“Mr. Soames has gone with his lordship up to the roof to fight the fire,” the cook shouted as she ran past. “I don’t know how they are going to put it out. And Mr. Soames is no longer a young man.”
“My ceiling fell in,” the maid gasped between sobs. “I could have been crushed. I could have been burned alive.”
“Oh, stop snivelling and get on down the stairs, Ruby,” Mrs. Mortlock said, giving her a little shove. “It was only a little bit of plaster came down.”
Ben went on past them. Now he could smell smoke and hear the crackle of flames. He grabbed at the banister to haul himself up; his leg was tiring and no longer wanted to obey him. Smoke curled out to meet him, and he was relieved to hear a voice saying, “Come along, Nanny. You’ll be all right.”
Livvy came toward him, her son in her arms—not crying but clinging to her, eyes wide open in terror. Behind them followed the nursemaid, dressed in a flannel dressing gown, her hand pressed to a large breast to control her panicked gasps.
“Ben!” Livvy looked relieved to see him. “Isn’t it awful?”
He nodded. “Is everybody out from up here?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I saw some of the servants going down, but I don’t know where Daddy went. Up to the roof to help with the firefighting, I think. I hope he doesn’t do anything silly.”
“Where’s Pamma?” Ben asked, his heart suddenly racing. “Wasn’t she with you?”
Livvy looked around. “She must have gone to make sure all the servants are out. I hope she’s not trying to find Daddy on the roof. I told her not to, but she never listens to me.”
“Oh, your ladyship, please don’t dally. Let’s get the baby to safety,” the nursemaid gasped, tugging at her sleeve. “The whole place is about to go up.”
“You go on down. I’ll find Pamma,” Ben said, urging her forward.
“Do be careful, Ben,” Livvy called after him.
He hauled himself up the last steps to the corridor. The smoke was thicker now, and the crackling sound overhead had become a roar.
“Pamma?” he yelled, his voice coming out as a harsh croak. There was no answer. No sign of her. He could feel his heart thudding in his chest. He checked room after room—some doors opened, some closed—but found nobody. At last he reached the end of the hall, and through the smoke he could make out a stone spiral staircase that went up into darkness. “The turret room,” he muttered. He pulled out his handkerchief and held it over his nose, not knowing how it might make a difference, then forced himself up the narrow stone steps, feeling his way along the wall. The stone felt warm to the touch. At the top of the steps, he could just make out a doorway, and a door that stood open, leading into a glow, like an entrance to hell.
He took a breath, then plunged into the smoke-filled room. Part of the ceiling had come down, and the room was lit with a red glow from above. He looked around briefly, taking in the large number of books, on shelves and stacked on a table by the window. There were also papers on that table as if someone had been working, and, to Ben’s surprise, a telescope. At first he thought it was unoccupied. The bed was empty, the sheet turned back.
“Hello!” he shouted. “Anyone in here?”
When a figure rose up suddenly from behind the bed at the sound of his voice, he took an involuntary step back and almost fell down the steps. Then he identified her through the smoke.
“Pamma!” he croaked.
“Oh, Ben,” Pamma said. “I’m so glad you’re here. It’s Miss Gumble. I can’t move her.”
Ben picked his way over debris and around the bed to where a woman lay half under the bed, with part of the ceiling lying across her.
“Is she dead?” he asked.
“I don’t think so,” Pamma replied. “But I’m not strong enough to lift her.”
Ben grabbed the lump of plaster and threw it aside, then they drew her out from under the bed together. “Grab her feet,” Ben said. “I’ll take her shoulders.”
Before they could lift Gumbie, there was a cracking sound above, and Ben was conscious of something falling. “Pamma,” he shouted and flung himself at her. Together they crashed to the floor as the smouldering beam fell across the bed.
“Are you all right?” he stammered, realising that he was lying on top of her. Her face was inches from his.
“I . . . I think so,” she replied.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to . . .”
“You saved me. That was quick thinking.” She sounded equally breathless.
He got to his knees, stood up, then helped her to her feet. “Let’s get her out of here,” he said. Together they half dragged, half carried the unconscious woman across the room. Burning embers floated down onto them. The smoke stung Ben’s eyes so badly that he could hardly see where they were going. He could no longer even make out the door.
“This way,” Pamela shouted. They staggered down the steps. Miss Gumble felt surprisingly heavy for a thin and bony woman. At the bottom, they put her down for a moment, both gasping for breath.
“Thank goodness this hall isn’t carpeted,” Pamma said. “We can drag her down to the stairs.”
“What if she’s injured in some way?” Ben said. “Broken spine?”
“We have to get her out somehow, and quickly,” Pamma said. “Here, take her nightdress and pull.” They half ran down the hall, dragging the woman behind them. Halfway down the hall Pamma looked at Ben and grinned.
“I bet Jeremy will be furious that he isn’t in on this,” she said.
“He wanted to drive us home, but his parents wouldn’t let him,” Ben said, returning her grin. “And quite right, as it turns out. This smoke might have finished him off.”
“It might finish us off if we don’t get Gumbie down the stairs quickly,” Pamma said. “Do you feel up to carrying her, or shall we try to bump her down?”
“I’m still worried that we might make her injuries worse. Let’s try to carry her.”
“What about your leg?”
“I’ll be okay.” He put his hands under Miss Gumble’s shoulders and lifted. Pamela lifted her legs, and they proceeded one step at a time. It was slow going, and Ben wondered how long he could hold out when he heard the tramp of feet and a group of soldiers came running up, carrying sand buckets.
“Casualty, sir?” the officer in charge asked.
“We found her lying unconscious in her room,” Ben said.
“Right, two of you—Ward and Simms—you leave your buckets and carry this lady down, then get back up here on the double,” the officer barked. Ben and Pamela handed over Miss Gumble, and the men set off with her as if she weighed nothing at all. Ben and Pamela followed.
“It was a miracle that you showed up when you did,” Pamela said. “How did you know where to find me?”
“Phoebe was worried about Miss Gumble,” he replied, not wanting to admit how frantically he had looked for Pamela.
As they came out onto the front steps, Ben heard the bell of an approaching fire engine. The local fire brigade had come to help. He just hoped it wasn’t too late.
Phoebe gave a cry and ran toward the two soldiers. “Oh, Gumbie, Gumbie. Is she dead?”
“I think she’s going to be all right, miss,” one of the soldiers said. “Smoke inhalation, probably. When she gets some fresh air . . .” And as he spoke, the woman stirred and coughed.
Phoebe grabbed his arm. “Thank you so much for saving her.”
“It wasn’t us, miss. The young gentleman here and the young lady rescued her. We just helped carry her down the stairs.”
Phoebe turned adoring eyes on Ben. “Ben, you’re wonderful. Thank you so much.”
“Your sister got there first,” he said. “Neither of us could have brought her out alone.” He felt himself blushing and was glad it was dark.