*
Jane noted the time of her next bearing pain in the logbook with some trepidation. The last five had been at regular half hour intervals. Dr. Jones had said to send for her if they became regular or more frequent than twenty minutes, but there was no one to send. She looked up from the page to where Nkiruka stood by the veranda door.
The older woman frowned, her hands set on her hips. The light from the fire had grown bright enough to dimly light the room.
Jane set down the quill. “What do you see?”
“We need go.” She turned from the door. “De fire closer. Wind blowing towards us. Let’s go.”
“Go?” Jane stared stupidly at the numbers on the page, as if looking at them would change anything.
“Yes.” Nkiruka bustled across the room and pulled a stout walking dress out of the wardrobe.
As if in answer, the baby pushed against Jane’s ribs. She swallowed, resting her hand against the spot. “Vincent would come if we were in serious danger.”
“Fire jus’ cross de road. We haffu go. Now.” She carried the dress over to Jane.
Heart pounding, Jane sat up and, for the first time in two weeks, swung her legs out of bed. Nkiruka helped her slip into the dress and then knelt to put her slippers on, since Jane could no longer see her own feet. When Jane stood, she had to grasp the bedpost for support. The room spun a little, as if she had been working glamour. All of the weight she had gained seemed to have doubled in her weeks abed.
“You all right?”
“Dizzy.” Jane rubbed her eyes, trying to clear her vision.
“You lean on me. We go.”
Standing, Jane could finally look out the window at what had alarmed Nkiruka. The flames had swept up the hill, and one of the orange trees on the far side of the great house grounds had caught fire. Jane put her hand on Nkiruka’s shoulder and nodded. “I see the need for haste.”
Though Jane felt weak and had to lean on Nkiruka more than she wished, her vision cleared and she seemed to be in no danger of fainting. They went down the passage leading to the back of the house. They scarcely needed a candle—through every window, flames lit the sky. Jane sent up a prayer for Vincent’s safety.
Nkiruka opened the door into the yard, provoking both of them to cough. The air was hot and thick with smoke. Nkiruka shut the door and patted Jane’s arm. “Wait here. I go get us a couple ah damp cloths.”
Jane leaned against the wall with a hand held over her nose. “Excellent thought.”
Nkiruka hurried back down the hall and disappeared into one of the rooms they had used for the wounded. Jane thanked providence that they were all out of the house, though she was not certain they were any safer where they were.
Another bearing pain squeezed her. Though the discomfort was not great, Jane winced, knowing that half an hour had not yet passed. She hoped it was a sign that they were irregular rather than becoming more frequent.
In short order, Nkiruka reappeared with two lengths of dripping linen. She slowed as she approached Jane. “Another one?”
“Yes.” Jane took the wet cloth from her, trying to ignore the cramp. “How can you tell?”
“You frown, so.” Nkiruka drew her brows together and set her mouth in a straight line. Then she crossed her eyes.
In spite of herself, Jane laughed. “I do not.”
“Next time me’ll hold up wan mirror.” Nkiruka tied a cloth around her head, covering her mouth and nose.
Jane followed suit, knotting the wet fabric behind her head so they looked like a pair of unlikely bandits. “I feel as though we should rob a bank.”
“Later. Fus, arwe do fire walki—”
“Jane!” From the front of the house, Vincent’s bellow cut through the walls.
Jane’s knees went weak with relief. Only the fact that she was already leaning against the wall kept her on her feet. She pulled the damp cloth down and drew a breath to reply. It turned into coughing, and then a wheeze with each burning inhalation.
He ran into view in the blue parlour at the end of the hall. Knocking over a chair in his haste, he dashed through the room. “Jane!”
“Here! We are here.”
“Oh, thank God.” He slid to a halt in front of them. His face was dark with soot, and he had a damp linen cloth hanging around his neck. “The road is closed off, but the way to Frank’s house is still open and the wind is blowing away from it.”
“Dat too far fu she walk. Take she to the safe house. Good thick stone walls.”
“No—there is no ventilation. You would suffocate in short order with the way the wind is blowing.” He pulled the cloth up over his nose. Bending, he lifted Jane into his arms. “And I have no intention of letting her walk.”
“You cannot carry me all that way.”