Roots of Evil(64)

‘Buckets of water,’ repeated Lucy obediently.

‘Yes. We can form a chain from the bathroom – we’ll pass the buckets up the stair. Hurry up, but tell everyone there’s no need to panic. It’s only a tiny fire.’



People were starting to reassemble downstairs for the next phase of the Murder game. They were coming cautiously out of various hiding places and laughing and swapping experiences, and asking what happened next. The interrogation, wasn’t it? And then supper? Oh yes, look, Mariana was just going across to the kitchen. This was all being rather fun. There was an atmosphere of slightly tipsy friendliness and one or two people might well have been a bit more than merely friendly while hiding in the dark from the murderer, but no one was roaring drunk or making embarrassing accusations of unwanted groping.

There was a bit of a delay about switching the lights on – Bruce Trent was supposed to be doing that, wasn’t he, although he was nowhere to be seen – Oh, one of the victims, was he? Well, wouldn’t you know he would get himself bumped off, silly sod, good old Brucie.

One of the men found the under-stairs cupboard with the mains switch, and there were cries of ‘Ah’ as light flooded the house once again. People started arguing about how many victims there were, and somebody began to talk bossily about habeas corpus and was told to hush because that meant something different.

‘No, it doesn’t, it’s in Magna Carta.’

‘Oh, bugger Magna Carta, let’s habeas some more gin before we start searching for the corpus.’

‘Well, Bruce is one of the corpuses, we already know that.’

‘Not very good manners to murder your host, though.’

‘No, but in the dark you wouldn’t necessarily know who you were murdering.’

‘That has to rank as one of the most bizarre remarks in the history of—Hold on a minute—’

‘What’s the matter?’

‘I think – in fact I’m sure – I can smell smoke.’

‘It’ll be from the kitchen – Mariana’s going to serve chicken curry and rice at half past ten—’

‘No, it is smoke,’ said another voice. ‘And it’s coming from upstairs—’

It was at this point that Lucy came tumbling down into the hall and gasped out what had happened, and that they were all to fill buckets of water and pass them up to the attics – and please to do it fast, because even though Edmund had said it was only a tiny fire, it was burning up quite dreadfully…





CHAPTER NINETEEN




Only a tiny fire.

To begin with everyone accepted Edmund Fane’s message that there was no particular need for urgency over this tiny fire, and several of the guests ran outside to find the garden hose and connect it up to the bathroom tap. Somebody asked if they ought to phone the fire brigade, and if so, had anyone done it? Oh, somebody had, oh, well done.

And even though it was just a tiny fire it had to be dealt with quickly, and it was a good thing Edmund Fane was here because Bruce Trent, when he was finally found, was three-quarters sloshed, and Mariana had never been any use in a crisis, in fact she was running around flapping her hands distractedly, and saying, Somebody do something; and, Oh, Bruce, why must you drink too much tonight of all nights?

It seemed to be falling to Edmund to organize people into filling buckets and plastic washbowls, and Lucy was taken firmly into one of the downstairs rooms where she could be out of the way of the panic. People formed a chain up the stairs, passing the buckets and bowls of water, but it was a big old house and the stairs were very steep, so that passing the full buckets up took a surprisingly long time.

Lucy tried not to be scared and she tried not to get in anyone’s way. The guests were all running around, and it was all a bit confusing. She lost sight of her parents, but she saw Edmund go back up the stairs towards the attics. It was not a raging inferno up there, and everyone was saying the fire was not likely to spread much in the next few minutes, but it was still very brave of him.

Lucy tried to concentrate on how brave Edmund was being, and she tried not to think how she was the one who had caused the fire by lighting the oil lamp. Would Edmund tell people about that? But the lamp had been perfectly safe until he had turned it out – Lucy was sure it had been perfectly safe. Or had it? whispered a horrid little voice inside her head. Mightn’t you have fixed the funnel a bit crookedly? Or put the lamp on a bumpy bit of floor so that it overturned? Did I? But even if I did, it’ll be all right. They’ll put the fire out and there won’t really be any harm done. Make it be all right, she said in her head. Please make it be all right.

It seemed that the fire was getting a bit more of a hold – all those old, dry roof joists, and all that stored-away junk in the attics! – but the fire brigade would soon be here and they would douse the flames.

There was a kind of soft explosion from the attics, and Edmund cried out and came tumbling down the narrow stairs, half running, half falling, his hands blistered, his face and hair black with smoke.

‘Get out!’ he shouted. ‘The whole top floor’s alight! For God’s sake, everybody get out of the house now!’

Somebody grabbed Lucy and half carried her outside to the big lawn at the back of the house. It was cold and the rain was still coming down, but flames and smoke were shooting up into the night sky, tinting it crimson. Lucy stared at it in new horror, because it was exactly as if the house was bleeding into the darkness. She began to shiver, but she still tried not to cry and be a nuisance.