Time telescoped until it was nothing more than a raging fire, heat, ash, and smoke engulfing the upper floors of my home.
Holcroft House was aflame.
“Nay.” Soft black rain fell around me. Timbers cracked and crackled. “Nay, nay. Dear God, nay.” I began to crawl forward, one arm held before me, the other protecting my modesty. “Karel! Betje!” I shouted and staggered to my feet.
Outside, Blanche and Iris held each other, wailing and screaming, pointing.
Ignoring them, I stumbled past. “Karel! Betje!”
Bursting through the kitchen door, I collided with Adam. His face was black, his clothes too. Thick gray powder coated his hair, falling in a cascade across his cheeks. “It’s no good.” He grabbed me around the waist to prevent me from running further into the house. “You’ll not get to them that way. The fire’s taken the stairs.”
“What then?” I found my voice. “What?” I screeched. My head was a ball of white-hot agony; terror for the twins overcame my need to stop, to lie down.
“Anneke!” Adam’s eyes widened as he took in my appearance. “By God. What happened to you, lass?”
I glanced down. Lord knew what my face must look like, but my dress barely covered me. Spattered with blood, my arms were cut, bruised, my chest as well. “Not now,” I said.
Adam removed his coat and wrapped it around me.
“Adam . . .” My teeth were chattering so severely, it was hard to form words. “The children. Karel, he’s hurt . . . Westel . . .”
Questions brimming in his eyes, Adam said, “This way.”
Grabbing his hand, I started to run, but dizziness overcame me. Adam wrapped an arm about my waist and half-carried me outside and to the other end of the house.
Men poured through the open back gates, the fire drawing people as a candle did moths. They milled in the garden, black silhouettes against the golden fire, wielding hooks with which they pulled down the burning thatch. Others heaved brimming buckets, throwing the contents as high as they could. When the water struck the flames, they fizzled momentarily before flashing to life again. A line ran out the gate, down the lane. Some tended to Shelby, leading the petrified horse from the stables and out into the street. Four men pulled the cart to safety. Neighbors gathered, whether to help, be spectators, or to better gauge the safety of their own property, I was uncertain. I didn’t care. I wanted the children.
We staggered toward the mews, pushing anyone foolish enough to hinder us out of the way.
“There. Look!” cried Adam.
Standing at the window of the nursery were Louisa and Betje. I sobbed with relief. Both were crying and coughing, Betje’s little arms reaching out through the open space. Thick, angry smoke billowed around them. Betje spotted me.
“Anneke! Anneke! Help!”
I swallowed. Despair tried to take me, but I clamped it down. “I will, sweet one,” I called, cupping my mouth in order to be heard. The fire bellowed in an effort to drown out my reassurances.
Beside her, Louisa whimpered, her face dark with soot and heat; only her eyes showed, wide and white and terrified. “Louisa,” I yelled. “It will be all right. I promise.”
I continued to talk, trying to distract them. Ladders were brought, but they weren’t long enough. The drop was dangerously high. The ground hard. They couldn’t leap, the risk was too great . . . not unless . . .
I spun around. “Adam, grab a blanket, something Betje can jump into, quickly!” Adam ran into the stables. He emerged again seconds later with a large blanket—Shelby’s—and began organizing men to hold it.
“Louisa!” I stood beneath the window, squinting into the rain of molten ash, ignoring the way it spiraled around me, singed my flesh, my hair, my lungs. The fire growled, the hounds of hell, their fiery jaws snapping, consuming.
“Mistress, oh, mistress, hurry, hurry.” Tears fell down her blackened face, causing paler runnels to emerge. “Please, save us.”
“Listen. Betje, when I tell you, I want you to stand on the sill and jump, all right? Then you, Louisa, the men will catch you.”
“Aye, mistress,” said Louisa between sobs. “God help us.” She crossed herself. Betje did too, hiccuping, nodding.
The blanket was so small, the men so big, I prayed it would hold, for it was so far to fall. I glanced up again.
“Adam.” I grabbed his shirt. “Karel . . . He’s . . . in my room. The chest. You must save him.”
Pressing his lips together grimly, Adam looked across at my window. Flames danced around the shutters, making the thatch above glow eerily.
“Here, take this.” Adam passed his side of the blanket to another burly man; it was Master Blakesmith, the ironmonger. “I’ll fetch him, don’t you worry.” He threw buckets of water over himself then crossed the yard and, ignoring the choking plumes of smoke, ran back in the house. I wanted to follow, but knew if Betje was to be safe, I had to remain where I was.
Standing next to the blanket, beneath the window, I fastened my eyes onto hers. Filled with doubt, scared witless at what I was about to ask her to do, I was more frightened by what would happen if she didn’t obey.
“Betje, hold on to Louisa and stand on the sill.” My voice barely carried, the noise was so great, the fire so loud and filled with fury. Betje wailed and shook her head. “You must, sweet one.” I tried to sound calm, authoritative.
Louisa bent and said something. Betje nodded and, clutching Louisa’s hand, oh so slowly climbed onto the sill.
Holding my breath, I watched her clamber onto the narrow strip of wood. It was then I realized she held her doll, Tansy.
“Good girl! Now, stand up.”
Betje cried out and shook her head again.
“You must, Betje.”
She trembled like a wet cat, locked in fear.
“Betje.” I had an idea. “Tansy wants to jump first. All right? Throw Tansy onto the blanket.”
Crouched on the sill, Betje looked at me. Holding Louisa tightly, she glanced at her doll then, with a sudden flick of her hand, threw the toy into the air. Against the sparks and whirling ash, the doll descended, limbs splayed, woolen hair flying. She landed in the middle of the blanket. The men cheered as if this rag was a real person.
Fire began to lick the thatch above the window. Betje screamed, so did Louisa. The smoke was like another barrier, a smothering blanket that prepared to engulf them.
“Now! Betje, now.” She didn’t move. “For Godsakes, Louisa,” I cried as there was another explosion and part of the roof collapsed. “Push her!”
A ball of fire erupted through the window, engulfing Louisa and Betje. Screams and yells burst from everyone below.
Falling from the window was a small arrow of flame, a living comet shrieking to the earth.
It tumbled through the night and we all watched in horror until it sizzled onto the blanket where the men, mesmerized, nonetheless still managed to catch it.
They used the wool to swiftly douse the flames. Smoke rose, escaping from the sudden rents, the blackened holes. The smell was sickening, the caterwauling from within worse.
Then, from above us, came a piercing wail.
All eyes flew to the sill. Louisa! Though Betje’s fall had been mere seconds, already it was too late for Louisa.