Page 31 of These Violet Delights
“Winny and I will return to the Florizel,” Violet told him. “They will still have rehearsal, and we can ask if anyone saw the two of them in town.”
The hired carriage had left long ago, but Lane gave the sisters one of Pressmore’s to expedite the journey. Violet sat like a lit cannon fuse, a heartbeat away from screaming at thetop of her lungs. Nobody had mentioned to the Richmonds that Violet was to blame for it, but she knew it.Sheknew.
“If anything happens to her,” Violet murmured, pressing her nose to the freezing-cold window, “I’ll never forgive myself.”
“Wewillfind her,” Winny promised.
Violet wanted with every sinew in her body to believe her.
They were trundling down the hill sloping toward Cray Arches when Violet, squeezed tight against the door and window, saw a flash of orange on the horizon. Her heart seized. The light grew, spreading like the tail of a comet, arcing in a yellow crest over the center of town. The unmistakable scent of burning wood followed soon after. Smoke rose in hazy torrents, obscuring the first twinkle of stars.
“Something is on fire,” Winny whispered, cramming herself alongside Violet to look out the window.
“It’s the Florizel,” said Violet, her mouth bone-dry. “It’s gone up in a blaze.”
10
It is held
That valor is the chiefest virtue and
Most dignifies the haver.
Coriolanus—Act 2, Scene 2
The last person Alasdair expected to find at Sampson Park at that time of night was Lane Richmond. Lane was rich, well-liked, and known to be a cheerful sort of man, always ready with a smile. There was no trace of that boyish grin now as he tripped over his words to explain the state of things.
“I fear, Mr. Kerr, I must ask if your brother, Freddie, is at home.” Lane was pale with embarrassment. “Please forgive the impudence of the question, but it is a matter of some urgency.”
Alasdair had been busy at Clafton all afternoon, but to his knowledge, Freddie had not returned for supper. It had been a sleepy evening in general at Sampson; his mother had not been at all well, and Alasdair dined alone. His stomach clenched with nerves; Freddie knew he was meant to be on a short leash after his dayslong self-mortification in Cray Arches, and todisappear again so soon was bold indeed. Bold and stupid. Alasdair allowed Lane inside to wait while he directed the staff to search the grounds quickly for Freddie. For his part, he made a swift loop through the upper floors, discovering Sampson as dark and silent as a grave.
When he returned to the front hall, it was to the scandalized gasping of his mother.
“A Richmond in my house? At this hour?” She turned to Alasdair, hiding behind a maid and clutching the collar of her robe to her throat.
Alasdair didn’t want to trouble her, escorting Lane outside with a grumbled apology.
“I shouldn’t have come,” said Lane, fretting with his hat.
“No, no,” Alasdair assured him. “He broke things off badly with Miss Graddock, and he is often swayed by lesser impulses. You were right to raise the alarm.”
Lane bowed his head with relief, then gestured to his horse. “I’m glad you understand, sir.”
“All too well.” Alasdair called for his valet, already formulating a plan. “He frequents the Gull and Knave. I’ll go there myself and inquire. If I learn anything of use, I’ll send a man to Pressmore.”
“I am glad to hear it; I’ll return there and await your message.”
While Lane Richmond departed, Alasdair went to inspect the stables. No carriages were missing, and all animals were accounted for, which meant either Freddie was still on foot, as he had been that afternoon, or he had hired conveyance elsewhere. Elsewhere like a postal inn popular with travelers. Alasdair left Sampson Park not long after Lane, riding hard for the Gull and Knave. The cold sliced his cheeks, and his heart raced, but he wasn’t about to let Freddie slip out of townfor an elopement; it would break their mother’s heart, and she was their only parent with a heart to protect.
As he was nearing town, he noticed the rising smell of smoke on the wind. At first, he thought he imagined its sickly, acrid tinge, but then he saw the hellish black cloud gathering over the middle of Cray Arches. The shrieking of townsfolk, the neighing of panicked horses, the sounds of shattering glass and breaking wood were seared into him. He briefly considered continuing to the inn but diverted and rode deeper into town, finding a dozen or so men running through the square, buckets sloshing with water as they pelted toward the theater. The building was like a hearth without a chimney, stones glowing beneath a crown of fire.
He secured his horse to a post at the blacksmith’s a cautious distance away and joined the queue of helpers running toward the danger. A group had gathered outside the theater, watching in horror, clutching one another, some frozen to the spot by the fear, others hurrying to save what they could.
“Back!” he thundered, pushing them away from the front steps. One woman in particular was inching far too close, putting herself in needless danger. Alasdair put himself between her and the fire, holding out his hands to keep her from going any farther, and caught his words before they came roaring out. Violet Arden stared up into his eyes, her face heavily smudged with soot. There was a pile of belongings beside her, a heap of things she had already saved from the fire.
“There’s still time…” She dodged around him, evading the sweep of his arm, frustratingly nimble.
Alasdair turned toward her and away from the sea of faces gawking at the theater. “Is there anyone left inside?”
