Fields of Home (9 page)

CHAPTER 11

The Big House

NOBODY COULD SAY FOR SURE HOW IT STARTED
, but only a few days after the harvest home festival, the big house caught fire. Lord Henry and his family were all in their beds and the household staff fast asleep when, like a thief in the night, the first flame jumped through the broken window, catching the wooden frame and shutters. It chased its way across the heavy, century-old damask curtains, the dry fabric splitting and igniting. It raced downwards to the polished floorboards, then across the hand-crafted chairs and upwards over the pelmet to the beautiful plasterwork ceilings.

Finn, the great lumbering Irish wolfhound, Lord Henry’s favourite of all his dogs, began to howl as he tried to escape from the huge, smoke-filled hallway. By
now an inferno was raging in the elegant drawing-room and its curving bay window blew out onto the lawn.

Hearing some sort of commotion, Lord Henry roused himself, pulled on his silk dressing-gown and went to his bedroom window to see what was going on. But there was nobody outside. Suddenly he noticed the vivid orange flames reaching up over the bedroom windowsill and smoke seeping through the open cracks between the floorboards. Then a great roar came from the chimney at the side of the room, as if some enormous bellows were pumping air up it.

Lord Henry ran to the bed. ‘Wake up, my dear! We must leave the house immediately.’

‘What is it, Henry?’ his wife asked crossly.

Passing her a dressing-gown he implored her to rouse herself as there was ‘a bit of a fire’.

Lady Buckland began to scream for the children and servants, while her husband shoved the jewels on her dressing-table into his pocket. In an instant, the two girls stood in their nightgowns outside their bedroom doors. They stared, terrified, across the banister where they could see huge flames sweeping up the broad staircase.

‘We must keep calm, my dears,’ ordered Lord Henry.

Finn jumped amongst them, barking madly, and growling down at the encroaching fire. At the same
instant they all began to shout. ‘WAKE UP! THERE’S A FIRE!’

The housekeeper appeared immediately, her hair wrapped in tight rags and clutching a leather valise. ‘My valuables,’ she stated firmly.

‘Rouse the household!’ yelled Lord Henry, praying that the butler heard him. ‘We must go down the servants’ stairs!’ he said, leading the way through the small wooden door up on the half-landing. ‘Make haste. These old houses are like tinderboxes.’

A smell of smoke permeated the small, enclosed space as they all hurried down the stairs, the large dog shoving ahead of them all and barking madly at the encroaching fire. The line increased rapidly as the rest of the staff filed down behind them. Half-afraid, Lord Henry shoved the door at the bottom of the staircase open, and stepped out into the tiled passageway, conscious of the loud cracking roar close by.

‘Hurry up! Do hurry up!’ he ordered curtly, and they all rushed out into the large kitchen. Bernard Delaney, the butler, now back in his own territory, busied himself unlocking the heavy door, trying to look in command of things, despite the fact that he was wearing only a pair of knee-britches.

‘Hurry up, man!’ ordered Lord Henry.

‘Are all the servants up?’ asked Lady Martha anxiously, regaining some of her composure.

‘Where’s Lizzie?’ wondered Mary Keating, Lady Martha’s personal maid, ‘and that new girl?’

Mercy Farrell, who stood beside Mary, gasped. Lizzie Collins and the new girl, Dolores, slept right up at the very top of the house. Lizzie would sleep through anything after her long day’s work and had been banished to the furthest room because of her loud snoring, and Dolores, who spent her whole time scouring out pots and pans and washing in the scullery, was half-simple, and mightn’t know what was going on.

‘They mustn’t have heard us!’ Mercy wailed.

The whole group stood silent as the plight of the young girls in the upstairs attic dawned on them.

‘I’ll run up and get them!’ volunteered Mercy, ‘they’re my friends.’

‘Are you sure, my dear?’ asked Lady Martha, not certain it was wise to risk the life of another of her servant girls.

‘I’m well used to racing up and down these stairs, your ladyship.’ Turning on her heel, her dark hair streaming behind her, Mercy raced across the kitchen and back through the door and up the stairs while the others stumbled outside to safety.

Through the night air they could hear the farm bell ringing, calling the tenants to help.

Lord Henry led them around to the front of the
house, where the true enormity of the fire struck them when they saw the roaring flames blaze through the windows and cover the whole front of the house.

‘Oh my dear God!’ cried Lady Martha, slumping on the lawn.

‘We’ve got to try and save the house!’ shouted Lord Henry. ‘Fill buckets, pails, whatever receptacles you can find.’ Total chaos and commotion followed as the frantic search for buckets began.

Finn raced around, half-crazy with excitement. ‘For heaven’s sake, Rose, get a piece of rope and tie up that dog!’ yelled Lord Henry.

Within minutes the stableyard staff had arrived on the scene. Michael ran as fast as he could, heart pounding, alongside Toss and Tom and Liam and Paddy and young Brendan.

‘Oh Michael! Toss! Bring buckets! The house is on fire!’ Miss Felicia came running towards them in bare feet, wearing only her white cotton nightgown, her hair loose and wild.

Brendan and Paddy turned back down the avenue to go and get buckets. The others stopped in shock for an instant when they saw the blazing house, then they rushed to join the line of household staff and Lord Henry and Miss Rose, who had all formed a human chain. The chain extended from the side wing of the house across the gravelled walkway, along the
herbaceous border and up the stone steps. Buckets were filled from the outside tap, then passed along the line as fast as everybody could manage it.

Soon the massive hall door had blistered and burnt and cracked, enabling them to kick it down. Someone poured water into the hallway, splashing it onto the sizzling flames and causing them to hiss momentarily. Toss and Bernard doused the old grandfather clock that stood in the hall, then, rushing across the floor, heaved it up and dragged it out the door, where everyone helped lift it awkwardly down the granite steps onto the lawn. The wood was still warm and one side rather blistered, but at least it was out of the house.

‘Two of the maids are still upstairs!’ shouted Felicia, ‘one of the others has gone to help them.’

With a tug of his heart Michael realised that Mercy was missing from the chain and knew he must find her.

‘Where are they, Felicia?’ he shouted at the bewildered young girl.

‘They sleep right up in the attic, Michael. Mercy went to get them.’

‘Which way?’

‘She went up the servants’ stairs …’

Michael was already racing across the yard and through the kitchen. ‘Mercy!’ he called.

The stairs were pitch black and when he tried to take them at the double he almost fell. He could hear
the creaking roar of the fire as he climbed up through the darkness. ‘Mercy! Are ye all right?’

The smoke was so thick it nearly choked him, making him cough and wheeze. There was so much noise that he couldn’t make out if the young women were hearing him or not.

He climbed up further, holding onto the narrow banisters. The door onto the first landing glowed a fiery red and would probably explode in a few minutes. The fire was right behind it on the other side. He quickened his pace.

‘Mercy!’ he screamed hoarsely.

He thought he heard something. ‘Up here! We’re up here!’ It was Mercy.

One more landing, and the sound of the fire had changed. High up here it had a strange, rumbling sound, like thunder that would engulf you.

Michael opened the tiny door into the attic space. He gasped when he saw that part of the ceiling and roof had already collapsed. Claws of flames which belched from the chimney had set fire to the beams.

‘Oh, thank God!’ murmured Mercy.

The other two girls were sitting mesmerised and terrified on the narrow bed. Mercy was trying to drag them away, but she couldn’t get them to move.

‘Out of here!’ shouted Michael firmly, grabbing Dolores by the arm. ‘Move!’

As if he had waved a magic wand, the two girls got to their feet. He had broken the spell.

He pulled up a bit of old, worn carpet off the ground. Follow me!’ he ordered, trying to hide the quiver in his voice.

Mercy was holding a wound-up sheet. ‘I damped this, Michael,’ she said. Doubling the sheet around her neck she ran with the rest of them across the narrow landing, burning her hands as she touched the door leading to the stairway. It was slow going in the darkness, trying to manoeuvre down the winding, narrow wooden steps. It would be far easier to fall going downwards.

‘Nobody talk!’ said Michael. ‘The air is too smoky.’

Mercy covered her mouth with the sheet and Lizzie, following behind, used the other end of it. The heat was getting more intense, the smoke choking them. They scrambled down as fast as they could. Suddenly the darkness disappeared and giant yellow-orange flames blazed up at them, blocking their path. They all stopped in a line. They were stuck. The door on the first landing had burst through and Michael could see that this whole section of the stairs had caught fire! He peered through the smoke. It seemed that only a section of the stairs was burning yet – if they could get through that bit, they should be safe.

‘We must go through it!’ Michael said quietly. The
flames were racing upwards, second by second. The banisters were too hot to touch.

Quickly Mercy unwound the heavy sheet. ‘It’ll only give us a second or two,’ she murmured.

She tossed it down in front of them, and as the flames died for that second or two, the four of them stumbled forward, ignoring the pain in their legs and feet. In a flash the fire had destroyed the water-soaked sheet, but they had all managed to jump away from it and tumble down the rest of the wooden steps.

Gasping and choking, they emerged out into the kitchen. Michael grabbed Mercy’s hand as the four of them stumbled through the smoke and escaped out the door.

Dolores flung herself on the ground in shock; part of her frizzy hair was singed and her foot was blistered. She was confused and scared, and wailed quietly to herself.

‘All I want is to throw meself in that lake and cool down,’ said Lizzie. ‘I thought me hour had surely come!’

Michael took in the scene on the front lawn. More help had arrived. In the distance he could see Lord Henry directing operations. They had broken the large bay windows of his study on the side of the house overlooking the lake, and the men were lifting out books and tables and trying to drag out the massive
mahogany desk which seemed to be stuck.

Michael let go of Mercy’s hand. ‘I’d better go and help, love. You stay here. I’ll come back to you later, I promise, Mercy!’

He ran over to help with the lifting, ignoring the searing of pain he felt as he moved. The study was soaked. They were flinging bucket after bucket of water against the door, giving Paddy and Toss a chance to lift things out.

Young Brendan was way back down the line and Michael realised that he was calling him over.

‘What is it, Brendan?’ quizzed Michael, going to him.

‘I’m right worried about the horses, Michael,’ said Brendan.

‘They’ll be fine,’ murmured Michael. ‘They’re far enough from the house.’

‘I think we should go and check on them.’ Before Michael could object, young Brendan took off, and, without knowing why, Michael followed after him down the avenue.

The smell of smoke was heavy in the air and the horses in the far paddock whinnied anxiously. The carriage-horses were going wild, nostrils flaring, as they kicked against the fencing, trying to escape the choking smoke that blew across from the yard.

As they rounded the final bend in the avenue they saw that the smaller haybarn was ablaze, and Michael
knew instinctively from the silence of the two stables close beside it that the horses inside were already dead. Frantically, Brendan began to open the stable doors and lead the other horses out.

‘Be careful!’ Michael shouted. He knew how dazed and scared the animals would be, and watched transfixed as the terrified horses thrashed and kicked out when their door was opened. Troy’s front legs and hooves caught the stable boy unawares. Brendan lay sprawled against the wall, blood gushing from his arm as Troy galloped way.

Michael cursed to himself under his breath. Why hadn’t they left all of the horses outside? Why had they stabled any of them? He began to call to the horses, trying to make his voice sound normal, the way it was every morning when he came to see them, hoping they would recognise him.

Pippin, Miss Felicia’s horse, whinnied. ‘Good girl!’ he told her gently. She was trembling with fear, her small fawn-coloured body quivering. He patted and stroked her neck, grabbing hold of her mane as he eased the door open, ready to push it shut if she started to rear. But Pippin was content to let him guide her across the yard to the company of the other horses in the paddock. The low, timber frame of her stall crackled and burst into flames behind her, hay and straw lighting up in seconds.