Page 71 of One Perfect Dance
Another cry rang out over the hubbub. “Fire! Mr. Wilson, they’re setting fires downstairs!”
Elijah took her hand. “Ginny, do the maids sleep upstairs?”
Regina nodded.
“Go and wake them. Geoffrey and I will see what can be done to repel the invaders.”
Regina obeyed, for his command was sensible. She dropped the shawl so she could move with more speed, and by the time she’d reached the attic, she had a further plan. The maids’ rooms took up half the attic space, with the rest given over to storage. And Geoffrey had years ago discovered a little door in the wall in one corner of the attic that opened to a crawl space, which extended the length of the terrace houses.
Two of the smaller maids volunteered to crawl to the other end of the row and make a racket until they were heard. “Tell them what is happening. Get them to send for the constables and the fire brigade,” Regina told them.
She told the rest what she had in mind to do next and offered them the chance to escape through the crawl space or at least to stay up in the attics out of the way. They all chose to come with her, bringing impromptu weapons they had ransacked from the storage space—broomsticks, cricket bats, an unaccountably sturdy trident from a costume box.
She and her impromptu army crept down the attic stairs. The hullabaloo from below grew louder as they descended. Cousin Mary peeped around the corner of her door, but otherwise the second floor was deserted. The butler and the housekeeper both had their bedrooms up here, as well as Mary and Regina. Both of them must be downstairs.
They could smell smoke as they tiptoed down another flight and then another, the noise increasing. From the sounds of it, the battle had shifted to the ground floor. Yes. Two footmen, one of them Charles, stood watch on the staircase. Beyond, in the entry hall, Regina could see shifting shapes in the dark and smoke, swinging at one another, grappling, falling back.
“What’s happening?” she called down to Charles.
“We have them on the run, ma’am. The servants who were in the basement attacked them from the kitchen stairs, and Mr. Ashby and Mr. Paddimore led a sortie from up here. In a minute, we’ll be able to get you all safely out of the house and focus on putting out the fire.”
Even as he spoke, someone called out, “Let’s get out o’ ’ere, lads!”
As the miscreants broke away from the fight and ran, Regina saw Elijah, leaning against the newel post at the foot of the stairs. “Elijah? Are you…?”
He looked up and smiled. “We’ve expelled them, Regina, but the fire has caught the curtains in three of the rooms. We’ll have to send for the fire brigade. Which one do you use?”
Geoffrey loomed out of the smoke. “They’re gone from the back of the house, Ash,” he reported. “Hello, Mother. We chased them off.”
Elijah extended a hand to Regina. “Come. We had better get you and the others to safety.”
Cousin Mary silently passed Regina her shawl. “I sent some maids through the crawl space to fetch the brigade and the constables,” Regina told the men as she wrapped it around herself.
With Geoffrey on one side and Elijah on the other, she stood in the entry hall, shepherding her companion and her maids out into the street before her. She could hear the crackle of the blaze on the other side of the doors that lined one side of the entry hall.
It was her turn next. She stopped on the doorstep, stunned by the flames shooting out of the broken windows.
In that moment, someone shouted from the street, “Get down,” and Elijah hit her with his body, knocking her off the doorstep. As he did, something buzzed past, several inches from her check, and hit the stone of the doorway with a clang. Then she was falling, rolled by Elijah so they landed at the bottom of the steps with him beneath her.
He rolled again, sheltering her with his body.
Another yell, this one high pitched with anguish. “You shot him! You shot my father!”
“Take him into custody,” commanded someone.
Regina knew the next voice. “This one is dead, the one around the back wounded, their hired help scattered. It’s over.”
Elijah must have recognized Mrs. Wakefield, too, for he shifted to allow her to sit up, then hugged her to him, giving fervent thanks. “Are you hurt, my love? That was quite a fall.”
“I should be asking you that question. You took the brunt of it, and you should not even be up from your bed, yet. How are you, Elijah?”
He kissed her nose. “Glad you are safe.”
The ringing of bells heralded the arrival of not one but three fire carts and their fire fighters. Geoffrey marshalled the footmen and maids to cart water from a street pump, and soon the fight against the fire was in full swing.
While Elijah and Regina were watching, Mrs. Wakefield approached with a gentleman. “Mrs. Paddimore, Mr. Ashby, may I present my husband, Mr. Wakefield.”
*
