The steps were ablaze with crackling flames that licked the already charred ceiling. Ripping off a piece of his sleeve, he covered his mouth and braved the stairs, calculating the position of Charlotte’s chambers as he recalled the placement of the ladder that had burnt.
A falling beam pushed him against the wall as he jumped back just in time, the stair railing collapsing beneath the weight of the debris. Shielding his eyes, Jameson leapt over the flames barring the entrance to the gallery and sped towards the bedroom doors, flames reaching for his legs faster than he could run.
It wasn’t long before he reached the room he thought belonged to Charlotte and burst through the door, using his shoulder as a battering ram. A sharp pain shot through his arm, signalling the presence of either a break or a fracture.
Thick black smoke filled the room as he tried his best to wave it away. “Charlotte!” he yelled and coughed, hoping for a response.
His heart stopped as he spotted the figure on the floor beneath the window, still and lifeless. Flames had already engulfed the bed, but he pushed ahead and scooped her limp body up in his arms, cradling her head against his chest.
Charlotte’s arms were firmly clutched against her chest, holding what looked to be sheets of music.
Lowering his head to her mouth, he quickly tried to listen for a breath. Faint breaths reached his ear, bringing with them a moment of relief before the door fell off the hinges, falling to the floor beside the bed.
She’s alive.
Springing into action with renewed strength, Jameson leapt over the flames in the hallway and down the stairs with Charlotte in his arms. Every hurried step he took was a testament to how much he loved her. Gasps of shock reached his ears as he broke debris that had been the front door and stepped into the fresh air with Charlotte in his arms.
“Good God, you could have been killed!” Lord Dunham raced to his side just as Jameson reached the pavement and placed Charlotte safely on the ground, her head lulling to the side.
“I could have, but I wasn’t,” Jameson responded as sharp pain spread from his shoulder all the way down his arm. Clutching the offending limb, he winced in pain and fell to his knees beside the woman he loved.
Her breathing was shallow, but it gave him a sense of relief nonetheless to know that he hadn’t been too late. Her hair and face were smudged with black streaks from the fire, but it didn’t seem as if the flames had reached her.
“Charlotte! Her mother would never forgive me if anything happened to her.” Lady Thornton came running forward, tears streaming down her cheeks as she lifted her white dress and dropped to her knees, cradling Lady Charlotte’s head on her lap.
The fire continued to blaze in the background as the flames licked the sky, reaching new heights as bits of ash rained down like snow.
“She’s alive, Lady Thornton, but we need to call for a doctor.” Jameson tried to reassure her as he looked up.
“Take her back to your home, Lady Thornton; it’s the closest. Lady Isabella and I will fetch the doctor and take him straight there.” It was Lord Ashburton who gave instructions as he gripped an irate Lady Isabella by the arm and pulled her down the street.
Lady Isabella covered her mouth in shock and sobbed as she spotted her best friend lying on the street.
“Thank God for you, My Lord; I don’t know what would have happened to her if you hadn’t come along …” Lady Thornton’s eyes filled with tears as emotion choked her throat.
“Thank you, Lady Thornton, but let’s get Lady Charlotte off the street before the whole house collapses. I’m afraid that nothing will be salvaged at this point.” He forced himself to his feet and once again lifted Charlotte in his arms, gritting his teeth against the pain in his shoulder.
The roof of Grey Manor collapsed, causing the surrounding crowd to gasp and take a few steps back. There was no use in trying to salvage anything now; the house and all its belongings were all but gone.
***
Jameson sat impatiently in the Thorntons’ drawing room, waiting for the doctor to come back with his assessment. The pain in his shoulder had grown to a burning pain that spread all the way down his back, but all he cared for at present was to hear whether or not Lady Charlotte would be fine.
His body was covered in black ash, and parts of his hair had been singed. He was lucky enough not to have sustained any burns other than a few blisters here and there on his hands.
Lord Ashburton thrust a glass of whisky beneath his nose, insisting that Jameson drink the contents. “It will help for the pain and the shock.”
Taking the glass thankfully, Jameson downed the amber liquid, allowing it to burn the back of his throat.
“What is that?” Lord Ashburton nodded towards the pile of papers on the table beside Jameson.
“Lady Charlotte was holding them when I rescued her; among the sheets of music is the letter her father wrote to her mother. It will have to be checked for forgery, but if it’s true, it’s absolute proof that Lord Reginald Grey embezzled from my father,” Jameson explained, leafing through the sheets of music, and retrieving the letter in question.
One corner of the note had been charred in the fire, but all the writing had remained intact.
“You can give it to me. I know a man who is reliable with these kinds of things. You shouldn’t have to worry about anything other than yourself and Charlotte right now,” Lord Ashburton offered and held out his hand.
“Thank you; I appreciate the help.” Jameson winced and clutched his shoulder as Lord Ashburton took the letter from him and carefully placed it in his pocket.
