“Praise God!” he shouted. “Hold on tight, brave girl, and I’ll pull you up.”
Weak with relief her courage faltered, but she must not give way. Gideon had come and found her. She would not fail now.
He was heaving at the ladder. It twisted, and she clung desperately as he looped a rung over the plank, then heaved again.
An ear-splitting roar. A great surge of heat. The section of the floor by the stairs had given way. Naomi cried out in terror.
Looking down at her, it seemed to Gideon that she swung over a sea of smoke shot with fire. She looked so small, so terrified. If she didn’t faint from the heat and smoke it would of itself be a miracle. The boards he lay on were cracked and half-rotted and creaked ominously with his slightest movement. If they gave way, he would die with her, at least. Coughing, blinded by the smoke, he pulled mightily.
Naomi did not see the blazing ember that floated up and set fire to the trailing end of her ladder, but Gideon did. One more rung and then he leaned until he could reach her wrists. She felt the iron grip of his strong hands and she was wrenched upward. His arm was tight about her and she was lying on the crude loft flooring, wheezing and sobbing for breath. Sparks and blazing pieces of debris were flying upward; she screamed as the lace on her petticoat began to burn. Gideon tore at the garment and she wriggled out of it. The planks seemed to move, to slant down towards the inferno below.
Gideon was dragging her, shouting something lost in the uproar. With one hand clamped bruisingly about her wrist, he climbed through a tiny square window and guided her after him. She had a momentary and bemused thought that she was glad she wasn’t wearing hoops.
Clinging to the waterwheel with one hand, and to her with the other, Gideon shouted, “Come to me!”
The waterwheel seemed a mile away, but she reached out bravely. His arm clamped around her, and she threw her arms around his neck. Other shouts rang out. Through the billowing smoke below came the anxious face of Lieutenant Morris, suddenly breaking into a beaming grin. “Here they are,” he bellowed, waving frantically. “This way!”
Glendenning and Hector Kadenworthy raced up, carrying a long ladder. It was propped against the side of the wheel. Gideon guided Naomi to it, and Morris climbed up and helped her down. She was on solid ground, but between the dense smoke and the fact that her eyes smarted so, she could scarcely see.
A battered and dishevelled Falcon ran to join her. “Well, don’t hang about, you silly chit,” he said with oddly reassuring irritability. “The whole lot will come down at any second!”
Frantic, Naomi cried, “Where is he? Is he safe?”
Gideon was beside her, his face a mask of soot and blood, but his eyes worshipping her.
She sobbed, “Oh… Gideon…!” and was swept into his arms.
“GoodGod!” howled Falcon. “Notnow,you fool!”
Gideon laughed shakily, and carried Naomi through the smoke.
They were halfway across the moat when the flames roared through the loft window. They all turned to watch.
A moment later the roof crashed down, and with a great gout of fire the old mill collapsed in upon itself.
CHAPTER TWENTY
By two o’clock the excitement had died down and the house on Snow Hill was quiet again. The men from Bow Street had departed; Lord Kadenworthy and Peregrine Cranford had taken Katrina and a fast-asleep Lady Naomi back to Falcon House, with Horatio Glendenning and Falcon riding escort. Sir Mark Rossiter and Gwendolyn had long since retired, and all the windows were dark save for one. In the book room a branch of candles still flickered to the intrusive fingers of the wind, and smoke from the small fire occasionally puffed into the room.
Comfortably settled on the sofa to the right of the fireplace, James Morris stirred, yawned, and blinked sleepily. Opposite him, sprawled low in his chair, chin propped on bandaged hands, long legs stretched toward the hearth, Gideon gazed blindly into the flames.
Morris peered at the clock on the mantel. Stifling another yawn, he muttered, “Must you make a decision tonight, dear boy? Appears to me you’d do better to get a bit of rest. D’you hear someone—?” He glanced to the hall. “Oh, it’s you, Falcon. Come back, did you?”
“No,” said Falcon pithily. “You behold my shade, Morris.” He waved a reassuring hand at Gideon, who had started up anxiously “Beà l’aise.She is perfectly safe, and fast asleep in bed at my father’s house. Am I to be offered a glass of brandy?”
Morris shrugged. “Ross is all fingers and thumbs, and I ain’t inclined to wait on you. Serve yourself, Lord Haughty-Snort. You can see the decanter.”
Falcon considered him grimly, but containing his instincts, went over to the credenza. Returning, glass in hand, he said casually, “I dropped in at Collington’s.”
Both men sprang to their feet.
“The devil you did!” exclaimed Gideon.
“I wonder he did not put a hole in you,” said Morris.
“Likely he would have done, had he been at home.” Sitting on the edge of the reference table, one foot swinging, Falcon said ironically, “The butler informed me that his lordship had been called back to Italy on a matter of great urgency. Can you believe that the heartless villain did not even wait to learn whether his daughter had been rescued?” He sipped his brandy and snorted. “Faugh!”
Morris was shocked. “It’s jolly good cognac, and it ain’t polite to criticize—”
