“Bennet!” He had the breath for one bellow.
His second breath brought ashes and burning heat into his lungs. Harry choked, unable to speak. He pulled his damp shirt up and covered his nose and mouth, but it made little difference. He stumbled forward like a drunkard, desperately feeling with his hands. How long could a man live without air? His foot struck something. Unable to see, he fell forward. He landed on a body, felt hair.
“Harry.” A ghastly rasp. Bennet.
Harry searched quickly with his hands. He’d found Bennet. And another man.
“Have to get him out.” Bennet was on his knees, struggling to pull the man, moving the dead weight only an inch or two.
Nearer the floor, the air was a little better. Harry gasped, taking in a lungful, and grabbed one of the unconscious man’s arms. He heaved. His chest burned and his back ached as if the muscles were tearing. Bennet had the man’s other arm, but he’d obviously reached the end of his rope. He pulled only feebly. Harry hoped, prayed, that they moved in the direction of the stable door, that he’d not gotten turned around in the smoke and screaming and ashes and death. If they went in the wrong direction, they would die here. Their bodies would be so thoroughly burned that no one would know which man was which.
My lady needs me. He grit his teeth and pulled against the agony in his arms.
I will be a father soon. His foot caught and he staggered, but kept himself upright.
My child will need me. He could hear Bennet sobbing behind him, whether from the smoke or from fear, he didn’t know.
Please, God, they both need me. Let me live.
And Harry saw it: the stable door. He gave an inarticulate shout and coughed convulsively. One last, terrible heave and they were through the stable doors. The cool night air embraced them like the kiss of a mother. Harry staggered, still clutching the unconscious man. Then other men were there, shouting and helping them away from the flames. He fell to the cobblestones, Bennet beside him. He felt small fingers on his face.
He opened his eyes to see Will in front of him. “Harry, you came back.”
“Aye, I did.” He laughed and then started coughing, hugging the wiggling boy to himself. Someone brought a cup of water, and he sipped at it gratefully. He turned to Bennet, a smile on his face.
Bennet still wept. He coughed convulsively and clutched the unconscious man in his arms.
Harry frowned. “Who—?” “It’s Mr. Thomas,” Will said in his ear. “He went into the stables when he saw the fire. Because of the horses. But he didn’t come out, and Bennet ran in after him.” The boy patted Harry’s face again. “He made me stay with that man. I thought he’d never come out again. And then you went in, too.” Will wrapped his thin arms around Harry’s neck, nearly throttling him.
Harry gently pried loose the boy’s arms and looked at the man they’d pulled from the stable. Half his face was blistered and red, the hair singed black and short on that side. But the other half was recognizable as Bennet’s older brother. Harry held the side of his hand beneath Thomas’s nose. Then he moved his fingers to the man’s neck.
Nothing.
He touched Bennet’s shoulder. “He’s dead.” “No,” Bennet rasped in an awful voice. “No. He grasped my hand inside. He was alive then.” He raised red-rimmed eyes. “We pulled him out, Harry. We saved him.”
“I’m sorry.” Harry felt helpless. “You!” Granville’s roar came from behind them. Harry jumped to his feet, fists clenched. “Harry Pye, you goddamn criminal, you started this fire! Arrest him! I’ll see you—”
“He saved my life, Father,” Bennet choked out. “Leave Harry alone. You know as well as I that he didn’t set the fire.”
“I know nothing of the sort.” Granville advanced menacingly.
Harry took out his knife and sank into a fighting crouch.
“Oh, for God’s sake. Thomas is dead,” Bennet said. “What?” Granville looked for the first time at his eldest son, lying by his feet. “Dead?”
“Yes,” Bennet said bitterly. “He went in after your damn horses and died.”
Granville scowled. “I never told him to go in there. Stupid thing to do, just like everything else he’s ever done. Foolish and pointless.”
“Jesus Christ,” Bennet whispered. “He’s still warm. He breathed his last only minutes ago, and you’re already demeaning him.” He glared up at his father. “They were your horses. He probably ran in there to win your approval, and you can’t even give him that after death.” Bennet laid Thomas’s head down on the hard cobblestones and rose to his feet.
“You’re a fool, too, for going in after him,” Granville sputtered.
For a moment Harry thought Bennet would hit his father. “You’re not even human, are you?” Bennet said.
Granville frowned as if he hadn’t heard, and maybe he hadn’t. His son’s voice was nearly ruined.
Bennet turned away nevertheless. “Did you talk to Dick Crumb?” he asked Harry in a voice so low no one else could hear. “I don’t think Thomas set this fire and then ran into it.”
“No,” Harry replied. “I went to the Cock and Worm earlier, but he never showed.”
Bennet’s face was grim. “Then let’s go find him now.” Harry nodded. There was no longer any way to put it off. If Dick Crumb had set this fire, he would hang for it.
GEORGE WATCHED THE DAWN BREAK with resignation. Harry had said he didn’t need her, and he had not returned last night.
The message was quite clear.
Oh, she knew he’d spoken in haste, that when Harry had said, I don’t need you, he’d feared Lord Granville might harm her. But she couldn’t help feeling that he had spoken a hidden truth in that moment of frantic hurry. Harry guarded his words so well, was always so careful not to offend her. Would he ever have told her that he just didn’t want to be with her had he not been driven to it?
She turned the little carved leopard in her hands. He looked back at her, his eyes blank inside his cage. Did Harry see himself in the animal? She hadn’t meant to cage Harry; she’d only wanted to love him. But no matter how she wished, she could not change the fact that she was an aristocrat and Harry a commoner. The very circumstance of their disparate ranks seemed to be the basis of Harry’s anguish. And that would never change.
She rose carefully from her bed, hesitating when her stomach gave an unpleasant roll.
“My lady!” Tiggle burst into the bedroom.
George looked up, startled. “What is it?” “Mr. Thomas Granville is dead.” “Good Lord.” George sat back down on the edge of the bed. She had almost forgotten the fire in her misery.
“The Granville stables burned last night,” Tiggle continued, oblivious to her mistress’s consternation. “They say it was set afire on purpose. And Mr. Thomas Granville ran in to save the horses, but he didn’t come out. Then Mr. Bennet Granville went in despite his father’s pleas not to.”
“Was Bennet killed as well?” “No, my lady.” Tiggle shook her head, dislodging a pin. “But he was inside so long that everyone thought them both dead. And then Mr. Pye rode up. He ran inside right away—”
“Harry!” George leaped to her feet in terror. The room spun about her sickeningly.
“No, no, my lady.” Tiggle caught her before George could run to the door. Or fall down. “He’s all right. Mr. Pye is fine.”
George slumped with a hand over her heart. Her stomach was backing up into her throat. “Tiggle, for shame!”
“I’m sorry, my lady. But Mr. Pye, he pulled them both out, Mr. Thomas and Mr. Bennet.”
“He saved Bennet, then?” George closed her eyes and swallowed.
“Yes, my lady. After what Lord Granville did to Mr. Pye, no one could believe it. Mr. Pye, would have saved them both, but Mr. Thomas was already dead. Burned fearfully, he was.”
George’s stomach lurched at the thought. “Poor Bennet. To lose a brother in such a manner.”
“Aye, it must have been bad for Mr. Bennet. They say he held his brother’s body as if he’d never let go. But that Lord Granville didn’t turn a hair. Hardly looked at his dead son.”
“Lord Granville must be mad.” George closed her eyes and shuddered.
“There’s some who think so, indeed.” Tiggle frowned down at her. “Gracious, my lady, you’re that pale. What you need is a nice cup of hot tea.” She bustled to the door.
George lay back down, closing her eyes. Maybe if she was very still for a bit…
Tiggle returned, her heels tapping across the wood floor. “I thought that pale green gown would look very good when Mr. Pye comes to call—”
“I’ll wear the brown print.” “But my lady.” Tiggle sounded scandalized. “It’s simply not the thing to see a gentleman in. At least not a special gentleman. Why, after last night—”
George swallowed and tried to summon the strength to battle her lady’s maid. “I won’t be seeing Mr. Pye again. We’ll be leaving for London today.”
Tiggle drew in a sharp breath.
George’s stomach gurgled. She braced herself. “My lady,” Tiggle said, “just about every servant in this house knows who came to call last night in your private rooms. And then the brave thing he did at Granville House! The younger maids have been sighing over Mr. Pye all morning, and the only reason the older maids aren’t sighing as well is the look in Mr. Greaves’s eyes. You cannot leave Mr. Pye.”
The whole world was against her. George felt a wave of self-pity and nausea well up in her. “I’m not leaving him. We’ve simply come to an agreement that we’re better off apart.”
“Nonsense. I’m sorry, my lady. I don’t usually speak my mind,” Tiggle said with apparent sincerity, “but that man loves you. He’s a good man, Harry Pye is. He’ll make a good husband. And you’re carrying his babe.”
“I’m well aware of that.” George belched ominously. “Mr. Pye may love me, but he doesn’t want to. Please, Tiggle. I can’t remain, hoping and clinging to him.” She opened her eyes wide in desperation. “Can’t you see? He’ll marry me out of honor or pity and he’ll spend the rest of his life hating me. I must go.”
“Oh, my lady—”
“Please.”
“Very well,” Tiggle said. “I think you’re making a mistake, but I’ll pack to leave if that’s what you want.”
“Yes, it’s what I want,” George said.
And promptly threw up into the chamber pot.
THE SUN HAD LIT THE morning sky for more than an hour by the time Harry and Bennet rode up to the small, dilapidated cottage. They’d spent most of the night waiting at the Cock and Worm, even though Harry had suspected it was useless within the first half hour.
They’d first made sure of Will’s safety by taking the sleepy boy to Mistress Humboldt’s cottage. Despite the unholy hour, that lady had been glad to have the boy and they’d left him contentedly stuffing his face with muffins. Then they’d ridden to the Cock and Worm.
Dick Crumb and his sister both lived above the tavern in low-ceilinged rooms that were surprisingly tidy. Searching the rooms, his head grazing the lintels, Harry had thought that Dick must have to continuously stoop in his own house. Of course, neither Dick nor Janie had been there; in fact, the tavern had never opened that night, much to the disgust of several yokels hanging about the door. Dick and Janie had so few possessions, it was hard to tell if anything had been removed from the rooms. But Harry didn’t think they’d taken anything. That was odd. Surely if Dick had decided to run with his sister, he would have taken at least Janie’s things? But her few clothes—an extra dress, some chemises, and a pathetic pair of stockings riddled with holes—still hung from the pegs in her room beneath the eaves. There was even a small leather pouch with several silver coins hidden under Dick’s thin mattress.
