Joanna yanked off the blanket, and Clara leapt out of bed. Luckily, they were dressed and ready to depart, so they wouldn’t have to head out in their nightclothes. Joanna handed her her shoes, and Clara plopped down on the edge of the mattress to tug them on, but Joanna clasped her wrist and pulled her up.
“You can put them on in the yard,” Joanna said, and they ran out to the hall and down the stairs.
As they reached the bottom, the smoke was thick and heavy. Her eyes watered, and she began to cough. She couldn’t see the door. It was dark and hazy, and she was completely disoriented, but somehow, Joanna led her over to it.
It was an effort to wrestle with the security bar, to lift it off and toss it away, then they staggered out. Joanna guided her to the gate so they were a safe distance away, and when Clara turned to stare, the roof was ablaze. Flames were visible in the thatch.
“Stay here,” Joanna said.
“Where are you going?” Clara asked with alarm.
“I have to fetch our satchels or we’ll have nothing. Don’t worry. They’re right in the parlor.”
“I don’t think you ought!”
Joanna didn’t heed her though. She simply dashed away.
The fire lit up the sky, so it was easy to observe the entire spectacle. Joanna pushed inside, and after an anxious minute or two, she threw out three bags, then carried out a fourth. She dragged them away from the building so they wouldn’t burn too. Clara was so dumbfounded that she dawdled like a stone statue, too terrified to rush over and help.
Joanna joined her, and as the flames grew bigger, the temperature soared. They had to step farther into the trees to escape the heat. They huddled together, gaping as the inferno swallowed their world.
The forest was eerily quiet, as if the animals had scurried away from the danger. The only sound was glass breaking and the cracking of timber. Other than that, it was as if they’d been struck deaf.
“Where is Mutt?” Joanna asked after a bit. “You didn’t let him in the house, did you?”
“No, and I thought I heard him bark. It woke me up, but then, when I listened more closely, it was silent.”
“I’ll walk around to check on him.”
“No, Joanna! Don’t walk around!”
“I won’t go in. I have to be certain he’s not stuck under a board or trapped in a corner. Don’t move.”
Joanna flitted off and vanished in the shadows, calling to Mutt as she searched. An eternity passed before she reappeared. She was cradling a huge bundle that was almost too large for her to hold, and Clara couldn’t imagine what it might be until she neared and Clara saw it was Mutt.
“Oh, no!” she wailed. “Is he . . . is he . . . ?”
“He’s just hurt. Take off my cloak. Lay it on the ground so I can put him down.”
Clara unhooked the cloak and spread it at their feet, then Joanna gently placed him on it. He had a fierce gash opened on his neck and down the front of his leg, as if he’d been slashed with an ax or a knife.
“Someone cut him!” Clara fumed. “He’s such a good dog! Who would act that way?”
“I don’t know,” Joanna said, but she was glaring in a manner that told Clara she had her suspicions.
“Would Mr. Boswell have come early?” Clara asked.
“It was deliberately started, Clara. The window in my workroom was smashed in, and it looks as if a torch was hurled into it.”
“But we were sleeping upstairs!”
“I realize that.”
“Was it Mr. Boswell?”
“I can’t guess right now. I’m too distressed, and I have to tend to Mutt. I must focus on that and naught else.”
Joanna bent down and whispered to him in the soothing language she utilized when she was healing. He whined and licked her fingers.
His gash needed stitching, and they had medical supplies in their satchels, but it would be difficult to dig them out. Plus, it was so dark. Joanna probably wouldn’t be able to see well enough to sew the wound.
They knelt with Mutt, petting him, comforting him, and glancing occasionally at their destroyed home. A wall collapsed, the roof fell in. They couldn’t slow it down, couldn’t stop it. They could only watch through the long night and wait for dawn to arrive.
Margaret sat at a dining table in the coaching inn in Gretna Green where she, Sandy, Tim, and Tom had traveled so she could wed quickly. They’d finished breakfast, and Sandy was out in the barn, arranging a carriage for the journey back.
The boys were . . . somewhere. She wasn’t sure where, but they’d show up.
The four of them had cantered to Scotland on horseback, but they were returning at a leisurely pace. With the marriage accomplished, there was no reason to hurry.
They’d argued over whether to have Tim and Tom accompany them. They could have left them with Sandy’s in-laws, his deceased wife’s parents and the boys’ grandparents. Sandy had a cordial relationship with them, but it would have caused a delay where they’d have had to explain themselves.
They’d been afraid his in-laws would be upset to learn he was marrying again—and so abruptly too. He couldn’t bear to shock them, so he’d inform them later, when he could calmly clarify what had happened and that there was a stepmother in the picture.
As to Margaret, she felt they were carrying an enormous negative burden by having to elope, and she wouldn’t increase the load by angering Sandy’s in-laws.
So they’d brought Tim and Tom along, and she was glad they had. They’d been raised around horses, so they were excellent equestrians, and they’d galloped with Sandy and Margaret as if they’d been made for hard riding, which of course they had been.
They’d delivered a sense of fun to the escapade, so their frantic trip seemed like a family decision. Margaret wasn’t merely attaching herself to Sandy. She was joining herself to all three of them. She
