“Oh my goodness, Mr. Harris, you gave me a nasty fright!” I held Jacob tight. “Are you helping with the evacuation? We’re ready to go.”
He didn’t move.
I stepped towards him and tried to hand him my bag. “Perhaps you can carry this? I have Jacob here.”
“Do you recall that day when you saw me in the mail office?” He spoke slowly, unfazed by the disaster around us. “I got a letter from Victoria, and you asked me if it was from family.”
Sudden loud popping noises in the back lane made me jump, and Jacob cried, a series of long, hiccupping howls. I had to shout. “This is no time for idle chat. We can talk about it once we’re outside.”
“No,” he said. “We’ll talk now.”
I swallowed hard, tasting a fine film of ash in my mouth. “I’m sorry if I offended you by prying into your business, but this is not the time or place for an apology. I’m getting out of here.” I advanced towards him, ready to push past him and down the stairs, but he held up his hands.
“Stop, there’s time. The fire’s a ways away yet.”
“Time for what?” I asked, a shiver of dread running down my spine.
“I’m a man for private hire—out of San Francisco. Folks want me to right wrongs they’ve suffered, real or imagined.” He smiled that mocking smile of his. “I have a client who paid me to track you down.”
Charles. Of course. “My former brother-in-law, Charles, has retained you to get the money, is that it?” I laid Jacob down on the bed and fished my jewellery box out of the bag. I flipped open the lid. “You see? It’s empty. I spent it. It was mine to spend anyway. Tell Charles you tried.” I could see smoke rising from the wood-shingled roof of the building two doors over. “For heaven’s sake, the fire is getting very close. Can we please just leave?”
“Your brother-in-law is not my client. George Chalmers is. I’m here to send you a message. You know, Miss Charlotte, this fire’s a gift, it helps me make my point so well.”
I heard a soft thud and turned to see that Jacob had rolled off the bed and was standing unsteadily on his legs. He started a wobbly walk towards me, and to Jack.
I ran my hands along the bottom of the jewellery box until my fingers found the latch. I pressed it and felt cold, hard gunmetal drop neatly into my hand. I levelled the revolver on Jack.
“Step away from the door or I’ll shoot,” I said, my voice shaking.
Jack almost stumbled over himself backing towards the door.
I held the gun in my damp, tremulous grip and took aim at his chest, hoping he would simply flee, and the gun exploded.
Jack flinched as if punched in the stomach, and we both stood perfectly still, watching a dark red stain grow on his shirt until he collapsed in a heap on the floor.
The hair trigger, I remembered. I killed him.
Jacob’s hysterical cries made me focus. I had to get moving. I swept him up in my arms, grabbed my bag, then hurried to the door, avoiding Jack’s blank eyes. Stepping over him, I pulled on the door, but the body blocked it from opening wide enough for me to get through. I tried again, pulling with all my might, but it was not enough.
I surveyed the room. The carrier. I quickly strapped Jacob into it so he couldn’t move, then laid him on the bed. I took hold of Jack’s fine leather boots and dragged him, but his dead-weight was such that he moved only a few inches. Hitching up my skirts, I straddled his waist and took hold of his suspenders, heaving the top half of his body away from the door. The door finally swung open. I moved to grab Jacob and flee, but something grasped my ankle, sharply twisting and tripping me, and I sprawled on the ground. Jack hovered over me, blood dripping from his shirt, and he reached for my throat, squeezing. I clawed at his hands, fighting for breath, but the pain in my neck was excruciating, and I felt as though I was drowning.
Blackness hovered, circling the edges of my eyes, and I could hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears as if my eardrums might burst. I could taste blood. Through it all, I heard Jacob crying.
I had to save him. With my last bit of strength, I kicked both feet wildly in all directions until I connected with something and a new shriek filled my ears. Suddenly, air gushed into my lungs. Taking great long, jagged drags of air, I struggled to my knees and drew Jacob to me, half sliding, half dragging us both across the floor, away from Jack, who lay inert by the door.
Behind him was an even more horrifying scene. Sheets of flames shot up the stairwell. Our only avenue of escape was gone. There was a sharp snap of shattering glass from the drawing room two floors below. Thick, choking smoke was funnelling up the attic stairs.
With Jacob in my arms, I ran to the window. Thank God. Below, Mr. Roy was climbing the wooden ladder affixed to the wall. The ladder didn’t reach all the way to attic, so I leaned out the window and passed Jacob to the strong arms of his grandfather. The attic’s temperature was becoming unbearable. A quick glance over my shoulder told me that flickering tongues of flame were seeping into my room. I had mere seconds until the room would be enveloped.
I tossed my bag out below, then clambered onto the windowsill. I crouched there for a brief second, facing into the room, before I gripped the edge tightly with my fingers and dropped down. My fingertips burned on the ledge as I desperately sought the top rung of the ladder with my feet before my fingers failed me. And then I felt Mr. Roy
