Page 29 of Written in Secret (The Art of Love and Danger)
C HAPTER 29
A DARK CLOUD OF SMOKE billowed behind Plane Manor as Abraham’s hack pulled into the drive. Calls for buckets and water mingled with Miss Plane’s hysterical screams.
Had the kitchen caught fire? More importantly, had everyone gotten out of the house?
Abraham jumped to the ground and raced around the side of the mansion to find the source of smoke. The carriage house, not the manor, crackled beneath the wrath of the roaring flames climbing the building’s back corner. By the looks of it, the fire hadn’t been going long, but it was quickly eating up wood.
Mrs. Pelton and Miss Madelyn burst through the kitchen door carrying all manner of pots and bowls. The officers who’d spent the night waiting to pounce on Billy Poe now pounced on the water vessels and sped toward the water pump, where Dr. Pelton primed it with the vigor of a man half his age. A yapping puppy darted in between and around legs. One officer caught himself before falling, but a second skidded forward across a dirt patch. Two women—probably the friends Lydia had spoken of—physically restrained Miss Plane, whose screams clearly stated her intent to barge into the burning building to save her animals.
Colonel Plane raced past Abraham and flung open the carriage house doors. A smattering of barn kittens sprinted out, quickly disappearing into the hedges and the safety beyond.
Miss Plane broke free and sprinted inside. Her two friends hesitated, then rushed after her.
Three friends, but no Lydia.
His heart jolted at the realization, and his eyes once again roved each face. Setting the carriage house on fire would serve as the perfect distraction for Poe to kidnap Lydia.
“Theresa! Nora! Flossie! No!” Lydia’s scream came from the front corner of the house.
Abraham whirled in her direction. Lydia darted toward the carriage house’s doors, intent on joining her friends in needless danger. While he admired her foolish bravery, he wasn’t about to allow her to add to the number of those who might need rescued from a collapsed building. He stepped in her path and caught her around the waist before she made it past.
She shoved against his chest. “Let me go. I’ve got to help them.”
“It’s too dangerous.”
“Abraham Hall, if you don’t let me go, I’m going to knock you off your feet in a way that doesn’t involve lips.”
“Do what you must, but you can’t go in there.”
Two horses pounded out of the carriage house, wild-eyed and willing to barrel over anyone in their way.
Abraham jerked Lydia and himself out of their trajectory and held tight as Lydia fought against him. Her heel stomped on his toes. Her elbow slammed into his gut, and she attempted to kick off his legs to lurch forward. She didn’t claw at his face like some arrestees had in the past, so maybe she wasn’t fighting as hard as she could. He hoped not. If this was the best she could fight, Poe would have no trouble overpowering her.
Miss Plane sped out of the building with a bleating Tipsy in her arms and her two friends right behind. Colonel Plane followed, waving his coat at a brood of hens, directing the squawking and confused birds from danger.
Lydia slumped in his arms, her voice choked. “Thank God they’re okay.”
He waited until he was certain the three women were far enough away from the carriage house that they wouldn’t race back inside, then released Lydia.
She stumbled forward, calling them a thesaurus full of words for their foolish behavior as she went.
Abraham kept close to her heels. Poe was nearby. He had to be. There was no other reason for the carriage house to catch fire. They weren’t in a drought. The sky was clear of clouds or the possibility of lightning. Nothing contained within that building would lead to a spontaneous fire.
“Quit your mother-henning and go help the others put out the fire.” Miss Plane sidestepped Lydia’s wagging finger, and continued her determined march. “I’m taking Tipsy to the kitchen to tend her burns.”
The look Lydia shot Miss Plane expressed both the desire to strangle the woman and a sisterly love that felt relief at her safety. “Flossie, Nora, run to the neighbors’ and rouse more hands and buckets.”
The women hustled off, and Lydia strode toward the fire.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Abraham kept close, scanning their surroundings for Poe.
“Joining the fire brigade, just like you.”
He had every intention of hauling buckets, but a woman in skirts near an unpredictable flame was as dangerous as leaving her unguarded. “Help your father at the water pump. I don’t want you near that blaze.” Or alone.
She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. When they reached the pump, she relieved her father, who began exchanging filled containers with empty ones.
As Abraham reached for a full bucket, he leaned close to Dr. Pelton. “Poe’s about. Don’t allow her out of arm’s reach.”
Her father’s gaze darkened, and he nodded. At least now Abraham could leave her side and know that someone guarded her.
He rushed to the flames, which battled against the barrage of splashing water. Unfortunately the efforts meant little unless the fire department arrived soon with their steam engine and fire hoses.
Trip after trip, he lobbed water at the climbing flames. His muscles burned from the exertion, and his lungs ached from the smoke. Each grateful smile Lydia gave him when he exchanged buckets renewed his determination.
Finally the bells of the fire engine rang in the distance. Soon they’d have help.
Abraham drew back a bucket. Something red and round flew past his face. It crashed against the carriage house’s wall and shattered. Flames exploded with invigorated life and leaped from the wall toward him.
On instinct, Abraham dropped the bucket and lifted his arms to protect his face. He twisted away, but the inferno hit him with such force he stumbled backward.
His mind barely acknowledged his screamed name. The urge to escape the painful blaze overpowered every other sense. Heat seared up his sleeves and spread along the side closest to the fire. He ripped off his coat and flung it as far as he could.
Still, it felt as if flames torched his clothes and kissed his skin.
Startling cold water struck him in the face, then from opposite directions. Relief mingled with the sting of burns on his arm and hand, but thankfully his neck and face just felt wet. He swiped away the water and glanced around.
Lydia, Dr. Pelton, and another officer holding empty buckets stood nearby. Beyond them, Lawson knelt on the ground, pounding at the flames on Abraham’s still burning jacket with his own.
Lawson’s coat burst into flames, and he jerked away with a howl.
Too late, another officer doused the material.
Lawson sat on his haunches, cradling a hand already red and blistered.
“Madelyn, grab my bag from my room!” Dr. Pelton glanced over Abraham. “Lydia, I’ll need your help. Go with Detective Hall to the kitchen. Detective Lawson and I will be right behind you.” He rushed over to assist Lawson, leaving Abraham and Lydia alone.
Abraham doubted Dr. Pelton really needed her help, but the sly way of keeping her from Poe’s reach served its purpose.
Distress pinched her face as she slipped her arm around Abraham’s waist. “Does this hurt you?”
“No, but I’m perfectly capable of walking without falling over. Do not feel like you have to bear me up.”
“What if I’m the one who needs bearing up?” She turned exaggerated wide eyes on him and fluttered her lashes. “I just might faint without your sturdy presence to keep me going.”
When she wanted to flirt, Lydia could be as laughable as her books. Even so, he couldn’t deny he liked it. It was nice to have a woman concerned for him and to banter with. And that amusement was just what he needed to distract him from the growing discomfort on his hand and forearm.
He returned her flirtation. “I’m happy to be of ser—”
The bells of the fire engine overwhelmed his gallant response as horses led the engine and half a dozen firemen around the building. Soon the fire would be well in hand and its source determined.
The memory of glass shattering just before the flames erupted slammed into him. That small explosion was no natural event.
He pulled free of Lydia’s grip and pivoted toward the fire. There, scattered on the blackened ground, lay the undeniable remnants of curved glass. A fire grenade would leave that sort of debris, but those were filled with salt water or carbon tetrachloride. They were meant to extinguish a fire. Whatever had been within that glass vessel was an accelerant, not a suppressant.
And it had been thrown right when he was closest to the flames.
Abraham’s attention snapped to the area around them. Two dozen people now swarmed the fire. Several men dragged the cotton-jacketed rubber water hose into place while another connected the engine to a hydrant. Others continued to refill buckets and haul them back. If Poe were someone other than Clemens or Monroe, he could easily blend in, and Abraham would never know it. But more than likely, he had run as soon as he tossed the fire grenade. Poe was too smart to stick around.
Abraham clenched his fists, ignoring the painful protests of his burns. Poe’s targeted attack had come much quicker than he’d expected. The newspaper declaring his and Lydia’s romantic relationship hadn’t yet been delivered when he’d left his house an hour ago. That left Clemens and Monroe fighting each other for top suspect.
“What’s wrong?” Lydia pressed a hand to his shirtsleeve, reminding him of the urgency to get them both out of the open.
“We should get inside.”
If Poe tried for another attack, Abraham didn’t want Lydia caught in the cross fire.
He gestured for the nearest officer to walk with them as he led Lydia toward the house. “Ask around. Determine if anyone saw who threw that fire grenade.”
The officer nodded and left to do as ordered.
“What are you thinking?” Anxiety edged Lydia’s voice.
With as smart as she was, she likely had more of an idea than she let on, but he refused to answer until they were inside.
When they entered the kitchen, Miss Plane was sitting on the floor, wrapping linens around her goat’s legs. She glanced up and frowned when she saw Abraham’s coatless and sooty appearance. “I see you got too close to the flames too. That salve on the counter works for people as well as animals.”
Lydia directed him to a chair next to the white tin Miss Plane indicated. Once he was seated, she cupped his chin and turned his head so she could better see. Cool fingers of her free hand trailed lightly up the side of his face as she scrutinized the damage. Nothing hurt where she touched, so that was good. However, when she reached the area where his hair should be, her fingers scraped against his scalp and short, stiff hairs. Her hand slid higher into a longer section and attempted to comb it over the singed portion.
“You’ll be lopsided until you visit a barber, but thankfully I don’t think there is any damage to your face or throat. Now roll up those sleeves so I can inspect your arms for burns.” She focused on tending his injuries and lowered her voice so that Miss Plane could not hear. “Tell me why you instructed an officer to question people.”
He leaned forward and tried to ignore how her fingers gently traced the edges of the red blotches forming. “That fire was set.”
She sighed and reached for the tin. “That was my fear, but what makes you think so?”
“There is no logical explanation for why the carriage house would spontaneously catch fire. As fast as it ate up that corner, Poe had to have used an accelerant.”
“Like what?” The pungent, spicy scent of Henry’s Carbolic Salve wafted up as she opened the tin.
“Kerosene, mineral spirits, turpentine. Any of those are highly flammable and easy to obtain.”
Lydia dipped her fingers into the waxy salve and then turned his palm face up. Her gentle ministrations as she slathered the sticky goo soothed him as much as the salve’s cooling properties. If the subject weren’t so serious, he’d be tempted to lean back and let her nurse him all afternoon.
“But why would he burn the carriage house?”
“As a distraction to steal you away, just like his note said.”
Her brows drew together as she stared at his worst burn. By the downturn of her mouth as she wrapped a strip of linen around his hand, she worked his explanation over in her mind.
All at once, she straightened, a ghastly horror contorting her expression. “No. It wasn’t a distraction to steal me away. It was a distraction to steal my manuscript!”
She dropped his hand and ran from the kitchen.