Page 116 of The Pirate and the Pagan
There was no way Barbara was going to repeat the graphic horror stories Helford had relayed to Charles, but she didn’t lie when she told her, “The moment he alerted the King, Ruark was off to Woolwich and Deptford to the naval yards for workmen and seamen and all the militia. Summer, where are you going?” she demanded.
What a ridiculous question, thought Summer, lifting her petticoats and flying down the stairs of Whitehall Palace. Forgotten was the throbbing head and delicate stomach. They had been replaced by a hard knot of fear which threatened to choke her. She ran down to the water stairs thinking to take a boat into the city, but this far out the Thames was deserted. She had no choice but to set off on foot. The four miles did not daunt her, she would have walked had it been forty.
She could smell the smoke from the fire on the warm wind and prayed that the fire would be out before she reached the city. By the time she rounded the bend of the River Thames, she could hear something roaring, and the wind had picked up considerably. Now she was so hot and walking so quickly that she began to perspire. Her breathing became labored, but she thought it was from her exertion coupled with her apprehensiveness. She had no idea that fire used up all the available oxygen and the smoke was a potential killer.
As she approached the city, the Thames was clogged by small boats and lighters filled with household goods which people were bringing out of their homes as fast as they could. The streets were unpassable because of the number of horses and wagons and carts evacuating people and the possessions they had accumulated over their lifetimes. If one and all were fleeing the fire, who remained to put it out, to stop it from spreading across the entire city? It seemed to be every man for himself, thought Summer with despair. Almost there, almost there, Summer kept repeating to herself as the wind and the fire roared.
She could feel the heat of the pavement through her satin slippers and the air was filled with black soot. She glanced down at her skirt and feet and saw they were no longer cream-colored. She was begrimed with soot and sweat, but there was far more to contend with. She could see the flames of the fire now; surely every warehouse along Lower Thames Street was ablaze. Showers of fire drops rained down, burning her cheeks and singeing her hair. Two Duke of York’s horse guards were forcing everyone back and would not allow them to enter Upper Thames Street.
Without hesitation she ran up to the guard and grabbed the horse’s bridle to get his attention. “My baby is in danger, I have to get through,” she begged.
He shouted, “Warehouses are full of pitch, tar, oil, brandy— can’t you hear the explosions?”
She turned up Blackfriars toward Ludgate Hill, but the crush of people heading to the river so they could get across to Bankside made progress almost impossible. The people were black. They had stayed in their houses until the last possible minute, until the top stories had actually set on fire. She had to fight her way through the throng. Almost there, almost there, she thought, and knew it was the only thing which kept her from screaming. Tears ran down her face freely at the suffering she witnessed. She saw sick children being carried out in their beds, old people being knocked to their knees as younger, stronger ones fled the malicious, bloody flames.
She looked up and saw church steeples ablaze; she looked down to see a cat fly past with all its tail ablaze. Even the poor pigeons had circled and circled the ledges of the burning buildings until their wings caught fire and they dropped down to the pavement to be crushed underfoot. By the time she reached St. Paul’s Cathedral her lungs felt as if they would burst. She stopped to press her aching side where she felt a cramp beneath her ribs. The massive church gave her a sense of calm. It was immense, it was the heart of London. Surely this building which covered over ten acres would stand its ground in the face of the terrifying conflagration. Summer crossed herself and ran along the south side of St. Paul’s toward Friday Street, muttering, “I’m there, I’m there.” Then she saw a sight that almost drove her mad. One side of Friday Street was ablaze; the opposite side, where her house had stood, no longer existed.
As she stood there unable to comprehend the enormity of her loss, she wondered why her feet were in such pain. She looked down to see her very shoes on fire. She kicked them off and the pavement scorched the bare soles of her feet. She saw a woman huddled in the middle of the road, but when she bent down to aid her, she saw the woman was dead, her face charred black, her hair still crackling. She screamed, “Mrs. Bishop, Mrs. Bishop.” Debris was falling about her and she took to her heels as if she had just gotten her second wind. She ran into Canning Street blindly, sobbing, not knowing or caring where she was or what she did. A large crowd of men were working furiously, pulling down houses in an effort to thwart the raging inferno. She saw a familiar tall, dark figure stripped to the waist, lifting heavy timbers. She flew to his side through the crowd of men. “Ru, Ru,” she cried, now oblivious to all danger.
Charles turned to see who grabbed him and couldn’t believe his eyes when he looked through the sweat and grime and recognized Summer. “Sweetheart, what in the name of hellfire are you doing here? Get back to the palace immediately.”
“Oh, my God, I thought you were Ruark. Where is he? My baby, my baby, my house is gone,” she babbled. “I must find my husband and my baby!”
He sat down on a doorstep and took her onto his knee. “Listen to me now, Summer,” he said as if speaking to a distraught child. “Ruark had your son and his nurse in his carriage when he came for me at three o’clock this morning. You are in the way here, we are trying to prevent the total destruction of St. Paul’s and the rest of my city. Be a good girl and get the hell out of here. For Christ’s sake, be careful. If anything happens to you, how am I to face Helford?” he demanded.
Her face beamed up at him as her heart overflowed with joy. His big hand covered her hair to crush out the burning flakes of fire. “Go in that direction, through Doctor’s Common and straight down to Paul’s Wharfe. The water is the only place that’s safe.” The water stairs had scores of people clinging to them. The crowd’s temper was turning nasty as they realized over half the boats had been hired to remove expensive furnishings rather than help the poorer families burdened by too many children. Summer found herself actually helping to tip a pair of virginals out of a boat so that a dozen terrified children could be taken across to Bank-side. Eventually someone made room for her in a boat and she gladly went across the Thames to safety.
It had begun to get dark and the fire seemed an evil, insatiable monster. The flames smoldered and crackled, seeming to enjoy their wicked orgy of destruction.
As Summer watched London all ablaze from the opposite shore she could feel the presence of death’s angel. She saw the fire grow, fresh blazes breaking out every minute. It was easier to see in the darkness. One corner after another caught fire, jumping across streets, arching across roofs, dropping down from blazing church steeples. It ran for well over a mile up the hill of the city. It devoured everything in its path—houses, churches, factories, prisons, alehouses, brothels. London was surely a city damned. It was still staggering from the devastation of the plague when the devil reached down to torch Sin City.
She sat on the grass all night watching the holocaust annihilate, ravage, and destroy the greatest city in the world. By morning even St. Paul’s had caught fire and the King, the Duke of York, and the lord mayor of London decided to blow up whole rows of houses so the insatiable fire would have nothing to feed upon. Summer hugged her knees, wondering why she had been blessed. It was a miracle that Ruark had gone to Friday Street in time to save Ryan and Mrs. Bishop. She felt very guilty over her good fortune in the face of so much misery. The fact that she had lost her home and all her possessions never entered her head.
Eventually she got back to the palace, but it took her most of the day. Some of the stories she heard were hard to believe. Stories of suffering and heroism and impossibilities the mind could hardly grasp, like the lead roof of St. Paul’s melting in the inferno, sending molten lead spewing down Watling Street.
Every stitch she wore went into the midden, then she bathed and washed the black soot from her singed hair. She was so tired she found it a great effort to lift her hands high enough to shampoo her head. The bed looked very inviting, but she knew she must get to Cockspur Street because that was the most likely place Ruark had taken Ryan. She cut through Pall Mall, which was the shortest distance to Auntie Lil’s, and when the familiar condescending footman opened the door, she could have kissed him.
The minute Lady Richwood glided into the reception room in oyster-colored silk Summer asked anxiously, “Did Ruark bring Ryan here in the middle of the night?”
“Yes, darling, but wherever have you been? We’ve been out of our minds with worry!”
“Oh, Lil, it will take me a week to tell you of my ordeal by fire.” Suddenly she broke down and sobbed. Lil saw that she needed the release of tears and quietly let her get it all out. Finally Summer sniffed and gulped. “I’m sorry, I suppose it’s the relief of knowing my baby is here.”
“Darling,” said Lil with understandable reluctance, “I said Ruark brought the baby and Mrs. Bishop in the middle of the night. I didn’t say they were still here.”
“Where are they?” asked Summer blankly.
“Darling, you look absolutely done in. Why don’t I put you to bed and I’ll tell you all about it in the morning.”
Summer shuddered as a goose walked over her grave. She looked Lil straight in the eye and said, “I walked into Dante’s Inferno today looking for my son and it seems I still haven’t found him.”
“Lord Helford came back at midday with a traveling coach and took the baby and his nurse away with him. He left a note for you.” Lil bit her lip as she handed her the sealed letter. She dreaded Summer’s reaction. Her relationship with her husband had always been volatile, to say the least, and by the looks of her niece the last thing she needed was another emotional upheaval.
Summer tore open the note with impatient fingers and read the words in disbelief.
I am removing my son from your care for reasons which are obvious. London is unfit and his permanent home will be Helford Hall. I have made my wishes on this clear to you in the past, so it should come as no surprise. I also rescued the Helford rubies, which you carelessly left behind in your haste to return to Court.
R.
