Page 20 of The Earl's Inconvenient Houseguest

Chapter Nine

Sophie hunched over the steaming cup not really tasting the contents because she was in such a daze. It was precarious, the physician had said.

Precarious.

If Aunt Jemima survived the next twenty-four hours then perhaps she would recover. If not...well, frankly that did not bear thinking about. Nothing about what had happened tonight bore thinking about. It was all so dreadful.

All so hopeless.

Her aunt’s lungs had been exposed to too much smoke. Her pulse was sluggish, and she remained unconscious and unresponsive. That, as she had overheard the grave-faced doctor whisper to the vicar when he had assumed she wasn’t within earshot, wasn’t a good sign.

Because she did not have the capacity to comprehend it all at the moment, Sophie had decided to not to think about it. Worrying would not change the outcome, nor would blaming herself or castigating herself for not acting differently sooner. As she had done all three things incessantly for the last few hours and they had only led to the very real chance of pitying tears of remorse and despair which would help no one, she had also decided to do as she had always done when her world imploded. To exist only from moment to moment and deal with whatever each dictated.

Right now, on the good doctor’s advice and while Reverend Spears was sat keeping watch by her aunt’s bed, she needed to drink something to ease her scorched throat. Hence she was sitting here all alone. On the floor of the vast but cluttered landing of Hockley Hall, still in the soot-stained and ruined nightgown which was the only item of clothing she possessed that had survived the fire. As it was apparently the only thing she knew of that she still owned which hadn’t been destroyed in the blaze, that too felt significant. Although in what way she did not have the capacity to contemplate nor was she inclined to when not thinking about such things was always easier.

‘Are you all right, Sophie?’ Archie edged towards her from the staircase, bright blue eyes so like his brother’s as wide as saucers as if he had no earthly idea what to say or do to make things better.

She sympathised. She had no earthly idea either, so she nodded.

‘I am as all right as I am going to be.’ Because he was anxiously rocking from foot to foot, clearly lost without his brother, she patted the floor beside her. ‘But I could do with some company.’

He sat and then shuffled closer so that their arms were touching, then rested his head on her shoulder. ‘Cook says that Willow Cottage is all gone. Burned to the ground.’

‘Half of it burned...the rest of it collapsed.’ She had stood dumbstruck as her house seemed to fold in on itself in a big cloud of debris. Her home, all its contents and memories, gone in mere seconds. Wiped from the face of the earth because she had been so consumed by self-pity that she had forgotten to dampen down the pitiful fire in the parlour in their rickety, smoking chimney before she had gone to bed. ‘It turns out that wattle and daub isn’t as resilient against flames as brick.’

‘What’s wattle and daub?’

As giving this sweet man a history lesson seemed a better use of her time than curling into a ball and weeping inconsolably, she told him in great detail, certain that if she gave in to the hovering tears they would never stop.

‘Cook says that you were lucky to get out alive.’

‘We were.’ Although that luck had been dependent on the bravery of Lord Hockley. If he hadn’t got to Aunt Jemima and dragged her out of danger, then she was under no doubt her aunt would have been flattened. And if Ned Parker hadn’t managed to lift the beam and haul both her aunt and her tenacious rescuer to the window in the nick of time, then two people would have died a hideous death tonight. Ned’s big boots had barely hit the ground when the roof finally gave, then within seconds the walls crumbled with it.

And all because Sophie had allowed her emotions to consume her—albeit briefly—and as a consequence had forgotten to kill the pathetic, measly fire in the parlour grate.

It did not seem quite so pathetic and measly now though. Nor did the guilt which went with it. If her aunt died because of her neglect...

For the sake of her tenuous grip on her sanity, Sophie forced herself to do an about-turn on that dark path. Forced herself to smile at Archie. ‘Your brother was the hero of the hour.’ Or at least the main one to her mind.

‘Will he get another medal like he did for Waterloo? Papa told me Rafe had been a hero there too, but he has always been the brave one. I get scared easily. Were you scared, Sophie?’

‘Terrified.’ She still was, but for very different reasons.

Archie wrapped his arms around her and smothered her in a hug. ‘You are safe now, so everything is going to be all right.’

‘That is good to know.’ For Rafe perhaps it might all be all right. He was young and fit and in possession of a strong body that would soon repair. Her Aunt Jemima’s was old and weak. Her health and her heart had been failing for some time. Not that Archie needed to be burdened with that knowledge when he had been so distraught earlier. He had been in a terrible state when they had carried his brother’s unconscious, battered and blackened body into the hall.

‘The doctor needs a big table from somewhere.’ Ned Parker stepped out onto the landing, his face grave behind his thick beard. ‘As solid as we can find.’ His eyes darted to Archie, and he softened his tone to avoid causing him more distress. ‘He’s going to try to reset the shoulder.’ But Archie’s eyes widened again anyway as he swallowed hard.

‘Good.’ She squeezed the young man tight in reassurance before she released him. ‘The sooner they mend your big brother’s shoulder, the sooner he will recover. It must be very painful for him right now.’ Although perhaps not quite as painful as it would be when the physician forced the dislocated joint back in its proper place. The last thing Archie needed to hear was Rafe screaming in agony. ‘Perhaps you can tell Walpole we need a big table up here immediately and then once that’s done go and help Cook make Rafe a cup of tea. My aunt is convinced a nice cup of tea fixes everything.’

Happy to be of use, Archie hurried off, leaving her alone with Ned. ‘How is he?’

‘Surprisingly alive and upright for someone who had half a roof fall on top of him.’ Ned shook his head as if he couldn’t quite believe it. ‘Apart from the right shoulder—which looks nasty—he’s managed to escape with surface wounds and a hacking cough. It’s too soon to be sure, but the doctor reckons he’ll make a complete recovery.’

Sophie slumped in relief, glad that at least there was some good news in this tragedy-filled night. ‘Can I see him?’ She needed to thank him. Needed to see for herself that he wasn’t still in the dire state he had been in when Ned had manoeuvred his limp body out of the window to the waiting hands below.

Ned shrugged his big shoulders. ‘I don’t see why not—although I should warn you that he’s not decent.’

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