Of Noble Family (35 page)

Blushing, Jane glanced around to see if anyone had heard. Doing so, she spied a horse galloping up to the ballroom. A moment later, Zachary flung himself from the saddle, striking the ground at a run.

“Mr. Hamilton!” The young man burst through the door of the ballroom. “Mr. Hamilton!”

Straightening with alarm, Vincent turned. He took one step and his knees buckled.

Jane reached for him, but he slipped from her grasp and dropped heavily to the ground. With an ungenteel curse, Jane sank to kneel beside him. Unconscious, he lay with his legs splayed awkwardly.

Zachary hurried towards her. Jane raised her head and found Louisa. “Do you know how to weave cold?” she called.

“Yes, madam.” With no further instruction, she rushed over and wove a sphere of cool air around Vincent to try to bring his temperature down.

Jane returned her attention to Vincent and, with Zachary's help, eased him onto his back. His collar was already open, and he had long since abandoned his waistcoat, so she could do little to cool him beyond Louisa's efforts. She felt for Vincent's pulse, which was wild and fast.

He groaned and blinked back into consciousness. For a moment, he frowned at the ceiling before comprehension came back into his eyes. Vincent raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Well … that was appallingly stupid.”

For the second time that day, Jane asked, “Are you all right?”

“The room is spinning as if I were on a pirate ship, but other than that, yes, I am well.” He lowered his hand and held it up for her to see. “No shakes. No nausea. Nothing except the amateur mistake of standing too fast.”

Her tension relaxed only a little at his words, but she had to admit that his hand was steady. “Then, may I expect you to remain lying down for a while?”

“Perhaps.” He lifted his head, and just as quickly lay back down, squeezing his eyes shut. “Allow me to amend that to a ‘yes.' Zachary? You came with a message?”

“Yes sir.” The young man's livery was flecked with dust, as if he had ridden hard to get here. “The number two boiler has blown.”

 

Twenty-four

Fire and Water

As if the prospect of the boiler blowing were not bad enough, Zachary's next words chilled Jane. He said, “There's a dozen or more wounded bad. Mr. Pridmore won't send for a doctor.”

Vincent's eyes snapped open. “Tell me that is not true.”

“He won't even let us move them. Frank tried to insist, but Pridmore said he'd whip anyone who touched the wounded instead of helping save the stock. Frank send me to ask you to come.”

Jane put a hand to her bosom in horror. All those people burnt and scalded, with no hospital, and Pridmore would not send for medical help? It was beyond monstrous.

“Why does he think I can get Pridmore to do anything different?”

“You're white.”

The blunt reality sat between them. Regardless of Frank's competence or the correctness of his position, he could not argue with Mr. Pridmore and hope to win. Pushing himself up, Vincent pitched over and had to catch himself with a palm slapped to the floor. “Damn. Someone help me up.”

“Vincent—”

“Jane, I am not going to lie here.” He held out his hand to Zachary. “Steady me, please.”

Zachary hesitated, looking to Jane for guidance. In the time it took for her to nod, Vincent growled and rolled onto his hands and knees. He braced himself there, head hanging, and let out a steady stream of profanity.

Jane slid forward on her knees and put a hand under his arm. “Lean on me.”

With a hand on her shoulder, Vincent got one foot under himself and pushed upright. Even so, he swayed, and would have fallen again if Zachary had not rushed forward to catch his waist. Not yet fully upright, Vincent stood, balanced between the two of them. “Wait. Give me a moment.”

“Would it not be better to wait until the dizziness has passed?”

“It can pass in the carriage.” He nodded to Zachary, face set. “All right.” With painful care, he let go of Jane's shoulder and straightened slowly. Another string of curses in at least three languages emerged as he stood, Zachary bracing him.

Keeping his arm around Vincent's waist, Zachary moved to his side. “Put your arm over my shoulder, sir.”

With a grunt, Vincent did so. The activity in the ballroom had come to a complete stop as all of the glamourists watched Vincent's halting progress across the floor. Without a doubt, all of them recognised the pitching, spinning sensation that came of working too much glamour.

No. No, that was not what the looks of concern were. How stupidly self-centred of her. Some of them had friends or family who worked at the distillery.

Jane gathered her gown and began the process of raising her gravid form off the floor. When Louisa appeared to help her to her feet, Jane was deeply grateful. Standing, she faced the women and young men in the room. “If any of you have nursing skills, I would be most obliged if you could go to the great house at our estate. We will be sending the wounded there. Likewise, if you have family there…”

Nkiruka stepped forward from where she had been working. “You go with him. We'll take care of the house.”

“Thank you. I will send a message to Frank to let him know you are coming.” Jane hurried across the floor to catch up with Vincent.

He had become steadier but was still clearly using Zachary for support. As Jane caught up with them, Louisa turned and darted across the room. Jane spared her a glance, but Vincent occupied most of her attention.

His eyes were squinted nearly shut with concentration. “Jane, I do not want you to come.”

“I will make a note of that, but you are mistaken if you think I will remain behind.”

“I do not think you understand how bad this will be.”

“That is not a reason for me to stay when I might be of some use.”

“Jane—”

“Besides, unless I miss my guess, you will be occupied with Mr. Pridmore. I can direct the care of the wounded.” Jane tightened her mouth. “When you can stand unassisted, then you may argue with me.”

“I will not.” They arrived at the carriage. Vincent transferred his grip from Zachary to the carriage door. “Thank you.”

“Good.” Jane turned from Vincent as Louisa ran up to join them, a bundle of cloth in her hands. “Please go to the great house. Mrs. Whitten will give you the use of her carriage if you explain the situation. Ask your father to arrange for the spare rooms to be used for the wounded—”

Zachary interrupted her. “He is at the distillery, trying to see to the wounded there.”

“I will see to it, madam.” Louisa held out a bundle for Jane, which she took mechanically before recognising it as Vincent's coat and her bonnet. The young woman turned to Nkiruka. “May I ask for your assistance? You have more experience nursing than I do.”

“Sure, sure.”

“Thank you. My father has some bandages prepared, but we shall need more.”

Jane said, “Sacrifice the sheets if there is no other clean linen.”

“Yes, madam. I will arrange the carriage.” The young maid did not wait to be thanked or dismissed, just hurried back into the Whittens' great house.

Jane spied Zachary's lathered horse tied outside the ballroom. She turned to the young man, pulling on her bonnet as she did. “Zachary. Please go fetch Dr. Jones at once and ask her to meet us at the great house.” Over a dozen wounded, he had said. That would be an enormous undertaking for just one doctor, even with the help of the women here. She swallowed. “Please also fetch Sir Ronald.”

Vincent turned with alarm and had to fling out an arm to steady himself against the carriage. “You cannot be serious.”

“With the number of wounded? Yes.” Serious, if still uneasy at the prospect of being anywhere near the man. “He is a competent doctor, and Dr. Jones will need the help.”

“I cannot call a man who nearly killed you competent.”

“Nearly, but not quite. Given everything, you cannot still believe your father's claim that what Sir Ronald did was not calculated?” Jane wiped her hands on her gown, trying to brush some of her fury away. “I am sorry. My anger is not directed at you.”

“I know. God … I know that feeling well enough.” Vincent nodded to Zachary. “Do as she says. And during this, if we disagree, trust her over me. My judgement may be clouded.”

*   *   *

Jove guided the carriage
down the winding road at the quickest pace that was safe. During the first part of the ride, Vincent sat with his eyes closed and his hands clenched into fists upon his thighs. Watching him, Jane wet her lips. “Nausea?”

“Yes.” After a few moments, he added, “It is the motion, not the … the other.”

She had wondered if his nervous condition would be a concern, since she felt sick with anger at Mr. Pridmore and she would not be the one confronting the man. “Try watching the horizon. It helped during my seasickness.”

“There are only horses in front of us.”

“Ahead and to the right.” She glanced over her shoulder at the view across the cane fields. “You can see the horizon.”

Vincent cracked his eyes, looking where she indicated. The fields stretched across the plateau at the base of the hill in green waves. The wind stirred eddies of grey and brown through the leaves. The set of Vincent's face relaxed a little, and he nodded, not taking his eyes from the horizon. “Thank you.”

When the carriage swung around a bend, he transferred his gaze to the horizon on the left side of the carriage and cursed. Sitting forward in the seat, Vincent's face tightened again as he leaned towards the window. Jane sucked in a gasp of dismay. Ahead of them, a double plume of smoke billowed into the air.

With the twists in the road, it would take them another twenty minutes, at best, to reach the boiler. As the carriage jostled and bounced closer, Jane could only stare in horror. There must be significantly more than a dozen wounded, with the size of those clouds.

They rounded the next bend, and the smoke was hidden behind them. Vincent sank back against the seat, his face grave. “When we arrive, I am going to help you out of the carriage. If I am still unsteady, I shall offer you my arm. I hope I will not need to, but…” His face twisted in a grimace. “It will be hard enough to play the nobleman in my shirtsleeves, without worrying about pitching onto my face.”

“Oh, I have your coat.” In their haste, Jane had forgotten the bundle. She lifted it from the seat where she had tossed it. Louisa had snatched his waistcoat and cravat as well, thank heavens.

“You are a wonder, Muse.”

“It was Louisa. I should not have thought of it myself.” Jane leaned to the window and looked up the side of the hill towards the Whitten estate. Close to the top, a cloud of dust indicated that another carriage was on its way down. She sent a silent thank you to Mrs. Whitten and to Louisa. She held up his waistcoat and helped him slip his arms into it. “If you are steady on your feet, I will help Frank with the wounded. Otherwise I shall stay by you.”

They discussed their plans as Jane helped him dress in the carriage. Though slightly wrinkled, by the time they arrived, he once again looked the part of Lord Verbury's son. If that look were confined to his clothing, Jane would not have minded, but the cold and bitter expression regained its hold on his face.

Simply rolling into the yard of the distillery was enough to make Jane's stomach churn. The baby kicked wildly in answer to her agitation. Through the windows of the carriage, the sweet scent of rum mixed with smoke and cooked flesh. Audible over the sound of the horses' hooves, ragged screams cut through the air. In the centre of the long stone building, the smaller of the two plumes of smoke rose from a yawning hole in the roof. The larger column of smoke came from a flaming mass that lay twenty feet away.

“It blew through the roof.” Vincent ground his teeth together. “I told him that the patch would not hold.”

Jove pulled the carriage to a halt in a cloud of dust. His outrider jumped down and ran to catch the horses' bridles as the beasts snorted with fear at the smoke billowing across the yard.

Though it looked as if Vincent wanted to spring from the carriage the moment it stopped, he rose more deliberately and held the door as he stepped out of the carriage. Jane watched his face as he turned to help her out. When she was out, he gave a tight nod. “Help Frank.”

She squeezed his hand, reluctant to let him go. “Be careful.”

He gave that cold, bitter smile belonging to a man she did not know. “I think we are beyond that.” And then he was gone, striding through the dust and smoke to where Mr. Pridmore stood. With him, in a cluster of pristine linen and cotton, stood a small collection of white men. Their faces were pink with the heat, but none of the soot or blood had stained their trousers. Their contrast to the rest of the scene appalled Jane.

Vincent had been right. Jane had not understood how bad it would be. A woman, bleeding from a cut on her forehead, staggered in circles. A severed arm, twisted and blackened, leaked blood into the dust. Bodies lay sprawled on the side of the low hill that Jane had chosen for the site of the future hospital. The screaming sobs continued, coming from that area. The explosion had been more than an hour ago, and these people had been in agony that whole time.

Her first instincts were both to run towards that sound and to run away from it. The indecision held her, frozen, in the shade of the carriage. The carriage. She must find Frank. They could put some of the wounded in the carriage.

Between her and the hill, black men in ragged clothing were rolling enormous barrels out of the rum factory. One of them had removed his shirt, and the sweat on his back had varnished a twisted mass of scars. Another had dried blood crusted on one arm. If not for her conversation with Louisa, Jane was not certain that she would have noticed how very dark these men were compared to the house slaves.