His eyes were serious beneath lowered brows. “I do not know. Perhaps. Fire is not predictable.”
Again, a gust of wind blew a thick cloud of smoke across the crowd. Cat mopped at the tears coursing down her cheeks.
“The decision is yours, darling. I will honor whatever you choose.”
Shouts lifted up, and men ran down the street.
It was a terrible scene.
A living nightmare.
And she had to choose. Ruin or ruin. There was no good option. “Do you think it will work?” she asked. “The firebreak?”
“We have no other ideas.”
Ideas were often in short supply during times of crisis. Cat knew this. Had lived it before. “Then do it. Pull down the Warners’ cottage.”
Jamie brushed the tears from her cheek. “I’m sorry, Cat.”
She straightened her spine. Now was not the time to mourn. “What can I do?”
“Stay back. For God’s sake, don’t go near the blaze.”
“But—”
“You must listen to me on this. I am not lecturing you. Your skirts could catch a spark and easily set to flame.” He grabbed her upper arms. “I’m sorry I was gone last night. The bridge was washed out and I couldn’t get back before today. Please, stay safe. For me.” He pulled her to him for a quick, hard kiss, then turned toward the angry blaze.
Cat couldn’t watch him go. She whirled away from him and the danger he faced. On the far side of the street, women and children huddled together and observed the men. She couldn’t help fight the fire, but she could help the villagers.
She grabbed a footman whose livery was ruined by soot. “Run up to the Abbey and tell them to fetch the doctor in Giltbrook, then to send any food and drink they can find to the village. I will be waiting for it.”
“Yes, my lady.” The boy hurried off.
“And salve and bandages,” she called after him. “For burns.”
It seemed a paltry thing, to worry about food and comfort now. But the men were exhausted and the children scared. And the women, the women silently endured it all, as they always had. The least she could do was offer the villagers strength for their bodies. And perhaps their spirits as well.
It seemed forever before the wagon arrived from the Abbey with refreshment. A farmer’s wife passed food to the women and children while Cat brought ale and bread to the men fighting the fire. They came to her blackened and sweating and exhausted, with minor burns on their hands and arms.
She watched the crowd for Jamie, listened for the sound of his voice. There was no sign of him. With each breath, she fought down her panic. Inhaled through the lump of fear that wanted to close her throat.
“The marquess?” she asked the men who stopped for a drink.
They shrugged, or pointed vaguely, or told her what she did not want to hear. “In the back. Where the flames are worse.”
Cat would not think on it. He had to be safe.
She loved him. With every part of her being, she loved him.
She could not lose him again.
Still the men came to her. They needed water. Bread. Bandages. She held herself together by sheer will and helped them.
By now, the fire had caught up to the Warners’ cottage, which lay in shambles on the ground. Flames licked across the ruins. Men scurried by with hoses and shovels, trying to protect the firebreak.
Somewhere, her husband was in the midst of it all.
A rumbling rolled through the crowd toward her, then an actual cheer. Cat stopped on shaky legs and peered down the street. At the far end of Abbey Lane, where her cottages lay in smoke and ash, appeared a horse and carriage. No, not a carriage, another hose cart. Jamie must have sent word to the baronet, their closest neighbor. The horses protested at being led toward the fire. Their harnesses jangled as they threw their heads and drew back from the smoke.
Five men rushed forward and freed the hose cart from the horses, then ran the cart down the street to the smoldering ruins of the Warners’ cottage.
Water. Glorious water poured over the flames, sputtering them out.
The village was saved. But everything Cat had worked for—the cottages, the lace factory, the barns—it was all destroyed. Burnt to a pile of ash and charred ground.
FIRE IS AN EQUITABLE FORCE. It clears away everything in its path, regardless of use or beauty.
Jamie’s shoulders sank with relief when the blaze was contained at last. God’s teeth, he’d seen the plumes of smoke from miles away. He thanked the men who had fought the fire, grateful there were no serious injuries, and went to find his wife.
By now, the unburnt half of the village was swarming with dazed, sooty faces. Everyone wanted to talk to him. He shook hands, murmured assurances, and answered what questions he could. Finally he spotted Cat by the village square. She stood beside a wagon, a line of villagers spread before her. Two men wandered away with slices of cheese and apples in hand.
She was feeding them.