Instead she occupied her mind with thoughts of hot things; a cup of tea, a woolen shawl, a steaming bath, a flannel-wrapped brick from the hearth. Gradually warmth accumulated around her, and she relaxed enough to sleep. But it was a troubled rest. She had the impression of arguing with people in her dreams, back-and-forth conversations that made no sense. Shifting, rolling to her stomach, her side, her back, she tried to ignore the bothersome dreams.
Now there were voices... Poppy's voice, actually... and no matter how she tried to ignore it, the sound persisted.
"Amelia. Amelia!"
She heaved herself up on her elbows, blind and confused from the sudden awakening. Poppy was by her bed.
"What is it?" Amelia mumbled, scraping back a tangled curtain of hair from her face.
At first Poppy's face was disembodied in the darkness, but as Amelia's eyes adjusted, the rest of her became dimly visible.
"I smell smoke," Poppy said.
Such words were never used lightly, nor could they ever be dismissed without investigation. Fire was an ever-present concern no matter where one lived. It could start in any number of ways, from overturned candles, lamps, sparks that leaped from the hearth or embers from coal-burning ovens. And fire in a house this old would be nothing less than disaster.
Struggling from the bed, Amelia hunted for the slipper box near the end of the bed. She stubbed her toe, and hopped and cursed.
"Here, I'll fetch them." Poppy lifted the tin lid of the slipper box and took the shoes out, while Amelia found a shawl.
They linked arms and made their way through the dark room with the caution of elderly cats.
Reaching the top of the stairs, Amelia sniffed hard but could detect nothing other than the familiar accumulation of cleaning soap, wax, dust, and lamp oil. "I don't smell any smoke."
"Your nose isn't awake. Try again."
This time there was a definite taint of something burning. Alarm speared through her. She thought of Leo, alone with the lantern, the flame and oil... and she knew instantly what had happened.
"Merripen!" The whip-crack force of her voice caused Poppy to jump. Amelia gripped her sister's arm to steady her. "Get Merripen. Wake everyone up. Make as much noise as you can."
Poppy obeyed at once, scampering toward her siblings' bedrooms while Amelia made her way downstairs. A sullen glow came from the direction of the parlor, an ominous flickering light bleeding beneath the door.
"Leo!" She flung the door open and recoiled at a furnace blast that struck her entire body. One wall was covered in flame, rippling and curling upward in hot tentacles. Through a bitter haze of smoke, her brother's bulky form was visible on the floor. She ran to him, grasped the folds of his shirt, and tugged so hard that the cloth began to give and the seams crackled. "Leo, get up, get up now!" But Leo was insensible.
Shrieking at him to wake up and gather his wits, Amelia tugged and dragged without success. Frustrated tears sprang to her smoke-stung eyes. But then Merripen was there, pushing her aside none too gently. Bending, he picked Leo up and hoisted him over a broad shoulder with a grunt. "Follow me," he said brusquely to Amelia. "The girls are already outside."
"I'll come out in just a moment. I have to run upstairs and fetch some things?
He gave her a dangerous glance. "No."
"But we have no clothes—it's all going to go up?
"Out!"
Since Merripen had never raised his voice to her in all the years they had known each other, Amelia was startled into obeying. Her eyes continued to smart and water from the smoke even after they had gone through the front door and out to the waiting darkness of the graveled drive. Win and Poppy were there, both huddled around Leo and trying to coax him into waking and sitting up. Like Amelia, the girls were dressed only in nightgowns, shawls, and slippers.
"Where's Beatrix?" Amelia asked. At the same moment, the estate bell began to peal, its high, clear tone traveling in every direction.
"I told her to ring it," Win said. The sound would bring neighbors and villagers to help, although by the time people reached them, Ramsay House would probably be consumed in flames.
Merripen went to lead the horse from the stable, in case that went up, too.
"What's happening?" Amelia heard Leo ask hoarsely. Before anyone could reply, he was seized by a spasm of coughing. Win and Poppy remained beside their brother, murmuring gently to him. Amelia, however, stood a few yards apart from them, knotting her shawl more tightly around her shoulders.
She was filled with bitterness and fury and fear. There was no doubt in her mind Leo had started the fire, that he had cost them the house and had nearly succeeded in killing them all. It would be a long time before she could trust herself to speak to him, this sibling she had once loved so clearly and who now seemed to have transformed into someone else entirely.
At this point there was little left of Leo to love. At best he was an object to be pitied, at worst a danger to himself and his family. They would all be better off without him, Amelia thought. Except that if he died, the title would pass to some distant relative or expire, and they would be left with no income whatsoever.
Watching Merripen, illuminated in the cloud-blunted moonlight as he worked to pull first the horse and then the barouche from the stables, Amelia felt a surge of gratitude. What would they ever have done without him? When her father had taken in the homeless boy so long ago, it had always been regarded by the residents of Primrose Place as an act of charity. But the Hathaways had been infinitely repaid by Merripen's quiet, steady presence in their lives. She had never been certain why he had elected to stay with the Hathaways—it seemed all to their advantage rather than his.
People had already begun to arrive on horseback, some from the village, some from the direction of Stony Cross Manor. The villagers had brought a handpump cart pulled by a sturdy draft horse. The wheeled cart was sided by troughs, which would be laboriously filled with river water, people carrying buckets back and forth. Cranking a wooden lever would push the water through a leather hose and expel it through a metal nozzle. By the time the process was under way, the fire would be raging out of control. However, it was possible the handpump would help to save at least a portion of the house.
Amelia ran to the approaching villagers to describe the shortest route to the nearby river. Immediately a group of men, accompanied by Merripen, set off at a run toward the water, buckets swinging from the yokes on their shoulders.
As she turned to go back to her sisters, Amelia bumped into a tall form behind her. Gasping, she felt a familiar pair of hands close over her shoulders.
"Christopher." Relief flooded her at his presence, despite the fact that he could do nothing to save her home. She twisted to look up at him, his handsome features bathed in erratic light.
He pulled her close as if he couldn't help himself, pressing her head to his shoulder. "Thank God you're not hurt. How did the fire start?"
"I don't know." Amelia went still against him, thinking dazedly that she had never expected to be held by him again. She remembered this, the way she fit against him, the security of his embrace. But remembering that he had betrayed her, she wriggled free and pushed her hair from her eyes.
Christopher released her reluctantly. "Stay away from the house. I'm going to help with the handpump."
Another voice came from the darkness. "You'll be of more use over there."
Amelia and Christopher both turned with a start, for the voice seemed to have come from nowhere. With his dark clothes and black hair, Cam Rohan seemed to emerge like a shadow from the night.
"Bloody hell," Christopher muttered. "One can barely see you, dark as you are."
Although Rohan could have taken umbrage at the remark, he did not respond. His gaze ran over Amelia in swift assessment. "Have you been hurt?"
"No, but the house? Her throat clenched on a sob.
Cam shrugged off his coat and settled it around her, pulling the edges together at the front. The wool was permeated with warmth and a comforting masculine scent. "We'll see what we can do." He gestured for Christopher Frost to come with him. "Two canisters are being unloaded near the stairs. You can help me carry them inside."
Amelia's eyes turned round at the sight of the two large metallic vessels. "What are they?"
"An invention of Captain Swansea's. They're filled with pearl ash solution. We're going to use it to keep the fire from spreading until they've primed the water pump." Rohan slid a glance toward Christopher Frost. "Since Swansea is too old to carry the containers, I'll take one and you'll take the other."
Amelia knew Christopher well enough to sense his dislike of taking orders, especially from a man he considered his inferior. But he surprised her by acceding without protest, and followed Cam Rohan to the burning house.
Chapter Fourteen
Amelia watched as Cam Rohan and Christopher Frost lifted the ungainly copper containers, which had been fitted with leather hosing, and hauled them past the front door. Captain Swansea remained on the steps, shouting instructions after them.
The windows were shot with lurid flashes as fire began to digest the interior of the house. Soon, Amelia thought bleakly, nothing would be left but a blackened skeleton.
Making her way back to her sisters, Amelia stood beside Win, who was cradling Leo's head in her lap. "How is he?"
"He's ill from the smoke." Win ran a gentle hand over her brother's disheveled head. "But I think he'll be all right."
Glancing down at Leo, Amelia muttered, "The next time you try to kill yourself, I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't take the rest of us with you."
He gave no indication of having heard, but Win, Beatrix, and Poppy glanced at her in surprise.
"Not now, dear," Win said in gentle reproof.
Amelia stifled the hot words that rose to her lips and stared stonily at the house.
More people were arriving, some forming a line to pass water buckets back and forth from the river to the hand-pump. There was no sign of activity from within the building. She wondered what Rohan and Frost were doing.
Win seemed to read her mind. "It seems Captain Swansea finally has an opportunity to test his invention," she said.
"What invention?" Amelia asked. "And how do you know about it?"
"I sat next to him at supper, at Stony Cross Manor," Win replied. "He told me that during his experiments with rocketry design, he had the idea for a device that would extinguish fires by spraying them with pearl ash solution. When the copper canister is upended, a vial of acid mixes with the solution, and it creates enough pressure to force the liquid from the canister."
"Would that work?" Amelia asked doubtfully.
"I certainly hope so."
They both flinched at the sound of breaking windows. The handpump crew was making an opening large enough to direct a stream of water inside the burning room.
Becoming more worried by the moment, Amelia watched intently for any sign of Rohan or Frost. She was highly skeptical about the notion of running into a burning house with an untested device that could explode in one's face. Confronted by the chemicals, the smoke, and the heat, the men might be disoriented or overwhelmed. The idea of some harm befalling either of them was unbearable. Her muscles knotted with anxiety until streaks of pain fired through every limb.
Just as she began to consider the idea of venturing to the front threshold, Rohan and Frost emerged from the house with the emptied canisters and were immediately approached by Captain Swansea.
Amelia hurried forward with a cry of gladness, fully intending to stop once she reached them. Which was why it was a surprise when her legs insisted on carrying her forward.
Rohan dropped the canister and caught her tightly. "Easy, hummingbird."
She had lost his coat and her shawl somewhere amid the impetuous dash. The cold night air pierced the thin layer of her gown, causing her to shiver hard. He gripped her more closely, easing her into the pungent fragrance of smoke and sweat. His heartbeat was steady beneath her ear, his hand tracing warm circles on her back.
"The extinguishers were even more effective than I'd anticipated," she heard Captain Swansea say to Christopher Frost. "Two or three more canisters, and I do believe we could have put it down by ourselves."
Collecting herself, Amelia looked out from the circle of Rohan's arms. Frost stared at her with patent disapproval and something that might have been jealousy. She knew she was making a spectacle of herself with Cam Rohan. Again. But she couldn't make herself leave the comforting shelter of his arms just yet.
Captain Swansea was smiling, pleased with the results of his efforts. "The fire's under control now," he told Amelia. "I should think they'll have it out quite soon."
"Captain, I'll never be able to thank you enough," she managed to say.
"I've been waiting for an opportunity like this," he declared. "Though of course I wouldn't have wished for your home to serve as the testing site." He turned to view the progress with the handpump, which was now operating at full capacity. "I'm afraid," he said ruefully, "the water damage will be just as bad as that from the smoke."
"Perhaps some of the upstairs rooms are still habitable," Amelia said. "In a few minutes I should like to go up and see?
"No," Rohan interrupted calmly. "You and the rest of the Hathaways are going to Stony Cross Manor. They have more than enough guest rooms to accommodate you."
Before Amelia could say a word, Christopher Frost answered for her. "I'm staying with the Shelsher family at the village tavern. Miss Hathaway and her siblings will go there with me."
Amelia felt the change in Rohan's hold. His hand came to her arm, and his thumb found the inside curve of her elbow, where her pulse thrummed hard beneath fragile skin. He touched her with the possessive intimacy of a lover.
"Westcliff's residence is closer," Rohan said. "Miss Hathaway and her sisters are standing outside in the cold, dressed in little more than their nightgowns. Their brother needs to be seen by a doctor, and if I'm not mistaken, Merripen does, too. They're going to the manor."
Amelia frowned as his words sank in. "Why does Merripen need a doctor? Where is he?"
Rohan turned her in his arms to face the opposite direction. "Over there, beside your sisters."
She gasped at the sight of Merripen huddled on the ground. Win was with him, attempting to pull the thin fabric of his shirt away from his back. "Oh, no." Amelia pulled away from Rohan and sped toward her family. She heard Christopher Frost calling out her name, but she ignored the sound.