The Silent Governess(53)

Olivia and Lord Bradley swung around to look at each other, their gazes locking into place. The same thought—fear—in both of their minds. The little-known closet. What if Andrew had hidden there?

Olivia lurched forward, but Lord Bradley caught her by the arm. “Talbot, keep her back.”

The coachman stepped forward and gripped her upper arms. Lord Bradley shrugged off his coat, bunched it over his nose and mouth, and disappeared into the smoke.

Olivia strained against Talbot. “Let me go!” Every maternal feeling swelled within her, overriding even her survival instinct. A little boy, her charge, might even now be overcome with smoke. “Let me go to him. Let me go.”

The coachman’s wiry strength was unyielding, and she was no match for a man who controlled horses six or seven times his weight.

Oh, God, please. This is my fault. Oh, please, spare them both!

The smoke roiled black and grey. With a loud crack, the far wall and roof crumbled—the section where the hay and straw were stored. The flames shot through the aperture, and the smoke rose even higher. People were running from all directions now, Mr. Croome leading the charge. Behind him, Hodges, Osborn, Mrs. Moore, Mrs. Hinkley, the gardener, hall boy, and maids, all formed a water brigade from the garden well. Grim-faced people sloshed bucket after bucket of water at the ravenous mouth of the fire. But Olivia could see it was futile. She scanned the growing crowd but saw no dear little brown mop of hair. No wide brown eyes. Now Lord Brightwell ran out of the house. And there, Judith, pulled along by Audrey. The girl’s face was wild with fear. Olivia’s heart sped within her. No Andrew.

Lord Brightwell reached them first. “Are the horses all out? The groom?”

Behind her, Talbot said, “All accounted for, my lord.”

The earl looked at the coachman, still holding her fast, then searched her face. “What is it, Olivia?”

Stretching out her hands, she gripped Lord Brightwell’s arm as tightly as Talbot held hers. “I could not find Andrew. Edward went in to make sure . . .”

“I told him not to, my lord,” Talbot said.

Craning her neck, she asked the coachman, “Did you check the closet? The hidden door between the tack room and the saddle rack?”

“There is no closet there.”

“But there is!”

Rumble . . . crack! The roof collapsed like a snake of dominoes from right to left.

“Edward!” Lord Brightwell lunged forward, loosing Olivia’s hand as though a child’s grip.

Through the black smoke, a figure materialized, black against black, like a specter. A beam fell and struck the dark figure, and Olivia screamed.

Lord Bradley, a burden in his arms, stuttered to the side and crashed to his knees just ahead of the weight of the wreckage. Olivia jerked away from Talbot’s stunned grip and ran forward on the earl’s heels, passing him and reaching Edward first. She pulled the small coat-shrouded body from him, and relieved of his burden, his duty, he fell face forward. His father caught him as he dropped, cushioning his fall. Croome appeared beside the earl, face ashen. Together they each took an arm and dragged Lord Bradley from the flames.

Watching from a point of relative safety, Andrew in her arms, Olivia’s heart pounded, and new tears pooled in her eyes for reasons too numerous to sum.





In the library that evening, Lord Brightwell and Judith Howe sat in high-backed chairs very much like thrones. Olivia stood before them, hands clasped behind her back and head bowed—the posture of a criminal awaiting judgment. She felt she deserved the moniker. And worse.

Audrey stood behind her stepmother’s chair, eyes red-rimmed. Olivia wished the girl need not be on hand to witness her dismissal.

Olivia forced her head up. “I am very sorry, Mrs. Howe. Lord Brightwell. I should never have allowed Andrew to run off on his own.”

Judith Howe played with the worked lace on the arm of the chair. She looked up and said coldly, “I must say, Miss Keene, I am prodigiously disappointed in you.”

“It was not her fault, Mamma,” Audrey said. “We were only playing hide-and-seek. Miss Keene could not know a fire would start.”

“How quick you are to defend your governess, Audrey,” Mrs. Howe said. “You may leave us now.”

Olivia’s dear pupil gave her an apologetic glance and hurried from the room.

When the door closed behind Audrey, Mrs. Howe asked, “Are you in the habit of letting the children run wild about the estate, without supervision?”

“No, madam.”

“Even that nurserymaid, who is little more than a girl herself, knows better. If anything had happened to Andrew . . .”

“I know. I know.” Olivia pressed her eyes closed, miserable. “I would never have forgiven myself.”

“Nor would you ever have the care of children again, had I anything to say about it.” A new thought struck her mistress. “And why were you out with them instead of the girl?”

Olivia swallowed. “Becky has so much other work, and I enjoy playing with the children.”

“It does not sound as if you were with them at all, but instead off on your own somewhere.” She darted a glance at her uncle. “Perhaps meeting a lover?”

“No, madam. Nothing of—”

“Judith, please,” Lord Brightwell admonished. “Such accusations are neither fair nor becoming.”

Mrs. Howe gave him a sharp look. “Are you so quick to defend her as well?”

The earl spoke in moderating tones. “Of course I am. Miss Keene has been a marvelous addition to our household. I am sure she regrets this incident and will see that it does not happen again.”

Judith looked from her uncle to Olivia and back again. “It seems, Uncle, that you would forgive her anything.”

“It was an accident, Judith,” he said. “And Dr. Sutton assures us Andrew will be fine. He did inhale a quantity of smoke and will cough for some days, but he is breathing well and will be his old mischievous self in no time.”

Olivia dared ask, “And what of Lord Bradley?”

“He is badly injured,” Mrs. Howe snapped. “Thanks to you.”

“My dear Judith,” Lord Brightwell said, “do you accuse her of starting the fire as well?”

Judith stubbornly lifted her chin but gave no answer.

“Judith, really! According to Talbot, there were two persons in the stables before the fire.” He gave Judith a pointed look. “But neither was Miss Keene.”

Mrs. Howe did not ask whom he meant, Olivia noticed. And wondered why.

After the interview, Olivia stepped into the sickroom. Andrew lay there, head raised on several pillows, eyes as red as the glass of berry ice he clutched in his hands.

Olivia felt her chest tighten. Thank you for sparing him, she breathed. “Hello, Master Andrew.”

He smiled up at her, teeth and lips stained red. “Hello, Miss Livie.”

“How are you feeling?”

“My eyes burn like the time I got Mamma’s perfume in them. My throat hurts too, but Becky brought me an ice, which feels ever so good. Delicious too.”

Olivia smiled. “I am very glad.”

He scooped up another spoonful into his mouth, and several drips found their way onto his white nightgown.

“Might I help you with that?” she asked.

He shrugged good-naturedly and handed her the spoon as Olivia sat on the edge of the bed.

She gave him a spoonful and simply savored the sight and nearness of the dear little boy. A floorboard creaked and Olivia turned her head.

Judith Howe entered the dim room. “Miss Keene,” she said officiously. “Why are you not in the schoolroom with Audrey? That is what Lord Brightwell is paying you for, I believe. I shall ask Mrs. Hinkley to sit with Andrew until the chamber nurse arrives.”

Andrew’s little brow furrowed, clearly hearing the restrained anger in his stepmother’s voice. He asked, “Are you cross with Miss Livie, Mamma?”

“If I am, it is only because I am concerned about you, Andrew. You might have been killed in that fire.”

“But she did not start the fire.”

“She should not have allowed you to go into the stables alone.”

Andrew shrugged his little shoulders again. “She did not ’low me, I just went. Saw Uncle Felix and wanted to talk to him.”

“Did you? Still, she ought—”

“But he was already talking to Martha when I got there,” Andrew continued. “So I just went into that hiding closet, like I seen Miss—”

“Saw.”

“Saw Miss Keene coming out of that time.”

Judith looked at her shrewdly. “Indeed?”

“I could see Uncle Felix and Martha through the cracks in the wall. He sounded angry, so I did not jump out and scare him as I planned to.”

“Very wise,” Judith murmured, distracted.

“He was smoking one of those cigars, Mamma—the ones you don’t like? And he threw it down.”

Judith darted a look at Olivia, then said agitatedly, “Yes, well, we cannot know if that is how . . . that is, you did not actually see the fire start?”

Again Andrew shrugged. “No. I went to look out the back of the closet to see if Audrey was coming to find me yet. I saw Martha run off into the wood and Johnny run after her. I smelled smoke and thought Uncle Felix must still be near, but that is all I remember. . . .”