Sophie reached into her reticule and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. She unfolded it and smoothed it out, then handed it to him. " ’Ere, this’ll make it legal-like."
He took it from her and shuffled over to the lamp, leaning down to read by its weak light.
A horrible coldness began to grip Jane. It spread throughout her body, working its way toward her heart. The oppressive dread made her limbs lead weights. Her mind struggled against the invading cold. Her eyes were drawn repeatedly to the single lamp and the warmth of its flame. She began to feel she needed that flame, that she required its warmth to melt the icy haze of gloom. She scarcely heard what the others said around her. She walked forward like a puppet to stand by the table, facing the hearth, as Crawley read the marriage vows. His voice was like a bee buzzing in her brain. She hung her head down, concentrating on that pure flame burning in the glass globe. Next to her, Sir Helmsdon was tense, but she couldn’t tell him what she intended, couldn’t warn him. Suddenly Crawley was at the part where they must answer. He was muttering words of honor and obedience.
“NO!" Jane shrieked as she threw herself against the round oak table, pulling Sir Helmsdon with her, knocking him off-balance. He fell to his knees. The table was heavier than it looked. Watching it tilt and topple, Jane felt like she was watching something in a dream. It seemed so slow. The lantern finally crashed to the floor, shattering. With a whoosh, a bright yellow and orange flame shot up. It caught the fabric of the greasy, stained tablecloth.
Behind her, Sophie screamed. Sir Helmsdon struggled to stand up. He pulled at Jane to get her away from the flames.Swearing, Georgie picked up a pillow and began beating at the fire, shouting at Crawley to help him, but Crawley had other interests. He ran to a cupboard and pawed frantically through the contents, throwing things every which way.
Thick smoke stung Jane’s eyes and burned her throat when she breathed. She coughed, stumbling after Helmsdon toward the door. Georgie saw them escaping, and his rage blossomed. "Witch!” he yelled, dropping the pillow and abandoning his fruitless efforts to stop the spread of the blaze.
He grabbed for Jane, using his bulky weight as an anchor. Suddenly caught between Helmsdon and Georgie, Jane felt her arms would tear from their sockets. She fought, twisting and turning. Helmsdon charged Georgie like a bull, butting him in the stomach. Georgie fell back, letting go of his grasp. The edge of his coat caught fire. He screamed, beating at his clothing like a madman.
Crawley retrieved a heavy sack from the cupboard. Clutching it closely to his chest, he scuttled toward the door. Sophie was in front of him. He would have pushed her out of his way, but she fought like a wild thing. Finally, together they pulled the door open to be confronted by two large black shapes with pistols pointed straight at them.
But they all gave way before the screams and the terrifying image of a burning man, a denizen of hell, charging toward them.
With even his hair on fire now, Georgie ran screaming past them to fling himself into the long grass outside the cottage. He rolled frantically to smother the fire. Jane, with Helmsdon in tow, ran after him. With her bound hands she beat at the remaining flames on Georgie. She scarcely noticed when the rope binding her to Helmsdon parted until the last of the fires on Georgie were out.
The smell of burned flesh rivaled that of burning wood, causing the others to gag. A blackened, distorted mass of flesh and bone lay on the ground, barely conscious. Tears welled in Jane’s eyes. "Oh, Georgie,” she murmured.
His cracked lips parted, blood-red against black. "I just wanted to show my Mama . . .” he rasped, straining to get the words out. A gurgling sounded in his throat, then silence.
Gentle hands pulled Jane up and away. Sobbing, she found her face pressed against a broad chest with a familiar masculine scent. Her head was stroked as soothing words were murmured in her ear. Behind her, the fire burned hotter. A loud boom and crash warned everyone that the cottage was doomed. Barely conscious, Jane found herself lifted off her feet and carried away from the heat and smell of the blaze.
She curled against the solid warmth that held her. She whimpered as she was carried to a nearby horse. Like a mechanical puppet, she waited docilely by the animal while her benefactor mounted and lifted her into the saddle before him.
A wail pierced the quiet of the crackling flames. With dim surprise, Jane realized the sound came from her. A choked sob caught in her throat as a wave of dizziness overwhelmed her. She pressed her face against the solid masculine warmth, clinging while he kept up a litany of soothing words. Slowly Jane relaxed her muscles. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
Then everything went black.
CHAPTER 15
The night became a crazy kaleidoscope of sensations and scenes. For awhile, Jane was conscious only of the gentle, rhythmic plodding of the horse accompanied by murmured words of endearment. Later, she was transferred carefully to a carriage. A warm lap robe wrapped about her, and a distasteful liquid forced between her lips.
She fell into a light, uneasy slumber from which she was often jolted awake as much from the poor carriage springs as from the fiery pictures that haunted her mind. Finally, after what seemed a lifetime, the carriage rolled to a stop. A swath of light pierced the night. Again she felt herself lifted, this time carried up steps into that light. Around her, a murmur of voices rose and fell; but she paid them no more heed than she did to the sound of crickets in the night. She was laid down, the warm arms that held her sliding away. She murmured a protest. Gentle hands raised her head and coaxed more of the foul liquid past her lips.
Snatches of low-voiced conversations reverberated in her aching head, pounding viciously against the edges of her consciousness.
“It was a mercy ...”
"...prey upon her mind."
". . . laudanum. Let her sleep. It's the best . . .”
Jane tried to capture each wisp of murmured voice, but the words scampered nimbly away, teasingly beyond comprehension. The effort to hear and understand exhausted her. Finally, she fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.
When next she woke, there was brightness against her closed eyelids. Sunlight? She moaned and stirred restlessly. She was vaguely surprised to discover she lay on a soft mattress and was covered with cool, fresh, lavender-scented sheets. Such comfort seemed wrong, out of place, though she couldn’t think why. Jane tried to open her eyes, but they felt heavy. It was like lifting great weights.
Slowly her eyelids fluttered open. Everything was blurred and dizzyingly swirling. She closed her eyes, then tried opening them again. She blinked, and the world focused. She turned her head, gazing about. Dispassionately she realized that she recognized the bed hangings. They were from her room at Penwick. How did she get here? Last night she’d been near Royal Tunbridge Wells, hadn’t she? Last night...
The vision of a blackened and blood-blistered body swam up to her consciousness.
“Aahh!" she softly wailed, the sound catching achingly in her throat. She bit her knuckle as sobs wracked her slender body. "I killed him,” she whimpered. "I killed him!”
“Hush, hush, Jane!” came an urgent, soothing voice from the side of her bed, the face indistinct yet comforting. A cool hand laid against her brow. "It could not be helped. No one faults you."
The blurred image with its gentle voice coalesced into Lady Elsbeth.
