was only shining on the glass.
The firemen’s chants were compelling, making those who watched join in. ‘One, two; one, two; one, two….’ Up and down they moved, first one side and then the other, their faces gleaming with perspiration, their muscles bulging with the effort. It was thirsty work. The men were called Beer-Ohs, and such parching labor earned them their name. If they saved the inn, they would be well rewarded with its finest beer, as much as they could swallow.
Jane watched them, almost mesmerized by their pumping rhythm. Then, quite suddenly, she became aware of another sound, a tiny mewing coming from the stable behind her. Tabitha! She’d forgotten Betsy’s kitten! Whirling about, she went into the shadowy stall and immediately the noise and searing heat of the new fire was all around her. She stared up at the roof, where the flames roared and licked in the darkness. Involuntarily she screamed, the shock rooting her to the spot. She was terrified, it was as if the flames had been lying in wait, ready to reach down to her the moment she stepped too near. But beyond her dread she could still hear the kitten’s pathetic mewing. It was coming from the straw in the corner. Distracted at last from the fire above, she turned, hurrying to the straw and searching wildly through it for the terrified kitten. Finally, her fingers touched trembling fur and with a glad cry she scooped the little creature up into her arms, but as she did so there was a splintering, groaning noise and a sudden scorching heat as a beam fell from the blazing roof.
Sparks showered over her, catching in her hair and skirts. She screamed again. Then someone had hold of her, lifting her bodily into his arms and carrying her out into the safety of the yard. It was Lewis – she could feel the gold of the pin in his cravat pressing against her cheek, and beyond the acrid tang of smoke she could smell the richness of costmary on his clothes. He held her tightly, and she clung to him, sobs catching in her stinging throat. Her eyes smarted with tears and she could barely hold on to the struggling, ungrateful kitten, which was soon whisked safely from her by Betsy.
As Lewis set Jane gently on her feet again, Betsy was very anxious. ‘Are you all right, my lady?’
Coughing and almost overcome by the smoke, Jane could only nod. The firemen were turning their attention to the blazing stable now, and Lewis nodded at Betsy. ‘Take her somewhere safe, Betsy. The kitchens are out of danger now.’
‘Yes, my lord.’ Betsy took Jane’s hand to lead her away.
Jane looked back at Lewis. He smiled at her, the flames reflecting in his gray eyes; then he turned away to continue helping fight the fire.
She hesitated, wanting to go after him. She could feel the strength of his arms around her again, bearing her so surely to safety. She loved him and she had to tell him so, but Betsy was drawing her away. ‘Come, my lady, there’s nothing more you can do.’
‘I must speak to him….’
‘Later, Lady Jane, there’ll be time enough. You’re in no state now. You must come to the kitchens and rest a while.’ Betsy would brook no further resistance, firmly ushering her aristocratic charge through the arch to the outer courtyard and into the kitchens. In a blur, Jane glanced at the entrance from Cheapside, a sea of faces gazed in, kept back only by the determined efforts of two constables who wouldn’t allow anyone in.
It was quiet in the kitchens and somehow the smoke hadn’t penetrated, leaving the air soothingly fresh. The moment the door closed behind them, Tabitha made a final bid for freedom, leaping from Betsy’s protective hold and dashing off into the laundry. Betsy let her go, for there was no escape that way and the kitten was safe. Leading Jane to a settle close to the range, she then hurried to fill a kettle from the hand pump above the stone sink, placing it on top of the range to make a restoring cup of tea. As the kettle began to sing, she brought a bowl of clean water, some soap, and a cloth to wipe the smoke stains from Jane’s face. Jane could only sit there, suddenly feeling drained of all strength. It was delayed reaction, she knew that because she was trembling, and she was only now beginning to realize how very close to death she had come in those few brief moments in the blazing stable. If it hadn’t been for Lewis….
Betsy put the bowl on the table and looked concernedly at her. ‘How are you feeling now?’
‘All right. I think.’ Jane managed a weak smile.
‘I think his lordship got you out just in time. Another few seconds and … well, best not think about that, eh?’
The kettle was boiling now and soon the sweet aroma of the tea filtered through the still air. The blue-and-white cups and saucers clinked and a moment later Jane was accepting the universal cure-all which without fail seemed to produce a beneficial effect upon those in need. It tasted good, better than any tea she had ever had before, and this in spite of the lingering acridity of smoke in her mouth and throat.
Betsy sat by the table, her eyes downcast for a moment. ‘None of us really thought Chapman would try this again, not even Dad.’
‘Will’s really sure it was Chapman’s man he saw?’
‘Yes. We don’t know how he got in, but he must have seen that we’ve got brakes on the new coach now. Dad reckons we’ll have to stay on our guard even if the fire’s stopped, because Chapman will know now that the Swan’s got a better chance than he thought.’
‘Surely he won’t try again, not after this.’
‘You don’t know him, my lady. He’s staked a lot of money on winning the race, and Dad doesn’t think he can afford to lose. A third coach might get in his way and allow the Iron Duke through in first place, so he’ll do all he can to stop the Swan getting to the start tomorrow.’
They didn’t speak again. Jane finished the tea and then sat wearily back. She felt weak, and the horror of coming so close to death was a chilling, unnerving experience which made her just want to sit there. She stared at the kettle on the range, and the faint curl of steam issuing from its graceful spout. Like smoke. She closed her eyes then. She was so tired.
An hour or more passed and Jane had fallen asleep. Betsy stood by the window watching through the archway to see the smoke drifting across the stableyard. The fire engine was still at work, but there were no leaping flames now, only the wink and flash of sparks among the blackened embers of the stables. The new Swan was safe, its coachhouse hadn’t caught fire, and Lord Ardenley’s fine horses had been taken to a safe place nearby, so the Swan would still be able to take part in the race tomorrow.
Jane was still asleep when the fire was finally put out and Jacob had a keg brought up from the cellar to quench the firemen’s thirst. They all laughed and talked together in the yard outside the kitchen door, but their noise didn’t disturb her slumber. Lewis’s cabriolet was brought back, the horse stamping impatiently as it shook its head in an effort to loosen the hold of the boy in charge of it, but he was more than mindful of his duty, and mindful too that his lordship was a handsome tipper.
Betsy left Jane in the kitchens and went out to help her father dispense mugs of beer. She saw Lewis go to the kitchen window and look in. He hesitated for a moment and then turned away again, climbing into his cabriolet and telling Jacob that he was on his way to Maywood now, and would be there should he be needed during the race. Then he flipped a coin into the boy’s eager hands and turned the cabriolet, driving off at a smart pace out into Cheapside, where a curious crowd still lingered in the hope of something else happening.
Will came to stand next to Betsy. ‘A penny for your thoughts then,’ he said, slipping a muscular arm about her plump waist.
‘Lord Ardenley should have gone in to speak to Lady Jane.’
‘Perhaps he didn’t want to wake her.’
‘The speaking should have been more important than the sleeping, Will.’ She sighed, looking up into his warm, dark eyes. ‘You won’t ever leave me sleeping when there are things to be said between us, will you? I couldn’t bear to think we’d ever reach that pass.’
He bent his head to kiss her on the lips. ‘Betsy,’ he said softly, ‘it could be that Lord Ardenley doesn’t have anything to say to her.’
‘He has, I’m sure of it. Just as she has things to say to him.’
‘When they speak together, they don’t speak kindly,’ he reminded her.
‘I think they still love each other.’
‘He has the Duchess of Brantingham, Betsy.’
She lowered her eyes. ‘Then why does he bother so with Lady Jane? Why doesn’t he let her go? He could so easily if he wanted to, but he doesn’t, and that’s because he still loves her as much as she loves him, but they’re both too proud and obstinate to admit the truth.’ She looked at him again. ‘I know I’m right about them, Will. You do promise me that you’ll never let it happen to us, don’t you?’
He smiled then. ‘I promise,’ he whispered, squeezing her.
She was silent for a moment, watching her father gradually emptying the keg for the firemen’s seemingly endless thirst. Then she looked through to the stableyard, where smoked drifted quietly now and where the light from a lantern illuminated the silent fire engine. ‘Do you think Chapman will try again between now and tomorrow morning, Will?’
He drew a long breath. ‘Your dad reckons so. Chapman’s not a man to sit back and take failure, and tonight he failed in what he tried to do. We’ll have to be on the look-out all tonight, Betsy. He’ll try every trick in his dirty book to keep the Swan away from the start in the morning. I’m going to sit guard over the horses where they’re hidden, and I’ll have quite a few of the lads with me, so don’t go worrying about me.’ He kissed her again. ‘We’ve a score to settle with Chapman, Betsy, and we’ll settle it tomorrow by getting into Brighton ahead of his fancy Nonpareil.’
TWENTY-NINE
It was quiet when Betsy at last roused Jane to take her up to the gallery bedroom which had been prepared earlier. It was a large chamber, the inn’s principal bedroom, and it was handsomely furnished, although everything smelled of smoke because the window had unfortunately been left slightly open during the fire. The night breeze had shifted now, however, and the fresh air breathing coolly in was gradually making the smell of smoke less pervasive and unpleasant.
Jane lay in the bed, her hair spreading in a dark tangle on the pillow as she gazed up at the unfamiliar shadows on the ceiling. Betsy had whisked away the clothes she’d been wearing on arrival to launder them as best she could and rid them of the taint of the fire. The portmanteau containing her clothes for the race had been retrieved from the stableyard and its contents carefully hung in the capacious wardrobe. They’d somehow escaped the smoke, but Betsy nevertheless placed several bunches of lavender in the wardrobe with them, just in case a night at the inn might spoil them.
Jane’s throat was sore from the smoke, and her eyes still stung. She felt tired, but sleep was once again proving elusive, as if that hour or so snatched in the kitchen had been sufficient. Lanterns had been lit in the courtyard below, and whenever anyone passed them, the slanting shadows moved grotesquely over her ceiling. It was all so peaceful now; the fire engine had gone, together with its slightly tipsy band of Beer-Ohs, and Will and his companions had taken themselves off to stand guard over the horses. The task of clearing away the mess left by the fire had begun, the men working in silence. No one felt like talking. Shovels scraped as the litter and wet, black ash was cleared up, and occasionally there was a splintering noise as an unsafe, half-burned timber was dragged down and stacked away at the side of what was left of the yard. Jacob looked on, his heart very heavy. He was wondering how he could carry on his business after such a catastrophe.
Alone of the men, Arthur was sent to his room, Jacob not countenancing any notion of his staying up; the Swan’s coachman had to be as alert and fresh as possible for the race. Still awake in her room, Jane heard the coachman come up the wooden gallery steps and walk past her door to his room opposite. His door closed and after a moment a dim light percolated her room as he lit a lamp.
She gazed at the ceiling, thinking about what had happened. How she wished she hadn’t fallen asleep earlier, for then she would have had a chance to speak to Lewis again before he left, and this time she would at last have been able to confess the truth about her feelings for him. She couldn’t pretend any more, nor could she act the very opposite of the truth – she’d gone beyond that. That look she’d exchanged with him before Betsy had pulled her away to the safety of the kitchens had seen the final crumbling away of her pride and resistance. But maybe it was too late now, for the Duke of Brantingham’s change of heart had released Alicia. Jane closed her eyes to shut out the image which seemed to hover in the room before her. But she couldn’t shut it out, she could see Alicia lying in his arms….
Time crept slowly by and she lost count of the chimes of St Mary-le-Bow. Finally, she got out of the bed and went to the window. The men were still working in the stableyard and Jacob was with them, helping with a heavy wheelbarrow filled with rubble and ash. A movement on the gallery steps caught her eye. A man she didn’t know was coming up them. As she watched, he went to Arthur’s door and knocked. There was something a little odd about him, for he kept glancing almost surreptitiously toward the stableyard as if he didn’t want to be seen. Then Arthur opened his door and the lamplight from within flooded out, leaving the man in stark silhouette. He was small and wiry, with a round-crowned hat pulled well down over his face. Whoever he was, Arthur knew and liked him, for a grin of delight broke out over the old coachman’s face and he immediately invited the caller inside. The door closed, cutting off the sharp light, and a moment later Arthur drew the curtains. After that, it was barely possible to see that there was a light on inside at all.
Jane remained by the window for a moment longer and then returned to her bed. She lay back once more, determinedly closing her eyes. She must have some more sleep….
Sleep must have overtaken her at last, for when she opened her eyes again the first pale fingers of dawn were lightening the eastern sky, and the church clock was sounding four o’clock. She flung the bedclothes back and went to the window again. There was no movement in the stableyard now; everyone had gone to his bed for a well-earned sleep. The doors at the main entrance into Cheapside had been closed and locked as a precaution against Chapman’s men returning to cause more trouble, and Jacob had left a man on guard in the courtyard. But he was now so tired that he too had fallen sleep, sitting on the bottom steps of the gallery stairs, his head lolling against the wall.
Jane looked across at Arthur’s room, thinking about the man who’d called so late the night before, but as she looked, she grew puzzled. Surely the light was still on inside. Yes, she was sure the light was on. Had Arthur been awake all night? Was the man still there? She picked up her wrap and put it on, going out onto the gallery where the dawn air was sharp and cool and touched very slightly with the lingering smell of the fire. Her bare feet made little sound as she went around the gallery to the coachman’s room. There was a tiny crack in the curtains and she could just see in. The lamp inside was still burning, although it was guttering now because the oil had run very low. Arthur was stretched out on his bed, still fully clothed, and even though she was outside, she could hear his shuddering snores. They were the snores of a man in a drunken stupor, and the reason for that stupor lay on the floor beside his bed, in the form of an empty gin bottle. Jane stared in utter dismay, then she gathered her skirts and ran toward the gallery steps, calling loudly for Jacob and Betsy.
Her cries echoed around the silent inn, and almost immediately Jacob emerged into the ya
rd below, looking very strange indeed in a voluminous night shirt, a blue-and-white cap tugged down over his wiry hair. At the foot of the steps, the guard didn’t move, and as Jane hurried down and reached out to shake him, another cry escaped her lips, for there was a stain of blood on his forehead where someone had struck him. For a moment she thought he was dead and her heart almost stopped, but then Jacob was there, examining him quickly and reassuring her that he was only unconscious.
By now the disturbance had aroused the whole inn, and several stable-hands carried the man away to the kitchens for Betsy to attend him, while another went for a doctor. Jane hurriedly explained about Arthur, and she and Jacob went quickly up to the coachman’s room. Jacob cursed beneath his breath as he tried to rouse him, but to no avail – Arthur’s snores rattled on undisturbed. Jacob picked up the empty bottle, controlling the urge to smash it furiously against the wall, and with considerable restraint placing it intact on the table instead. He looked at Jane then. ‘Reckon you can kiss farewell to the Swan’s chances in the race, Lady Jane, for he’s in no condition to get-on the box. Seems I was right all along about him, only I ‘wish I wasn’t.’
‘A man called on him last night.’
The landlord’s eyes sharpened. ‘Who was it?’
‘I don’t know. He seemed to be a friend of Arthur’s. He was small and thin, and he wore a round-crowned hat.’
‘That describes just about any groom in any stable.’ He drew a long breath. ‘Whoever he was, he put old Arthur in a jovial mood, that’s for sure. He’ll have been Chapman’s man, no matter how much of a friend to Arthur he might have been in the past.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘It stands out a mile, my lady. Chapman failed with the fire, so he turned his attention to our coachman instead. Arthur’s weakness is too well-known and too easy to play on, as you can see for yourself.’ He gestured toward the bed.
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