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.