Forsaking the Prize

by Boyd, Heather

  “Skepington is alight. Those poor souls.”

  Tobias looked up. A thin column of smoke stained the clear night sky.

  Blythe gasped. “What do you mean by poor souls?”

  The innkeeper frowned. “Most are locked inside. We’ll never reach them before the flames do.”

  Tobias ran for Skepington.

  “Toby no!” Blythe screamed as he sprinted out of the inn yard and cut across the field. Ahead, Skepington was ablaze with light and sound, a beacon of hopelessness and fear. He hurtled a low stone wall and hurried through an orchard, threw himself over another fence, and stopped before the burning building. The entire right side had caught, and he knew those trapped inside were as good as dead already. Glass smashed and fell to the ground, hands stretched for help. Tobias started toward them, but then noticed that bars had been fixed to every lower window. He couldn’t get in that way.

  He cupped his hands around his mouth to scream. “Oliver.”

  No one called in answer. He looked about him and spied a man moving away from the house. The fellow staggered a few steps and then fell, his clothing steaming in the cold. Tobias rushed to him and rolled him over. His blackened visage proved he’d narrowly escaped death, but he had no eyebrows or hair left on his head. “Sir. Do you know Olivier Randall? Is he still inside?”

  The man lying on the ground giggled and scuttled away, spit drooling from his mouth. But his arm lifted toward the burning house and pointed. A window high up, the same one as in the painting at Romsey, glowed with feeble light. Could Oliver really be here?

  Time was against him. He’d have to trust luck that he could save his brother from the blaze. He drew in several deep clean gulps of air and then ran at the building. He leapt for the first window sill, balanced on the edge, and then kicked at the glass with his boots. Pieces splintered, shattering on stone as they fell, but there were bars behind the glass, and he couldn’t gain entrance that way. He looked up to the next window above him, stretched for handholds to reach it, and hauled himself up the face of the house. This window, too, was barred on the inside. He could also see the glow from the quickly spreading fire.

  He glanced at the higher windows. One had drapes hanging through the narrow gap. He looked for handholds and saw few in the space between. His muscles burned as he stretched.

  “Tobias!”

  Blythe. He couldn’t look over his shoulder to reassure her he was well enough and he hoped she kept her distance. He passed a darkened window, found it barred too and continued up to the one he hoped was open.

  Success. He lifted the pane, shifted the drapes aside to get a clear view and stuck his head and shoulders through. An old man with cropped greyed hair sat with his back to the window, pouring over a book by the weakest of light.

  “I say, my good man, the house is afire. Why have you not fled?”

  The man stiffened. “I cannot go outside, as I’m already dead. I must inhabit this place.”

  A madman? Still, he couldn’t leave him here to burn. Tobias hauled himself over the sill until he stood inside the room. He flexed his shoulders. He couldn’t assist this man out via the window—they’d both tumble to their deaths. However, there might be a way out through the house that could leave them largely unscathed if there was another staircase at this end of the building. “There is no time to wait. The fire will be here in minutes.”

  The figure turned another page with a sigh. “Then that is my fate. I can do nothing to save myself without terrible consequences for others.”

  “Like hell you can’t.” Tobias crossed to the door. He tested the handle, found it locked, and then backed up a few steps. It didn’t look too stout. He rushed the door and slammed into it. It didn’t budge. He backed up again.

  “Ah, excuse me, but if you should like to leave through the door then I would imagine you would have more luck by using the key.”

  Tobias spun about, surprised to see the old man held a key between his skeletal fingers. Tobias moved closer, bringing the man’s face into view. His features were gaunt, as if he’d been marooned for months with the poorest of nourishment to sustain him. Tobias had seen a slave in this condition once. He hadn’t lived for long after. He’d been too weakened to recover his strength. But whoever this man was, he didn’t deserve to die in a fire. He took the key. “Come with me. I’ll set you free.”

  “Freedom is denied me.”

  “Look, I’ll not let you roast in this hell. What is your name?”

  “I am Seventeen.”

  “Seventeen. Great. Well, get off your arse, Seventeen, and lets go. I’ve a good woman waiting, an angel, and I’d like to keep my eyebrows.”

  “An angel, you say? Wonders will never cease.” Seventeen’s eyebrow rose as he removed a strip of ribbon from the book, placed it in his pocket, patted it, and then stood. To say Seventeen was unsteady on his feet was an understatement. A light breeze could have blown him over. Tobias caught him about his waist, grateful that they were of similar height. They shuffled to the doorway and he unlocked the door.

  Smoke flowed over them and the man at his side coughed violently. The main stairs were lost in the swirling cloud. “Is there another way down through the servant’s stairs? Anything other than the main staircase?”

  Seventeen pointed. “I believe there is one in that direction.”

  They shuffled along, but found a dead end. Tobias looked about him frantically. There was no other way out. His companion had been mistaken.

  “Old houses hold many secrets,” Seventeen whispered as he crumbled against the wall paneling.

  He kept falling as the paneling gave way to reveal a darkened staircase. One free of smoke. At last, some good luck. He could get Seventeen out and continue to search for Oliver.

  However, rather than get up, Seventeen remained where he’d fallen.

  Tobias hauled him to his feet, noticing with a sickening feeling that Seventeen offered no resistance whatsoever. He’d have to be carried. After some careful juggling, Tobias managed to place him over his shoulder, as he would a sack of grain, and blindly made his way down the stairs.

  “Now I know why the complaints were so loud when I was younger,” Seventeen grumbled. “This isn’t pleasant at all.”

  Tobias didn’t respond. The poor fellow had rocks for brains. When he reached the bottom, he groped around for a doorway. He found the latch just as he was beginning to despair. Smoke rolled over him as he pushed the door wide and he stumbled out, his eyes watering madly.

  “Toby!” Blythe’s voice reached him and he hurried toward the sound.

  Hands caught him and urged him further away from the burning building. He lowered Seventeen from his back and others took him, carrying him between them until they reached the trees closest to the village. Blythe clutched at his arm.

  “There is still a chance,” he croaked.

  Behind him, Skepington groaned and the crackle of flames sent a chill through him. He had to go back for Oliver. He took one step toward the house, but was stopped by Blythe wrapping herself around him. “You can’t go back inside.”

  “No. I’ll find him.”

  She set her hands to his chest and held him back with her whole slight weight. “It’s too late.”

  Tobias stared at the house. Tongues of flame licked the window frame of Seventeen’s chamber. A remnant of drape, caught by the stirring breeze, floated into the night as flame consumed it. A growl left his throat. Blythe was correct. He couldn’t make it inside and back again without burning himself in the process. He drew Blythe against him and held her tightly, staring as the house collapsed in on itself and the poor souls contained inside. He’d failed.

  He closed his eyes tightly and prayed that Oliver did not suffer, that the smoke had taken him before the flames had touched his skin. Burning was a terrible way to perish. No one deserved that. He eased his grip on Blythe as Seventeen’s hacking cough reached his ears.

  “He’s coming round, Mr. Randall. Thank the lord for t
hat,” Mr. Drake murmured.

  Tobias examined the man he had rescued. Save for his ridiculous name, Seventeen, and the ribbon he’d pocketed, he had no clue about the fellow. He’d had the key to his own chamber so he must not have been an inmate.

  Mrs. Drake bustled over, her hands holding a bucket of water and a mug. Tobias took the mug and hunkered down beside Seventeen. “Here, drink this.”

  Seventeen sipped feebly, appearing too weak to swallow. Tobias encouraged him to drink more when he tried to stop. When he refused, Tobias filled the mug and drank deeply. Another section of the house collapsed and they all stared as the sun lifted over the horizon, bathing them in bright light. Tobias covered his face with both hands. Poor bloody Oliver. The day of his death would be fair.

  Twenty Six

  Blythe reluctantly left Tobias alone, sensing he’d rather have privacy for his grief. She knelt beside the man he had rescued and dabbed her handkerchief in the bucket of water. “Are you hurt, sir?”

  The man opened his eyes and then squeezed them shut again. “I’m outside.”

  She forced a smile to her lips, but her heart broke at the terror in his voice. “Well, we’ll get you into a bed soon enough. Mr. Drake, will you take him to your inn? He should rest after his ordeal.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Drake exchanged an anxious glance. “We’ve got no more rooms to put him in, Mrs. Randall. We’re full up and there’s no doctor to attend him.”

  “I’m sure we’ll muddle through without a doctor. He doesn’t seem injured.” Blythe smiled. “Please have him taken to our bedchamber at the inn. I’m sure my husband won’t object after the trouble he went through to save him.”

  Blythe glanced at Tobias, but he was still upset and had withdrawn from everyone. She stood as Mr. Drake and another man hefted the poor fellow between them and carried him toward the inn. “Tobias, we should go.”

  His arm slid slowly down to reveal his face was coated with tears. She put her arm about his shoulders and touched his face gently. “You did everything you could. No one else even bothered to approach the house.” She looked over her shoulder and shuddered. Those poor people. Poor Oliver, if he’d truly been there. They might never know for certain now. She would pray that Oliver rested safely elsewhere.

  Tobias sat up slowly.

  His expression bleak, a single tear slid down his cheek and she wiped it away for him. “Let’s go back to the inn and see to it that your efforts were not in vain. I must see that the man you saved is taken good care of. Did he by any chance tell you his name?”

  Tobias pressed his head to her shoulder. “He said his name was Seventeen, and he’s not made much sense beyond that.”

  “Well, when he is recovered sufficiently, we will see him safely on his way to his family. If he has no one, we will decide what to do with him together. Lord Merrow will help, I’m sure.” Blythe climbed to her feet and held out her hand.

  After a long moment, Tobias stood, curled his arm about her shoulders and allowed her to lead him back to the village. As they entered the inn yard arm in arm, the grooms cheered Tobias’ feat, commenting on his bravery and daring. Some had seen his efforts to gain entry to the burning building and wondered where he’d learned the trick.

  Tobias merely smiled and refused to comment.

  Mrs. Drake bustled past, a steaming bowl of soup in her hands. “Thought a bit of food might perk him up. He’s ever so pale and listless.”

  “A very good idea, Mrs. Drake.”

  Blythe tugged Tobias with her, anxious about his silence. She’d be keeping an eye on him. It wasn’t his fault. They’d come as soon as they’d learned of Skepington.

  Their bedchamber was awash with light, the fire blazing again, but that hussy of a housemaid who’d flirted with Tobias yesterday lingered in the room. Blythe shooed her out. She had no patience for time wasters.

  Tobias trudged to the washbasin and threw water over his face. When he was done, he moved to the small settee and collapsed upon it. He closed his eyes and leaned back, clearly unwilling to become further involved with the object of his rescue. She’d let him grieve alone for a little while and take care of Seventeen herself.

  Blythe wet a cloth and approached the bed. Seventeen’s eyes were closed, his breathing raspy. She lifted his hand and attempted to wipe the ash from his skin.

  When she looked at his face again, he stared, a frown marring his brow. “Who are you? An angel?”

  “My name is Blythe. My husband rescued you. Don’t you remember?”

  He nodded slowly, gaze flickering to where Tobias reclined and back again. “Am I in heaven? By my calculations, there is no other explanation for my being here.”

  Blythe smiled for the poor fellow’s sake. He indeed appeared to be deranged. “You are in Whitsbury. You said your name was Seventeen, but I am sure you go by another?”

  His gaze grew shuttered. “I’m tired.”

  She patted his hand. “I’m sure you must be. Rest now, we’ll talk more when you awaken.”

  Seventeen closed his eyes and Blythe moved away before she burst into tears.

  “Thank you for your assistance, Mrs. Drake. I’ll call when he wakes or if I should require any further assistance this morning. I feel certain rest is the best thing for all of us right now.”

  The innkeeper’s wife frowned. “Are you sure you’re all right with him? He is one of them mad fellows, you know.”

  Blythe glanced at the bed. Seventeen, in his current state of health, was too weak to get into any mischief. “I’m sure I’m in no danger.”

  Mrs. Drake didn’t appear entirely convinced. “All right then, but I’ll be back to check on you and your husband. Can’t have the hero of Skepington and his lady murdered by the madman he saved.”

  Blythe smiled as Mrs. Drake let herself out, thinking how Tobias had dismissed the honor of being called a hero. She snuggled up against him on the settee, falling into his arms as if she belonged with him. Tonight he’d been extraordinary. She would always think of him as a hero.

  ~ * ~

  Some time later, Blythe opened her eyes and screamed. Seventeen’s face was inches from hers. She scrambled backwards, falling off the settee in the process. On his feet, Seventeen was much taller than she’d imagined he’d be. She glanced around desperately, but Tobias wasn’t in the room.

  Footsteps pounded up the hall outside and the door crashed open. “Blythe,” Tobias called.

  “I’m here.”

  He pulled her to her feet and helped straighten her skirts. “What happened?”

  She glanced around. Seventeen had disappeared. “He scared me. I woke and he was staring at me, inches away from my face.”

  Tobias circled the bed and stopped with his hands on his hips. “If you come close to her again I swear you’ll wish you had not.”

  Blythe hurried to see where Seventeen had hidden. He huddled against the wall, hands curved over his head. “I thought I was dreaming,” he said over and over.

  “Stop, Tobias. You’ve frightened him.”

  More footsteps pounded up the hall and Mrs. Drake rushed in. “What’s going on here. I was with a customer below when I heard the most piercing scream I’ve ever heard.”

  Blythe blushed. “Sorry. That was me. Everything is fine now. You can go.”

  Mrs. Drake appeared skeptical, but ducked out the door again.

  “A singularly rare talent,” Seventeen muttered. “One octave higher and she’d break glass.”

  “You, be quiet,” Tobias said to the man on the floor and drew Blythe into his arms. “At least I’ll know when you need me. That was quite unexpectedly loud.”

  “Ooh, now you shouldn’t be up here until invited proper like, sir,” Mrs. Drake protested as the door handle to the room rattled.

  “Mrs. Drake, I should like to see the fellow that was recovered,” a deep voice demanded. “What did you say his name was?”

  Blythe stepped out of Tobias’ arms quickly as she recognized the voice. The door opene
d. “Lord Merrow, so good of you to come?”

  Merrow raised an eyebrow and glanced behind her. “Lady Venables? What in heavens name are you doing here?”

  Panic gripped her to be found by a member of the ton. She hoped she could talk her way out of this without bringing her good name and character into question. “It was a last minute decision, my lord. May I present Mr. Tobias Randall?”

  The two men nodded to each other warily. Merrow frowned. “One of the Romsey Randall’s? Yes, I remember seeing you at Lady Dunwoody’s soiree, but we were not introduced.”

  Blythe drew herself up tall as Lord Merrow looked about the chamber. “That is unfortunate, my lord. But Mr. Randall and I were, in fact, coming to see you this morning about Skepington Hall. However, I fear our timing was imperfect.”

  “Yes, I’ve seen the damage and I cannot say I am unhappy about it. A yoke about my neck it was.”

  Tobias took a step forward, fist clenched. Blythe flung out her arm and prevented him from throttling Lord Merrow for his lack of compassion in the face of such a tragedy. “We were coming to enquire about a man of our acquaintance that we feared was interred there.”

  Merrow blanched. “Forgive me. Cursed bad timing. I’ve been informed few made it out alive.”

  “Bars on the windows. I cannot imagine why no one escaped,” Tobias muttered darkly.

  Merrow ignored the comment. “One died just a few minutes ago. I’m here to see what’s to be done for the last. Where is he?”

  She glanced down and blinked as she discovered Seventeen had covered his head again. Lord Merrow came closer and a grimace crossed his features. “Oh, him. He’s uninjured it seems?”

  “Yes, thankfully,” Blythe replied. “What will you do with him, my lord?”

  “God knows where I’ll put him, but something should be done. Can’t very well neglect to provide his board and lodgings since they’ve been fully paid for in advance.”

  Blythe did not like the sound of that indifferent fate for Seventeen. “What do you mean, fully paid for?”