He turned. A bright light gushed from the second story, too bright to be a candle. Was that a fire?
Giddy bolted for the abbey door. The lump in his throat made it hard to breathe. That fire was near the guest quarters. Could Felicia…
His mind blanked, refusing to consider the question.
He raced through the manor. As he approached, more and more servants—half-dressed in their shirtsleeves and in some cases night shirts untucked over breeches—convened on the spot. Giddy’s heart pounded painfully in the base of his throat as he clambered up the stairs.
It was true. The guest wing was on fire. Smoke poured from one of the nearer rooms, thick and gray. After yanking his cravat loose and stuffing it in his pocket, Giddy hauled his shirt up to over his nose and mouth. He ducked his shoulders, squinting to see through the stinging smoke. Bodies swarmed, some clustered around the apparent source of the blaze, contained to one room, and the others forming a line down the stairs and handing off a bucket from person to person to meet the flames. As the first reached the front of the line and was thrown into the room, steam hissed. More buckets came.
“Charlie!”
Giddy stiffened as he heard his sister’s voice. He turned as his mother and sister, each with their nightgowns hauled above their ankles, dashed up the stairs to the top. To the left, away from the blaze and out of the servants’ paths, Mrs. Vale and her daughter huddled. Charlie had her hand wrapped around Chubs’s collar as he whined and strained toward the source of the fire. His eyes were wild, his ears flat against his head. Lucy helped to restrain him as she reached the pair.
Mother, her voice sharper than usual with alarm, said, “The servants woke us to alert us about the fire. Is anyone hurt?”
“No.” Charlie swallowed and shook her head, her blond curls limp against her ashen cheeks. “Felicia woke us and got us out of the room.”
“Where is she now?” Lud, did that panicked tone belong to him? He needed to calm himself.
The moment Charlie untangled one of her hands to point at the fire, he turned on his heel.
No. Nothing could have happened to her. He’d just bloody well seen her.
He dashed into the fray, keeping well away from the heat radiating from the open doorway. He tried not to get in the way of the lineup as he squinted. The smoke stung his eyes, making them water.
There. A woman in the room, coughing as she tried to beat out the flames with—was that a rug or a blanket? He lunged inside, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her out of the way of the servants. She wasn’t helping the efforts, only hampering the spread of the water from the buckets.
She stumbled through the doorway before she balked, struggling to get free. “Let me go. Don’t you see there’s a fire?”
Definitely Felicia. Her voice was hoarse, but she’d lost none of her spirit. His knees weakened at the confirmation that she was unharmed.
When she started to cough—violently, doubling over—he had to amend that statement. The smoke from the fire.
“You’ve breathed in too much smoke.” He urged her away from the door. Weak as she was and battling for air, she didn’t have the strength to fight him.
Several others in the line also coughed. If he didn’t do something, their health would be in jeopardy, too.
“There are windows in the other rooms. We can open them, dissipate some of this smoke.”
“No, don’t.” She battled to stand. “It will draw the flames and bring them beyond control. They shouldn’t even have opened the door. We have to snuff the flames before we introduce more air.”
When she tried to return to the room, he caught her around the middle and pinned her to his body. He backed up, holding her there, keeping her out of harm’s way.
She thrashed against him. For all that she could barely move without coughing, she’d lost none of her strength. He grunted as her elbow jabbed him in the side.
“Let me go. I can help.”
“No, you can’t. The servants have it well in hand.” She was going to hate him once she calmed down, but he couldn’t let her put herself in harm’s way. In fact, he had to get her into fresher air posthaste or the smoke might kill her.
When she continued to fight him, he adjusted his hold and tossed her over his shoulder. He wasn’t as strong as his brothers, but she weighed less than he expected. Didn’t she eat enough? He loped away from the fire.
Felicia continued to fight him. As they approached the others, her dog went mad, lunging and snapping as he tried to escape Charlie and Lucy’s joint hold. Giddy ducked down the stairs inside before the two young women lost control of the dog and he attacked.
He found Mr. Keeling, in charge of the household spies in Morgan’s absence, at the bottom of the stairs.
“Relieve those who have been near the fire the longest. The smoke will kill them.”
“We have a system in place. You and your family should stay clear.” Keeling passed a full bucket along the line. The thin man barely glanced at Giddy, which suited Gideon just fine.
Without another word, he dashed for the nearest exit. The air on the first floor cleared enough for him to breathe easy, but it was still stuffy. Felicia needed clean outdoor air.
She stopped fighting him as he reached the door. A clamor from behind and vicious barks alerted him that the women had lost control of the mastiff. He bolted outside and dropped Felicia to the ground, taking several healthy steps away from her.
As the door started to swing closed of its own accord, Chubs burst through. He bounded to Felicia and stood over her as she gulped for air. His hackles rose as he growled at Gideon.
Giddy tried to be as non-threatening as possible. What did one do to calm a dog? He knew running wouldn’t be a bright decision, not to mention it would leave Felicia to her own devices.
Lying flat on her back and taking deep, even breaths, Felicia laid her hand on the mastiff’s haunches. “I’m fine, Chubs.” Given her voice, she was not fine. She sounded like she was on death’s door.
The dog must have heard the raspy, pained quality of her voice because he whined as he turned to look at her. The moment Giddy relaxed his stance, the mastiff whipped his head around and bared his teeth.
Felicia fought into a sitting position. “Chubs, no. Giddy is a friend. A friend.”
Something intangible and warm unfurled in Giddy’s chest. She might only be emphasizing his relationship with her to her dog, but it was the first time she’d called him by his nickname.
Don’t be ridiculous. Your nickname has two syllables, whereas your full name has three. Her throat is sore.
She beckoned Giddy closer. “Come here. Hold my hand.”
And get it bitten off? “You have to be joking.”
“I’m not.” She leaned over, coughing, and he took an involuntary step forward. Chubs didn’t seem to like it. Although he placed himself squarely between Gideon and his owner, he didn’t growl. Her hand remained on his haunches.
“Sit. I’ll come to you.”
“That doesn’t seem wise, either.” At least while standing, it was unlikely that the mastiff could rip off his face.
Felicia glared, but it was weak and watery.
Slowly, with much coaxing on both parts, Gideon was reintroduced to Chubs as a friend. The mastiff didn’t harm him, though Giddy couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he wanted to. The moment the dog let Giddy scratch him behind the ears, Felicia leaned heavily against his chest, as if her strength was failing.
He wrapped his arms around her, as an excuse to surreptitiously check her pulse. Rapid, but strong. He didn’t like the shallow, slightly ragged quality to her breaths.
“So, what’s the diagnosis?”
She’d noticed him checking her pulse, it seemed. He rested his cheek on her head. “You’re a lunatic.”
She jabbed him in the stomach with her elbow, but didn’t otherwise deign to answer.
“We should get you to a physician. He might be able to do something for your lungs
. Unless you have a tincture on hand…?”
“I don’t.”
Perhaps it had been too much to hope that, as a chemist, she might have created medicines as well as perfumes and truth serums that didn’t work.
The door to the abbey opened, admitting a stream of people. Lucy was first, supporting Charlie next to her.
“There you are!” She glanced at Felicia and dropped to her knees. “Are you all right?”
When Felicia nodded, it prompted another coughing fit. Liar. He adjusted his arms around her so he didn’t suffocate her. Her dog tried to crawl into her lap.
“Send the physician,” Lucy hollered.
A figure turned away from the group to comply.
“I’m fine,” Felicia said weakly.
She struggled to move. Giddy rubbed her arms to calm her. Some of the tension pinching his gut faded when she relaxed against him.
“You didn’t have to call the physician on my account.”
“I didn’t,” Mother informed. “There were a lot more people exposed to that fire. You’re all going to be assessed.”
Felicia curled her fingers into Giddy’s sleeve. “We should get to the orangery.”
“Why?” Had the lack of oxygen gone to her head?
“We can make a tincture to help with the smoke—”
She dissolved into hacking coughs. Giddy helped her lean over, rubbing her back. When she spit onto the ground, dread crawled up his spine. Her saliva was not supposed to be black.
Resisting the urge to sweep her in his arms again, he urged her to stand and supported the bulk of her weight. “I thought you said you didn’t have any medicine to help.”
“I don’t, but I know how to make it. With everything I asked your brother to supply us with, we must have the ingredients on hand.”
That, he didn’t doubt for a second.
“Very well, but I’ll prepare the tincture. You can direct me.”
She rested her head somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. “I’m not an invalid.” Her words were muffled against his jacket.
“No, but you are ill. I won’t let you overexert yourself. We can do this together.”
Tilting her face up to meet his gaze, she studied him for a moment before she nodded. “Very well. Let’s do this together.”
A knot of tension he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying loosened between his shoulder blades at her verbal agreement. They were finally on the same page.
18
Felicia and Gideon were not on the same page. She glared at him, struggling to breathe properly in the humid air of the orangery. Despite sleeping the night and into the morning, her lungs still ached and her throat still scratched from the smoke of the fire. She and the Vales had been allotted rooms in the family wing while the servants aired out the smoky guest wing and prepared new rooms. Felicia didn’t want to know the state of her belongings. She’d worn the same dress today as she’d worn last night, despite the fact that it reeked of smoke. Every inhale only reminded her of the raw state of her throat. Although she and Gideon had successfully prepared a tincture last night, its effects weren’t instant. She would need to take it for the next several days, perhaps even weeks, as she healed. It tasted horrible and put her in a foul mood.
Though her mood, at the moment, was entirely Gideon’s doing. She crossed her arms. “You can’t be serious.”
His eyebrows climbed toward the lock of hair dripping onto his forehead. “I could say the same for you. Why would someone have deliberately set fire to your room?”
To stop our project. From the stubborn set of Gideon’s stubble-lined jaw, he wasn’t willing to hear the truth. His eyes were steely. He mirrored her posture.
“I didn’t leave a candle burning in my room.” She lived in a flammable wagon, for goodness sake. She’d long since gotten into the habit of never leaving an open flame where it might fall over, especially not upon leaving the room for hours.
A tic started in the hinge of his jaw. “One of the servants, then. It was an accident, Felicia. No one is deliberately trying to hurt you.”
First, their experiment might have been compromised and one or both of them seriously injured because of a switched label. Then her room was set aflame? It was not a coincidence. Someone in the Tenwick household wanted her out of commission.
Did they know that she suspected the truth? The servants were already awake, despite the late night and several being treated for smoke inhalation. She wouldn’t be able to sneak into the business wing of the house and search for the culprit.
But she couldn’t just stand here and face Gideon’s disbelief, either.
She turned away. “Very well. I won’t trouble you with it any further.”
A sigh echoed from behind her as she walked toward the exit. She was physically drained, her legs weak, a byproduct of not being able to get enough air no matter how hard she tried. She should be abed, like the other servants in the same condition. However, she refused to wait for the next attack. If Gideon wouldn’t believe her, she would search for the culprit on her own.
“Felicia, wait—”
Had he changed his mind?
When she turned, he looked resigned and maybe a bit worried. It wasn’t the expression of a man who intended to help her.
“Don’t leave. You’re ill. You need to rest.”
She infused her spine with iron will. “I can take care of myself, thank you.” She snapped her fingers to Chubs, who attached himself to her shadow. Ever since her close call with the fire yesterday, he refused to leave her side. He disobeyed her when she told him to guard the wagon. She’d locked it, and hoped that it would be safe enough while she healed. Her dog was clearly unwilling to allow anything to happen to her under his watch and, to be honest, she was grateful to have him nearby to look out for her. Despite her bravado, she was in no shape to look out for herself.
The journey through Tenwick Abbey to the guest wing was agonizingly slow. Every few minutes, Felicia needed to find a spot to sit. She waved away offers of assistance from the harried servants going about their tasks. She didn’t know who to trust. Besides, she could take care of herself. She always had before.
Eventually, she reached the chilly second floor. The air still reeked of smoke. The stench, in combination with the biting air, stung her throat as she breathed. Her head spun, woozy. She bit the inside of her cheek and hobbled to the charred door that had once led to her room.
It was a disaster. Everything was partially burned. Felicia didn’t even trust the floor. She jammed her hip against the doorframe to bar Chubs from stepping inside. The bedding and mattress had been stripped, but the wardrobe along the far side of the wall looked intact. Black streaks rippled up the doors and the claw feet nearest the fire had broken, making the contraption lean precariously against the wall. Could any of her clothes have survived the catastrophe? The blackened floorboards didn’t look likely to hold her weight.
This, Gideon thought had been caused by a mere fallen candle? Impossible. The wind whistled through the broken shards of the window. Shards of glass glistened on the floor. A candle wouldn’t have broken the window, certainly not toward the inside. Someone had thrown something in. Some of the shards on the ground looked a different color than those from the window. Could she make it across the room to investigate further?
Her knees trembled. She had to sit. Whistling weakly to Chubs, she backtracked until she entered the room next to hers. This was where Charlie had slept, if she remembered right.
The room was almost intact. The fire had started to eat through the adjoining wall, a scorching hole leading into her former room. The floor was untouched, but she still used the walls away from the damaged area to navigate the perimeter until she reached the bed. Her head swam as she lowered herself onto the edge.
When her head cleared, she found the mastiff’s wet nose in her face as he sniffed her. She offered him a weak smile and kissed him on the nose, pulling away before he could reciprocate. She buried her ha
nd in the fur between his shoulder blades.
“I’m fine, boy. Give me a second.”
She had to stand. She couldn’t stay here. The crisp, bitter air hurt worse than the humidity of the orangery. If she wanted to regain her breathing, she had to leave.
Questions swirled in her head. What had someone thrown in her room? Was she the intended target? She hadn’t been in the room—but Charlie and her mother had been in theirs. If the attacker had miscalculated, he could have gotten the wrong room.
They slept on the second floor of the house. How had someone thrown into the room with such accuracy?
He’s a spy. He’s had practice.
She had to know for certain. Gathering her strength, she stood and rounded the bed toward the window. This one was intact. The glass was foggy from smoke, but it was unbroken. She unlatched the window and opened it, leaning out into the cold, howling wind.
Was that a scorch mark on the stone wall of the abbey? Yes—and there was another. Felicia counted four such marks. The arsonist hadn’t lobbed the catalyst to the fire directly into Felicia’s window on the first try. But, given the grouping of marks, she had definitely been the target.
How could the Tenwick spies not have seen the person hurling dangerous objects at the manor?
Wait. She didn’t know for certain that no one had seen anything. After all, she hadn’t asked them.
She rested once more on the bed before she slowly made her way down to the kitchen. She managed to arrive during a lull. Everything was chopped in neat piles and arranged for cooking, but the pots and pans were not yet being used. The only people in the kitchen were a pair of scullery maids scrubbing away as they cleaned the dishes from breakfast, a young man in an apron who pulled a tray of buns from the oven, and a straight-backed, thin woman of middling age. The kitchen’s general, it seemed, was one of those laid abed by smoke inhalation.
As his stand-in, the hawkish woman, turned to Felicia, she offered a smile. “Might I beg a cup of tea and a place to sit for a moment? I fear I’ve overexerted myself.”
She wasn’t lying. Her voice was hoarse from her raw throat and her head felt thin and watery. The woman nodded toward a table set in the corner of the room with three stools around it. Felicia hobbled to the nearest stool and sat, grateful for the respite.
Tempting The Rival (Scandals and Spies Book 3) Page 18
