“No,” was all she said, getting quite breathless now from the exertion of chasing after the duke.
She did not care. She followed resolutely in Felix’s wake, adding her voice to the calls. He did not bother to convince her to leave. Instead, he told her to peruse the rooms on the right of the hall while he checked those on the left.
They worked in concert, traveling in and out of rooms, opening doors, searching beneath tables and chairs, seeking out every darkened corner. But it was all to no avail. By the time they reached the end of the hall, they had still not uncovered a sign of her. But they were both coughing, and Johanna suspected the smoke was burning Felix’s lungs every bit as much as it was burning hers.
“Where is the nursery?” she asked. “It is possible she is still there.”
“Her governess said she searched for her.” Felix began taking the next flight of stairs two at once.
“Do you trust her?” Johanna asked, trailing in his wake, for it was a question which needed to be posed.
They could not afford to dally, for each minute they spent in fruitless search was one minute more during which Verity could succumb to the thick smoke afflicting the home.
“I did,” he bit out. “But perhaps you are right. We will go there next.”
On the next floor, the smoke was not nearly as thick, perhaps not having had the time to rise as high just yet. Johanna thought it a good sign as she and Felix ran into the nursery, both of them calling out to Verity as they went. There were no lights lit in the chamber, and they had to rely upon the gaslights burning in the hall to see through the shadows.
“Papa?” croaked a terrified little voice from somewhere within the murk.
“Verity?” The relief in Felix’s voice set off a similar burst within Johanna’s heart.
“Is that you, Papa?” asked the girl, a sob in her words.
“Of course it is me,” he said. “Are you hurt, my darling? Can you come to Papa?”
“I’m not hurt.” She coughed then. “But everyone was running away, and yelling. Someone said there was a fire. I tried to follow Simmonds, but then I lost her. So I came back here.”
Johanna could discern faint movement through the shadows at the far end of the chamber. And then, there was a small figure running forward, arms outstretched. In the next moment, Felix was hoisting her in his arms and holding her tight, burying his face in her hair.
“Verity, thank God,” he breathed. “I prayed I would find you, the entire way here. I cannot lose you.”
“I was afraid, Papa.” The girl’s arms were wrapped around Felix’s neck every bit as tightly. She sobbed. “I was so scared without you.”
“I am here now,” he assured her. “I am here.”
Johanna watched the tearful union through a sheen of her own tears and through her own silent prayer of gratitude.
Hours later, afterthe Fire Brigade had inspected the damage to Felix’s townhome and after they had been certain the flames had all been doused, and after the servants had been accounted for and arrangements for them to spend the evening in a myriad of other places had been arranged, Johanna found herself once more inside Felix’s carriage. This time, there was a slumbering, smoke-scented girl tucked between them.
His devotion to seeing his staff safely settled for the night had impressed her. Especially given the undeniable fact that they had all escaped unscathed whilst leaving a terrified little girl behind. But he was a fair man, and she had seen evidence of that tonight, along with evidence of just how much he loved his daughter.
He was an excellent father, Johanna thought, casting him a sidelong glance now. And his daughter’s love for him had been evident in the way she had clung to him as if she were a vine twisting about a tree. As if she feared he would disappear if she let go of him. The sight had made Johanna’s heart swell and yet ache all at once.
“Please, Johanna,” he said suddenly, reaching out to her. “Stay the night with us. I promise nothing untoward will happen. You will have your own chamber. My daughter will be beneath the same roof. It will be entirely proper.”
She looked down at the sleeping girl who was nestled so trustingly against her, soot streaking her cheeks. Not for the first time, she wondered what Pearl would have looked like, had she lived. What she would have sounded like.
Something inside her shifted, her heart warming. She felt a connection to this child, though she knew she should not. That she had no right to, in fact. But in this moment, the rain lashing the world beyond, and the three of them safe within the dry, warm cocoon of Felix’s carriage, she recognized a kinship with Verity.
Johanna was a mother without a daughter.
Verity was a daughter without a mother.
“She will need a bath when we arrive,” Johanna found herself saying, her mind switching, with such ease, into the maternal. As if it had never left her.
When she had been a mother, her every day had revolved around Pearl. What she would eat, when she would sleep, who would look after her. For a long time after her daughter had died, Johanna had still sworn she heard Pearl’s cry in the small flat they had shared. She had gone to answer it, only to find emptiness where her crib had been.
Sometimes, she heard it in her dreams.
