Page 20 of To Tame the Wild Rake
Aldridge smiled at the child and handed her back her paper. “Your father makes a fine sketch,” he commented.
“Now up to the desk with you, ladies,” said Ashbury. “I’ll come and admire your work after I’ve talked to Lord Aldridge. Aldridge, can I offer refreshments? An ale, perhaps?”
Aldridge demurred. “I did not mean to interrupt your day, Ashbury. I was just seeking direction to the clinic your wife supports. I’m hoping to find Bentham there.”
Ashbury had crossed to the door to speak to someone in the hall. “Possibly,” he said, as he came back into the room. “It is clinic day, and several of the doctors attend, including my wife, as it happens.”
Aldridge had heard that the lady still worked as a doctor, though he hadn’t been sure whether to believe it. He certainly didn’t know of any other peer who would allow his wife to do such a scandalous thing as provide medical services to slum dwellers.
Ashbury went on, “But do join me for an ale, if you have time. Ah!” He turned back to look at the door, as a pair of maids came in with trays. “Thank you, Sally, Maud.”
He sent the maids away and again broke protocol by serving his daughters with a slice of seed cake each, and pouring drinks for them from one of the jugs. He then poured the sparkling amber contents of the other jug into two tall tumblers and passed one to Aldridge along with another slice of seed cake.
“Cook’s specialty,” he commented.
Aldridge took a sip. “Nice brew.”
“Our own. We shipped barrels by canal from Leicestershire. I hear you have an interest in several canal companies.”
“Haverford does,” Aldridge agreed. “They are useful, but if you are looking for investment opportunities, you might want to consider railways.”
Ashbury nodded. “The Middleton Railway appears to be working well.”
Aldridge sat forward. “I think it has potential for passengers, as well as freight,” he commented.
They were deep in a conversation about the problems and possibilities of steam engines and rail, and onto their second tumbler of a very palatable ale, when they were interrupted by the butler, who ushered in a panting dishevelled footman with a note.
“The clinic is on fire, my lord,” the man gasped. “My lady wants you to send help.”
9
Ashbury sprang up, dropping his tumbler. “Brown, every able-bodied man servant, and prepare as many carriages as we need for transport.”
The butler nodded, and hurried out the door, shouting names and instructions. Ashbury was questioning the footman. The fire had started in several different places at once. They were focusing on moving all of the patients. Her ladyship was unharmed.
“Ashbury, my phaeton is outside,” Aldridge offered. “Tell me where I am going, and I’ll get you there before your own horses can be harnessed.
In moments, Ashbury had farewelled his daughters and left instructions for his men. They took off at a controlled trot, speeding whenever the roads were free enough. Ashbury was in the seat beside Aldridge leaning forward as if that would make their passage faster, and one of Ashbury’s servants squeezed into the groom’s spot instead of Henry, who was running as fast as he could to the insurance company Aldridge sponsored to fetch equipment and manpower to help fight the fire.
They swung out of Wintermount Street onto Brightwell Lane, and the way was blocked by a crowd of onlookers, who shifted reluctantly out of the way of Aldridge’s team. The stink of smoke filled the street, and had the horses twitching nervously.
He drew them to a stop. Ashbury and his man Crick tumbled from the phaeton and raced into the melee ahead of them, where Lady Ashbury could be seen giving directions as pairs of stretcher bearers hurried out of the clinic building and other men hurried in with heavy buckets.
Aldridge looked around. Though most of those in the street were watching the action ahead, one boy was gazing longingly at the team. “Boy!” he called, and when the lad ran closer, he asked, “Think you can manage them?”
The boy’s dirty face lit up. “Cor. Aye, m’lord.” He ran to the horses’ heads, and in moments had the spirited pair sniffing at him as he whispered to them.
Aldridge dismounted and slipped the boy a florin. “A guinea when you’re done. If you walk them in Wintermount Street, my groom will come and find you. Name of Henry. You can turn them over to him, but stay with him. Tell him I told you to stick to him like glue and help with the cattle until I come.”
He waited no longer, but threw himself into the action. Ashbury had already organised a second bucket crew to a further pump, and was commissioning another, recruiting bystanders with a ruthless and liberal hand.
“They’ve cleared the ward upstairs,” he told Aldridge, “but my lady says they had a clinic full of patients when someone threw a fire pot through the window, and they scattered in all directions. Might still be people inside.”
Lady Ashbury was occupied with the hospital evacuees and with casualties of the fire. “I’ll organise a search,” Aldridge told Ashbury.
He found some volunteers to enter the building, working in pairs to hunt room by room, looking for any person who might have been left behind. The building was by turns deceptively calm—but for the overriding stench of smoke—and a hellish inferno, as the fire creeping along within the walls and under the floor broke out unexpectedly in yet another room.
Nonetheless, they worked methodically through the ground floor, finding a couple of boys trapped by a beam that had blocked the door in what was probably a consultation room and a mother nursing the head of her injured son under a table in what looked like some kind of waiting room.
