Through the steam and the smoke she could see the bare roof timbers now, like the bones of a skeleton sticking out through a dead body. There were two of the nightmare roasting-apple heads at the window now, and the screaming was going on and on, all mixed up with the crackling fire and the spluttering hosepipe and the dreadful bones of the house, and the really terrible part was that it was starting to become annoying, that screaming, so that Lucy wanted to shout to it to shut up…
She sobbed and began to run towards the house, but somebody caught her and held her back. Edmund. Lucy struggled to get away from him but he held her tightly, putting his hands over her ears to stop her hearing the screaming, but Lucy heard it anyway. She heard, as well, Edmund’s voice saying in a horrified whisper, ‘I’m so sorry, Lucy. Oh, Lucy, I’m so sorry.’
The fire engine came clanging along the lane, the sirens shrieking, so that if either Mariana or Bruce Trent were still screaming from within the flames, no one could hear them. The firemen ran about, unhooking ladders, and connecting steel hoses to taps, and huge powerful jets of water rained down on the house and clouds of steam rose up. The flames hissed angrily for a few moments, and then died down.
A little night wind had started up, and it blew the billowing smoke straight into Lucy’s face. It was dark heavy smoke and it was laden with something greasy and too-sweet…As the terrible rich scent reached Lucy’s stomach, she pushed Edmund away and was violently sick on to the rain-sodden ground. People came to help her – putting their arms around her, telling her everything would be all right, please not to cry, oh the poor darling child—
Everything would not be all right, of course, because nothing would ever be all right again in the entire world. The world would forever consist of two helpless figures with nightmare heads, screaming as they burned up. Lucy was sick on the grass again, and somebody sponged her face, and somebody else wrapped blankets round her. She tried to stop shaking but could not, and she tried not to look at the house.
And all the while, the night-rain beat ceaselessly down on the burning house and on what lay inside it.
There had to be an enquiry, of course, and there had to be an inquest. Sympathy was extended to Lucy and the rest of the family, and a verdict of accidental death was recorded. It was a terrible tragedy, but it was nobody’s fault, said people. It had been a freak accident – a bizarre sequence of events that could not possibly have been predicted. Perhaps a spark from a faulty bit of electrical wiring had started the fire, or, more probably, someone had carelessly thrown a cigarette down somewhere. It was not very likely that anyone would ever admit to that, however.
One or two people murmured that if only Mariana had not gone running up to the attics and if Bruce had not then chased up there after her, they might still be alive. The top part of the house would still have burned, and anything in the attics would have been lost, but for goodness’ sake, what were some bricks and timber and a few bits of jumble against two people burned alive!