CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Jack woke during the early hours. Some noise had disturbed him, the wind mebbe; it had been getting up strong and gusty when he’d gone to bed. He turned over and nuzzled closer to Susan; she’d been nicer since they’d moved to Foggit’s farm, not as prickly or short-tempered, and seemed to be happier in her own place. No longer did she refuse his loving embraces as sometimes she used to do.
It wasn’t time to get up, so what had wakened him? Then he heard a quiet tapping on the door; he lifted his head. ‘Who is it?’
Louisa pushed the door open. ‘Da,’ she whispered. ‘I’m frightened. I can smell smoke.’
He was out of bed in an instant. She was right. ‘Get into bed with your ma, I’ll go and look.’
‘I’ll go back to mine. Molly’s in with me, she might wake up and be upset. The sky’s red from my window,’ she told him. ‘I think it’s next door. Mr Deakin’s place.’
Jack rushed into Louisa’s room, though trying not to waken Molly who had stayed the night; sometimes she did, wanting to be with her sisters, other nights she stayed with her grandparents. Louisa’s window overlooked the land behind them, not the estuary; he looked out and took in a sudden breath. There were flames shooting up into the sky, not from the Deakins’ cottage but from the building beyond it, the barn, was it? He couldn’t recall if the barn was attached to the house or if it stood separate. Callers were not encouraged, and rarely did anyone venture beyond the gate.
He dashed back into their bedroom and began to put on his breeches and jumper. Susan was awake and sitting up. ‘What is it?’
‘A fire next door, at ’Deakins’. I’ll go and tek a look, mek sure they’re both all right and nobody’s hurt, and then rouse Da. No need for you to get up. It’s not going to reach here. I’ll come back if there’s any fear o’ that.’
He ran down the stairs and shrugged into his coat and pulled on rubber boots, then unlocked the door and scooted out into the night. The acrid smell of fire was stronger now, old timbers and straw, he thought, but something else as well, something sweeter. Baccy, he thought, like the one his father and other fishermen favoured; not something he had ever indulged in, though he’d tried it when he was a lad.
He ran across his own land and jumped the fence, crossed the track between the two properties and climbed the other fence too; he could see and feel the heat of the fire now and it was the barn that was well alight, but there was no movement from the cottage which was odd, he thought, as the roar of the flames fanned by the wind was thunderous; perhaps they thought it was just the storm gathering above them, but they should have been able to smell the smoke.
He hammered on the cottage door and shouted; the downstairs curtains were tightly closed. He looked up and saw that the bedroom curtains were not drawn. He hammered again and then went towards the barn.
The building was not attached to the cottage so there was no immediate danger unless the sparks spread; the barn walls were a mixture of brick, stone and boulders, like the cottage, and whatever was inside was burning ferociously, flames licking around whatever was stored in there. Then came an almighty crash that made him flinch as the roof timbers gave way and deposited roof tiles and debris in a great heap on the ground.
‘Too late to save owt in there,’ he muttered, and wondered again about the sweet aroma, and ran back again to hammer on the cottage door.
He heard someone shout his name and looked back. His father was coming through the gate. ‘Is anybody hurt?’ he called.
‘I can’t mek them hear,’ Jack called back, hammering on the door again.
‘Somebody must be in; Mrs Deakin, even if he’s not there. Is there any livestock? The mule, the goats – where are they kept?’ Aaron sniffed the air. ‘What’s that smell? It reminds me of …’ He sniffed again. ‘Rotterdam Shag. He’s got a store of baccy – or he did have!’ He gave a grim huff. ‘Come on, we must try and waken them. If they’re out, which is unlikely at this time of a morning, there’ll be a key somewhere.’
‘Rather you than me,’ Jack said grimly.
‘If the roof catches …’ Aaron began to root around near the door and found a flat stone and lifted it to expose a large iron key beneath it. ‘Here we are, so where are they if not in ’house?’
He turned the key and pushed open the door. ‘Mrs Deakin,’ he shouted. ‘Mrs Deakin. Get up. There’s a fire!’
There was no answer and he stepped into the kitchen. A low fire burned beneath the range and a tray holding a used tea cup and plate was on the table. Only one of each, he noticed.
He called again, and then opened the door to the stairs and shouted more urgently. ‘Mrs Deakin!’ But there was no answer.
He went outside again and saw Jack by the still burning barn. ‘There’s a hen house over yonder,’ Jack called to him, ‘and what looks like a pig pen. I can hear ’goats bleating in yonder shed, but can’t see ’mule. Mebbe Deakin’s gone out on ’river; he uses ’mule to pull his cart. What do you think we should do? I don’t like to leave in case ’cottage roof
