Mine Till Midnight (The Hathaways #1)(52)

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.