“She prefers to sleep in the attic and will be with the other women. Since her man and her own baby died she doesn’t like to be alone at night.”

Damnation! If the baby woke there would be no food for her. He must make sure the Simpson woman was the second one to come out from the fire. “Please don’t worry, Mrs Watkins, I shall have her grace and the wet nurse with you shortly.”

The flames had taken a good hold and the windows on the first floor were as bright as if a thousand candles glowed inside. Where could a hundred souls hide safely with such a furnace burning all around them?

With two dozen men behind him he raced round to the south side. Thank God! Here the windows were black; the fire had not reached these chambers. “Up there. Do you see, Watkins? There’s light in my apartment, they must be in there. Get the ladders up against one set of windows, the rest of you divide yourselves into groups and take hold of the edges of a blanket. The only way we’re going to get everybody out safely is if the ladies jump.”

“I can organise that for you, my lord. Two blankets at a time, the others waiting to replace them when they’re full.”

“Good man. I’m going up a ladder to get things started. I’m hoping the men can come down these quickly leaving the blankets for the women. The wind’s getting up. I fear we don’t have a moment to lose before the whole place is engulfed.”

There was a small forest of lanterns on poles to light his way. A sudden gust of wind almost knocked him off the ladder, and an ominous roar from the front of the house sent him climbing even quicker. There could not be more than a quarter of an hour before the people inside perished.

He tipped headlong over the stone balustrade landing inelegantly on his face on the balcony. As he sprang to his feet the French windows flew open and Isobel fell into his arms.

*   *   *

“Alexander? What are you doing here? Lucinda - have you seen her?”

He crushed her in his arms for a second and then picked her up and placed her on the ladder. “Our daughter is fine, no time to talk, get down the ladder as fast as you can. Leave things to me. I shall send Simpson next. Go to Mrs Watkins’ cottage and wait for me there.”

 “Take care, my darling, I could not bear to lose you now.”

Descending the wooden ladder in her slippers and nightgown was difficult but when your life was at stake you managed somehow. No sooner was she off the bottom than someone else was following her. To her astonishment two more windows were flung open and the next thing she saw were women jumping from the other balcony to land in stretched out blankets.

Peggy arrived at her side breathless and red-faced, but smiling. “What a lark! I’ve never seen the like. I hope me milk don’t dry up because of it.”

“Go to Mrs Watkins’ home right away, she’s expecting you. Do you know the way?”

“I do that, it ain’t far and there’s a fine big moon to show me the path.”

By now there were a dozen men and women milling about on the terrace getting in everybody’s way. “Inside staff - listen to me. You must go immediately to the coach house. It’s warm and dry in there. Get a fire going and put water on to boil. I’m sure the stable hands have the makings for tea, you must share cups as there won’t be enough for everyone.”

Two of the outside men offered to lead those rescued away from the fire. Isobel knew she should go with them. But she wanted to be sure everyone got out safely. Very soon there was a constant stream of the rescued heading for the coach house. She greeted each one in turn, congratulating them on their bravery and promising them they would not be dismissed from service because of this.

Heaven knows how they were going to accommodate so many when Newcomb was likely to be razed to the ground. Too soon to fret—as long as all were safe, that was all that mattered. Smoke was billowing from the bed chamber and sitting-room above. How many more were waiting to come down?

“Sam, I’ve not seen Bill, is he still up there?”

“My lady, you should not be out here. Let me take you to Mary where you’ll be safe and warm.”

Alexander appeared on the balcony and shouted down to the men below. “Just a dozen more to come and everyone will be out.”

Four more men scrambled down the ladders, others were jumping into the blankets. Her nails bit into her palms. Why didn’t he come too? She counted frantically as the sound of crackling and burning grew. There could not be more than three inside including Bill, Alexander, and one other.

There was a scream and a figure fell from the far window his garments on fire. He landed in a blanket and immediately those who’d caught him rolled him up to douse the flames. Bill and Alexander emerged pursued by the fire. They would be too late. They would be swallowed up—consumed by the ferocity of the blaze behind them. Her beloved locked his arms and legs around the wooden ladder and slid down safely. By the time he hit the ground the top of the ladder was burning fiercely.

Bill could only use his arms; his injury prevented him from moving as swiftly as he should. His ladder was on fire before he’d descended more than a few rungs. Frantically a group of men ran towards him with a blanket. Too late—he had no choice. He must drop to the flagstones or be incinerated. He plummeted to the ground and she expected to see him die before her eyes.

A collective gasp rippled round the group as, instead of falling flat, somehow he managed to roll himself into a neat ball and land on his shoulders. Because he was curled up the impact sent him tumbling head over heels onto the grass. He was sitting up rubbing his elbows by the time the first man reached him.

She was transfixed. Everyone had got out unscathed. This was a miracle. Then Alexander was beside her, hugging her fiercely, mumbling incoherently into her hair.

“My darling, you could have been killed. I thought I would be too late, that for the second time I should be bereft.”

“How did you come to be here in the middle of the night? I thought you were not to come until tomorrow?”

“I shall explain it all to you later. You should not be here, sweetheart, but I’m glad you are. I still have things to attend to. Can I trust you to join our daughter at the cottage?”

There was no point in arguing. He was lord of the manor—of course he had to ensure all his dependents were accounted for and make sure they were as comfortable as they could be in the circumstances. A sudden crash of thunder jolted them apart; from nowhere a summer storm had drifted in and the heavens opened.

“Take care, my love. I shall do as you bid. I’ve no wish to stand out here in the pouring rain. Will this put out the flames? Shall anything be saved?”

“God knows! The Almighty has done a wonderful job tonight so I shall leave this in his capable hands as well. Hurry up, you’ll be drenched if you stay here any longer.”

She stretched out and pulled his head down to kiss him. His lips tasted of smoke. “I love you, Alexander, come back to me soon. I think I see Hill and Reynolds heading this way. Can you not leave everything to them?”

In answer he pushed her gently in the direction of Mary’s house. “Hurry, take your dogs with you for company.” He beckoned to a lad holding two lanterns. “Here, boy, go with her grace, then come back and tell me all is well.”

Fortunately it was a short distance to her destination and much of it under a canopy of leaves. “I am safely arrived, young man. See, Mrs Watkins is waiting for me in the doorway. You can return to your duties in the stables. The horses will be unsettled by the smoke and the smell of the fire.”

He grinned and bowed awkwardly, the lanterns bobbing furiously on the end of their poles. Isobel hurried down the path eager to see her baby. She reached the cottage and realised Mary wasn’t smiling. As she stepped into the cottage the door was slammed behind her. She could hear her dogs snarling and barking, flinging themselves at the wood in a frantic effort to get in.

*   *   *

“Hill, Reynolds, Watkins, come with me. There’s unfinished business to attend to. Bentley is behind this fire and he was also responsible for that girl’s death and the incident with the rifleman in the woods.” The three men nodded obviously unsurprised by his revelation. “On both occasions it was my wife who was the intended victim. He’s embroiled with that bastard Farnham – without his manipulation I doubt any of this would have happened.”

“I had my doubts about Bentley from the start, there was something behind his eyes that made me think he wasn’t the simpleton he wished us to believe.”

“Farnham has convinced himself he can blackmail my fortune from Bentley when he inherits. God knows what maggot has got into his brain.”

Reynolds chimed in. “You’re right, Sam, when little Sally slipped I thought it was a rum do, but kept my opinions to myself.”

Alexander glared at Reynolds. “Why the hell didn’t you speak up? A bit too late to be telling me now, don’t you think?” He swallowed his ire, they had all been fooled, now was not the time for wringing hands. “Have any of you got a pistol?” They shook their heads. “I’ve two, I’ll keep one. Any of you a marksman?”

Watkins held out his hand. “I am, sir. Do you have sufficient powder and shot for both of us?”

When both guns were loaded and primed Alexander explained his plan. “I doubt Farnham has hung about to see the results of his machinations. Bentley will be cowering in the east wing waiting to see if his latest attempt to remove the obstacle in his way has succeeded.” He stared hard at each one in turn before continuing. “I don’t intend him to survive this encounter.” Again all three responded in unison; this time they nodded. “If Farnham is with him, I shall kill him too.”