“Ellie, I don’t think I shall have sufficient closet space to take all those gowns. From what the duke has told me, living on a yacht is rather cramped.”
“Your grace, we shall need morning, promenade and afternoon gowns as well as evening gowns. We are going to be away for six weeks—with only the few garments you’ve selected you’ll be seen several times in the same ensemble.”
Isobel smiled at the horrified expression on her abigail’s face. “As there will only be ourselves aboard I can’t see it matters. When we go ashore it will be in different ports each time, so even then it will be no problem.”
Her maid nodded. “I had not thought of that, my lady. Shall I be able to launder items as we go along? Will there be fresh water available?”
“I should think so. I must go and oversee the packing for Lady Lucinda; Nanny must be warned not to take too much.”
Alexander’s belongings were being attended to by Duncan as his valet had remained behind this time. There was so much to think about. Although the yacht was well appointed and a considerable length the cabins would be small and storage space restricted. They would be taking Duncan, Ellie, Nanny and the wet nurse, but the remainder of the staff at Newcomb were to have two weeks holiday in order to visit family wherever they might be.
Bill and Mary were arranging for those that wished to avail themselves of this treat to leave in rotation. The others were to begin redecorating and cleaning the building from top to toe. It was rather late for a spring clean but much of the building had not been touched for many years.
Tonight was the last night before leaving for their holiday. Alexander was returning first thing in the morning and they would set out directly he arrived. The yacht was moored at Dover, in Kent, and in order to complete this journey they would have to stop overnight.
She was so excited she could not possibly sleep. Tonight was a perfect evening, the oppressive heat of the past few days replaced by a gentle cooling breeze. Her clock struck midnight. She had better get to bed or she would be too fatigued to enjoy the adventure on the morrow.
Ellie had been instructed to call her early. Alexander had advised her to wash her hair and take a bath as the facilities aboard would be basic. The shutters and windows were open; she strolled across and leant on the window-sill to hear the owls calling and the other creatures about their nocturnal business.
She was just drifting off to sleep when something woke her. The dogs were barking. This was most unusual, something must have disturbed them. The hair on the back of her neck rose. The last time they had barked had been the night before Sally’s death as if they had sensed the forthcoming tragedy. Perhaps one of the yard cats had ventured in through an open window and they were expressing their disgust at such an intrusion.
The racket continued. Was she the only one who could hear the noise? Having her windows open meant sound was carrying from downstairs in a way that it would not normally do. Othello and Ebony slept directly below her in a little used withdrawing-room. With a sigh she scrambled out of bed, quickly putting on what was necessary.
Moments later she had found the tinderbox and lit a candle. Reaching her bed-chamber door she paused, something was not right. She sniffed. What was it she could smell? She opened the door that led into the corridor and reeled back in shock. Smoke drifted along the passageway and filled the air. The house was on fire.
Alexander’s stallion sailed over another five barred gate. This would save him a precious mile or two; the bullocks in the field eyed him with disfavour but he ignored them. His horse was tiring, when he reached the lane he would slow his pace and let the poor beast recover but first he must gallop across this final meadow.
His horse lurched and suddenly he was somersaulting through the air to land on his back with a thud the breath knocked from his lungs. For a moment he was too winded to move, then slowly he pushed himself up onto his elbows. His throat closed. Poor Rufus was standing with his right foreleg raised.
He knew with a sickening certainty that his mount had broken his leg. The animal must have put his hoof into a rabbit hole. Travelling at the speed they were the result was inevitable. Dammit to hell! Why had he not slowed down? This disaster was his fault and now his horse must be put out of its misery.
Reaching into his inside pocket he removed his pistol. This was already loaded and primed; he only had to cock and fire. He walked across keeping the gun behind him, all the time talking soothingly to the dejected beast. “All right, old fellow, stand firm, the pain will soon be gone.”
He raised his gun and fired point-blank; Rufus buckled at the knees and toppled over. A shuffling behind him made him glance over his shoulder. The bullocks had come across to investigate the fallen animal. Angrily he rubbed his eyes—this was no time to be grieving for the loss of his horse. There were still fifteen miles to Newcomb and he would have to walk the rest.
He pulled out his watch and flicked it open, the hands pointed to just past seven o’clock. It would be dark by nine so he must complete his journey before then. He shoved his discharged weapon into his pocket. He would make sure it was reloaded before he reached home.
As he strode across the field towards the gate that led into a narrow lane, he cursed his impetuosity. Why had he not brought men with him? The death of his horse would then be tragic and inconvenient but not an unmitigated disaster.
Too late to repine, he must concentrate his efforts on covering the ground as quickly as possible. He could no longer cross the fields because on foot this would be foolhardy, for the remainder of his journey he would be obliged to stick to the lanes. This would take far longer than travelling as the crow flies.
There was bound to be a farm or dwelling of some sort, maybe a roadside inn, where he could hire a nag of some sort to continue the journey. As he jogged he checked his pockets; he had several flimsies in his wallet and a purse full of coins. Hopefully this would be enough.
A further hour passed before he saw a substantial manor house in the distance. Increasing his pace he headed in that direction certain he would find the assistance he needed. He could barely see his way by the time he approached the front door. He was frantically thinking of a reasonable explanation for his urgent need to return home that night. He would have to invent an emergency without actually mentioning his fear that Farnham and Bentley might be intending to murder his wife.
Isobel coughed; the smoke was not yet dense enough to prove a serious hazard. She thanked God the nursery was on this floor. If Lucinda had been in the attics there might not have been the time to reach her. The sound of crackling, of flames taking hold on the other side of the wall, filled her with terror. Her courage almost failed her. The house had thick panelled walls, with luck this would give the fire something to burn through before it could reach them.
The air was becoming hotter. Delaying even for a second night prove fatal to them all. Bursting into the room in which Lucinda slept she snatched her from the crib. With the baby in one arm, the candlestick in the other, she ran to the first chamber and shouted. “Quickly, the house is on fire. Get up at once, there’s little time.”
The sound of movement indicated Nanny was up; they must have more candles alight. The three nursery staff appeared moments later in various states of disarray but fortunately all had had the sense to put on clogs and cloaks.
“Nanny, take Lucinda downstairs. Jenny, go with her to unbolt the door and carry the candlestick. If you have time, bang the dinner gong. Anna, you must come with me to make sure everyone else is awake.”
Nanny hastened across and carefully removed the baby from her arms; Jenny and Anna picked up candlesticks and were ready to leave. Was there time to return to her room and put on something more substantial? No—every second counted. Leading the way to the corridor, she opened the door. Already the air was more polluted; she prayed there would be time for everyone to escape without harm.
“Don’t touch the walls, they are far too hot. The fire must have started in the kitchens and will be burning up the back stairwells and corridors. I’m hoping the main part of the house won’t be aflame.”
“I reckon them panels will take a while to burn through, my lady, so there’ll be plenty of time for everyone to get out.” Anna hesitated in the passageway as if not sure the best way to go to wake the female staff.
“We must use the main staircase; with luck it will still be possible to reach the bedrooms that way.” Now was not the time to remind the girl the servants’ quarters might already be cut off from the main part of the house. She had to try. She couldn’t allow her staff to perish without making an effort to save them.
