They had scarcely any time left before the whole Children’s Foundling Hospital collapsed, taking everyone inside with it.
“You lead the way,” she told him before turning to the children. “Stay close and hold on to my skirts. Whatever happens, don’t let go.”
With that, they began a grim procession down the staircase, deeper into the smoke. They all began coughing harder, smoke filling their lungs and making it nearly impossible to breathe. Shouts and cries blended with the haunting creaks of the house as fire ate away at its foundation and walls. The heat was sweltering. Sybil grew light-headed, fearing she would swoon.
A huge crack sounded, and suddenly one of the rafter beams fell from the ceiling, striking Mr. Gritton in the head. He fell, crushed beneath its weight, his eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling. The children screamed.
“Mr. Gritton,” she cried out.
But he didn’t answer, remaining eerily still beneath the burning rafter, blood trickling from his mouth.
It occurred to her, with a stunning, sickening sense of shock, that perhaps Mr. Gritton was dead. The children had begun to wail louder.
“Now, now,” she murmured, trying to soothe them despite her difficulty breathing and the horror they had just witnessed.
She gathered them to her as best she could, knowing she needed to put them before Mr. Gritton and herself. Slowly, they worked toward the doors.
Almost there. Almost. Keep going, Sybil. You can do this. You must do this.
And then, suddenly, there were arms around her, guiding her toward the door.
They were arms she recognized. A voice, too.
“Sybil, my love.”
Everett?
It seemed impossible, but through the dense smoke, she saw her husband’s face.
Everett.He was here. He had come. He was going to save her.
She tried to say his name, but it emerged as a croak.
“Come with me,” he said. “I’ve got you now. Make haste, all of you. This way.”
He guided them around floorboards that were covered in debris, toward the light of the day beyond. She coughed, her lungs burning, as they spilled out of the doorway, the childrenfleeing the moment they were free of the Children’s Foundling Hospital.
Suddenly, impossibly, they were on the pavements, rushing away from the burning orphanage. They didn’t stop until they were well clear of falling debris, Sybil struggling for breath.
She had to warn him about his sister.
“Everett,” she managed to wheeze. “It’s Verity. She went to the…third floor to find…one of the children.”
The horror on his face cut into her heart.
“Stay here,” he said. “I’ll go back in and find her.”
“But…how? It’s too dangerous…the floor is…burning up. The rafters… One fell on Mr. Gritton, and it…killed him.”
“Promise me you’ll stay here and wait for me,” he said, cupping her face in his hands.
“I p-promise.”
“I need you to know something should I fail to reemerge,” he said solemnly. “I love you.”
With that shocking pronouncement, he turned away from her and ran back toward the flames and his sister, leaving Sybil struggling for breath and staring after him.
Surely he hadn’t said…
