CHAPTER V
A Sunday of Excitement

 
Strangers in court do take her for the queen.
 

—Shakespeare

The first Sunday of Julius Charnock’s ministry was spent in an unexpected manner.  In the darkness of the autumn morning there was a knock at the door, and a low hurried call in Anne’s voice at the bedroom door: “Rosamond!  Julius, pray look out!  Isn’t there a great fire somewhere?”

“Fire!  Here?” cried Rosamond, springing up.

“No, not here.  A great way off.  You could beat it back.”

Rosamond had by this time rushed to the window which looked out the wrong way, found her dressing-gown, and scrambled into it in the dark ere joining Anne in the gallery, from the end window of which the lurid light in the sky, with an occasional flame leaping up, was plainly visible.  When Julius joined them he declared it to be at Willansborough, and set off to call up the coachman and despatch the fire-engine, his wife calling after him to send for the soldiers at Backsworth.

Frank and Charlie came rushing down in gratified excitement, declaring that it was tremendous—the church at least—and exulting in the attainment of their life-long ambition, the riding out on the fire-engine.  Servants bustled about, exclaiming, tramping, or whisking on the stairs; and Raymond presently appeared to ask whether his mother were ill, and, when reassured on that score, hurrying to ascertain whether she were alarmed, before he started for the scene of action.

“Let me come and stay with her,” said Rosamond, a striking figure, in a scarlet dressing-gown, with a thick plait of black hair hanging down to her waist on either side.

“Thank you, it will be very kind,” said Raymond, running down before her, and meeting Susan waddling out in a fringe of curl-papers, for some mysterious instinct or echo had conveyed to her and her mistress that there was fire somewhere—perhaps at home.  Mrs. Poynsett was not a nervous woman, and from the time she saw her eldest son come in, all fright was over, and she could have borne to hear that the house over her head was burning, in the perfect trust that he would save her from all peril; nor had he any difficulty in committing her to Rosamond, when he hurried away to finish dressing and repair to the spot.

Nothing could be seen from her room, but the little ante-room between it and the drawing-room had an excellent view, as the ground fell away from it, and there was an opening among the trees.

“We must get you there!” exclaimed Rosamond, in her excitement, helping her into some garments, and then running out as she heard a step—“Here, Julius, help me;” and without more ado, the mother was transported between them to the broad low couch under the window, and there bestowed in a nest of pillows, shawls, and rugs, that seemed to grow up under Rosamond’s touch.

Then following Julius out into the hall as he met his brother, Rosamond clung to him, entreating, “Please, please don’t run into any dangerous places.”

“Never fear, dearest; I am not likely.”

“Don’t let him, pray!” she said, turning to Raymond.  “Make him remember how blind he is.”

“I’ll take good care of him, Rosamond,” said the elder brother kindly; “I’m used to it.”

“And send for the –th,” she added.  “There is nothing like soldiers at a fire.”

“The glare must have given notice,” said Julius, “but we’ll send if needful.  Let go, you foolish girl; I’m not leading a forlorn hope.”

Did Raymond, as he mounted his horse, turning from the contact of the white and black heads, admire the reasonableness of the Cecil who had never shown any fears for his safety, nor any tendency to run about the passages in her robe de chambre, though she was now dressing with all speed?

The women-folk had to depend on their own eyes for intelligence, for every male, not only of the household but of the village, between the ages of five and seventy, started for Wil’sbro’, and a good many females followed their example, including the cook and her suite.

However, Susan remained, to find her mistress flown, and in her fright, give Lady Rosamond as round a scolding as if she had been Charlie, for her rashness in attempting a transit, which Dr. Hayter had pronounced to be as much as her mistress’s life was worth.  Having thus relieved her mind, and finding that Mrs. Poynsett was really very comfortable, or else too eager and anxious to find out if she was not, the good woman applied herself to the making of coffee.

Anne and Cecil had found their way to the leads, and were thence summoned to partake of this hasty meal, after which they proposed going to look from the brow of the hill; and Mrs. Poynsett insisted that Rosamond should not stay behind on her account; and, glad to appease the restlessness of anxiety, out went the ladies, to find the best view of the town,—usually a white object in the distance, but now blurred by smoke thick and black in the daylight, and now and then reddened by bursts of flame.

Anne had been reassured as to the need of beating out the fire and trampling down a place to isolate it, as in the bush-fires of her experience; and Rosamond related the achievements of the regiment in quenching many a conflagration in inflammable colonial cities.

It occurred to her that the best place whence to see it was the tower of the church, which, placed upon a little knoll, was standing out in full relief against the lurid light.  She found the key at the sexton’s, and led the way up the broken stone stair to the trap-door, where they emerged on the leads, and, in spite of the cold wind and furious flapping of the flag above their heads, stood absorbed in the interest of the sight.

There was a black mass in the open space, whence rose fitful clouds of smoke, the remnants of the fire, which had there done its worst; and beyond was a smoky undefined outline, with tongues of flame darting up, then volumes of dense white smoke, denoting a rush of water from the engines.  Black beings flitted about like ants round a disturbed nest; Rosamond hoped she detected some scarlet among them, and Cecil lamented over not having brought her opera-glass.  Even without this, it was possible to make out two long lines of men between the fire and the river, and at times they fancied they heard the shouting, but the wind generally carried it away.  The cold was bitter, and they had to hold together and keep a tight grip upon their garments against the gusts that seemed to rock the tower; but they could not bear to turn away, though the clock beneath pealed out hour after hour; for still, as the flames were subdued in one place they broke out in another; but gradually smoke became predominant, and then grew thinner, and as some of the black specks began to straggle into the road as if returning to Compton, the desire to hear became more pressing than that to see, and the three ladies began to descend—a slow and weary process, cutting them off from the view, and lasting so long, that the road was no longer deserted when they finally emerged into the churchyard.

Young Mr. Bowater, grimed, dusty, hatless, and his hair on end, and Rollo following with his feathery tail singed, hurried up at once.  “I’m not fit to touch, Lady Rosamond,” as he showed a black hand, and bowed to the others.

“Where’s Ju—where’s my husband?” exclaimed Rosamond.

“Just behind, riding home with Raymond and the rest of them.  Wasn’t it a magnificent flare-up?  But there was no loss of life; and this dog was of as much use as two men—carried whatever I told him.”

“Good old man!  You’ve suffered too!” said Rosamond.  “Pah! you’re like a singed horse; but never mind, you’re a hero.”

“And where is Mr. Charnock Poynsett?” said Cecil, retreating from the dog, which her sisters-in-law were vehemently patting.

“He was arranging with the mayor.  Church, paper-mills, and town-hall got the worst of it.  It was well he came down; old Briggs, the mayor, lost his head, and Fuller never had one.  Every one gave contrary orders till he came down, and then, didn’t we work!”

The curate stretched his stalwart limbs, as if they were becoming sensible of the strain they had undergone.

“Did you say the church was burnt?” asked Cecil.

“Yes; and a very good thing too!  Hideous place, where you couldn’t do right if you died for it!  The fire began there—stoves no doubt—and there it would have stopped if any one had had any sense; but there they would run and gape, and the more I tried to get them to form a chain and drench the warehouses, the more they wouldn’t do it.  And when the flame once got hold of the paper—did you see it?—it was not a thing to forget.  I verily believe the whole town would have gone if the Charnocks hadn’t come and got a little discipline into the asses.  It was just life and death work, fighting the fire to hinder it from getting across Water Lane, and then it would have been all up with High Street.  The tongues broke out like live things ready to lick up everything; and it was like killing dragons to go at them with the hose and buckets.  I declare my arms are fit to drop out of their sockets.  And the Rector devoted himself to carrying out bed-ridden old women.  I forgot to tell you, Lady Rosamond, he has broken his—There now, I never meant to frighten you—broken his spectacles.”

“You did it on purpose,” she said, laughing at her own start.

“No, indeed, I did not.”

“And is it quite out now?”

“Yes; when the Backsworth engines and the soldiers came up, it was like the Prussians at Waterloo.”

“Oh, then it was done,” said Rosamond.  “Take care! my grandfather was in the Light Division.”

“And my uncle in the Guards,” said the curate.  But before the Waterloo controversy could be pursued, four or five figures on horseback came round the knoll, and Raymond and Julius sprang off their horses, introducing the three officers who followed their example.

One was Rosamond’s old acquaintance, the Colonel, a friend of her father; but she had little attention to spare for them till she had surveyed her husband, who looked nothing worse than exceedingly dusty, and at fault without his spectacles.

Inquiries were made for Frank and Charlie.  They were walking home.  They had worked gallantly.  The flames were extinguished, but the engines must go on playing on them for some time longer.  No lives lost, and very few casualties, but the paper-mills were entirely destroyed, and about twenty tenements, so that great distress was to be apprehended.

Such intelligence was being communicated as the party stood together in a group, when there was a light tinkling of bells, and two ladies in a light open carriage, drawn by two spirited ponies, dashed round the knoll; and at the moment something must have gone wrong with them, for there was a start, a pull, a call of “Raymond!  Raymond!”

Throwing his bridle to Herbert Bowater, he sprang to the horses’ heads.

“Mr. Poynsett!  Thank you!  I beg your pardon,” said the lady, recovering herself; and Rosamond instantly perceived that she must be Lady Tyrrell, for she was young-looking, very handsome, and in slight mourning; and her companion was Miss Vivian.  Julius, holding his surviving glass to his eye, likewise stepped forward.  “Thank you, it was so stupid,” the lady ran on.  “Is not there something wrong with the traces?  I don’t know how they got themselves harnessed, but there was no keeping at home.”

“I think all is right,” said Raymond, gravely, making the examination over to a servant.  “Let me introduce my wife, Lady Tyrrell.”