Chapter Twenty-Nine
Michael was a professional driver, and had no intention of breaking any speed limits, however much I urged him, although the journey was a lot quicker than it would have been if I'd had to get the train and a taxi, or bus, again.
I noticed him checking his phone, as he’d stood patiently by the car, waiting for me as I’d tearfully hugged Mum and Dad.
"Don't you take any nonsense from that Rochester fella," Mum said. "If he gives you any trouble, you come straight home, do you hear me? I don't want you putting up with any more rubbish from men."
"I won't," I promised.
Dad hugged me. "Just give him a chance and make up your own mind," he whispered.
"Take care of yourself, Dad," I murmured, holding him tightly. "I love you so much."
He winked at me, then let me go. I’d climbed into the car and they’d waved to me, as Michael started the engine. "Love you, Cara," they shouted. "Ring us. Let us know how it goes."
I’d nodded, smiling tearfully as the car headed down the road. We’d turned the corner and they were gone from my view.
"Mrs Rochester's just messaged me," Michael informed me. "Babies have arrived. Identical boys. They're poorly, but not thought to be critical. Ethan's on his way home."
"Is Antonia okay?" I said anxiously.
He nodded. "A bit shocked and exhausted, obviously, but fine otherwise." He surveyed me through the rear-view mirror. "Reckon Ethan will be in shock, an' all. What a traumatic few days you've all had, eh?"
He could say that again, I thought. I'd have given anything for a quiet life. "Can you go a bit faster, Michael?" I begged.
"No." He didn't appear willing to negotiate, so I settled back in my seat and tried not to fidget.
After what seemed like hours, but was actually barely ninety minutes, he cleared his throat and said, "Not long now. You should catch sight of the house any minute."
I leaned forward, eager to see the first sight of Moreland Hall. I was so excited and nervous that, at first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks.
"Michael," I said slowly, "is that—is that—"
"Christ almighty," he gasped. "Smoke. The Hall's on fire!"
He seemed to forget all about speed limits and his professional integrity as we raced towards the house, too terrified to even speak.
The gates were standing open, which just seemed to emphasise the severity of the situation. Smoke billowed from the roof, and flames leapt from the shattered window of Ethan's art room.
"Adele!" I jumped out of the car and raced over to where Jennifer was holding her daughter, Mrs F standing by their side and looking grey with worry. Thank God they were safe, at least.
"I've rung the fire brigade," Mrs F said, her voice choked with fear. "But Ethan—Ethan ..."
I looked at her in horror. "You're not saying he's up there?"
"He ran back in. I couldn't stop him. He said he saw someone at one of the attic windows, just before ..." She looked up at the shattered studio window, clearly traumatised.
"I'm going in," Michael said, but Mrs F grabbed his arm.
"You're doing no such thing! With your asthma? Ethan told us to get Adele out and stay out. The fire brigade should be here by now. Where are they?"
Adele was crying, and Jennifer clutched her tightly. Tears were running down her own face as she stared up at the burning attic. "My son. My baby."
My hands flew to my mouth at a loud crash, and we all jumped when several tiles fell to the floor, clattering on the drive.
Michael looked helpless. "I have to try," he said.
"It's dangerous standing so close to the house," I said. "Michael, get them all to the end of the drive."
"What are you doing?" Mrs F said, as I turned away.
"Just go!" I yelled.
Michael's hand shot out to grab me, but I dodged it and ran into the house.
The downstairs was already beginning to fill with smoke as I rushed into the kitchen. I managed to find a towel, which I soaked in water and wrapped around my face. Before I could think about it too much, or talk myself out of it, I ran up the stairs, my eyes burning with the thick smoke that was blocking the landing.
The attic door stood open, and I stared at the black, smoke-filled cavern in terror. Yet, I knew I had no choice. Ethan was up there. I couldn't lose him. I would never leave him again.
The heat was unbearable as I stumbled along the central corridor, my eyes stinging and streaming as acrid smoke choked me. I thought of Ethan's artwork and his cleaning materials. No wonder the window to his studio had blown out. But what was he doing up there, anyway? No one could have been up there. Jennifer, Adele and Mrs F were safe. He must have imagined it. Unless .... Unless there really had been someone up there all that time. All those noises I'd heard. Bats, Mrs F had said. Ethan moving the easel, he'd insisted. What if they’d both been wrong?
I sobbed. "Ethan! Ethan!"
My voice sounded choked and muffled. How would he ever hear me? My eyes hurt badly. I could barely breathe. The roaring of the flames made it impossible to hear anyone moving around. What if he wasn't moving? What if he was unconscious? How would I ever find him? I couldn't even tell where his studio was.
Through the blinding smoke, a dark shape loomed. Some weird, misshapen form stumbled towards me, and I reached out my hands, groping for contact. The towel dropped to the floor, lost somewhere in the smoke.
Ethan's face was black, his clothes filthy, his eyes red-rimmed and streaming. I saw the shock on his face as he registered my presence, and I heard him say something, but his voice was too hoarse to be properly audible. I looked down at the crumpled figure he was dragging with him. I couldn't tell if it was a man, or a woman. It was too difficult to see anything properly.
"Out, out." Ethan's eyes pleaded with me. I wasn't going to leave him. No way. I put my arm around the unconscious figure, and, somehow, I managed to help drag him to the stairs.
We half fell down them, collapsing on the landing.
Ethan's breathing was laboured. He looked about to pass out any moment. "Get out," he wheezed eventually.
"No way," I said, with huge difficulty. I wanted to say so much more, but it was impossible. I felt as if a giant hand was choking me, wrapping its merciless fingers around my windpipe and squeezing tight. I thought, we're going to die here. We really are. This is it.
Ethan's eyes seemed to flare into life again. He made a superhuman effort and headed for the staircase, his determination making me redouble my own efforts. Together, we dragged the unconscious person down the stairs.
The smoke thinned, and I saw a light ahead of me. I hoped it wasn't heaven. I guessed from the way my eyes and throat were burning that I hadn't actually died yet, so it was a safe bet that the light was the outside world.
We moved forward, down the hall and out onto the steps. I was dimly aware of other shapes pushing past me, and felt a massive relief that the fire brigade had arrived. Michael and Mrs F rushed over to us, helping us, and then someone in a uniform took the figure away from us, and I almost fell against Mrs F, coughing and spluttering, while beside me, Ethan sank to the ground.
I didn't really remember how I ended up sitting in an ambulance, but someone had put an oxygen mask on me and was telling me, in soothing tones, to take nice deep breaths. As it became easier to breathe again, I looked around me in a panic. "Ethan?"
"He's just outside having some oxygen, love. Don't worry, he'll be right as rain."
"What about the other person?"
The paramedic's eyes softened, and she rubbed my back gently. "Just keep taking nice deep breaths, love. There's a good girl."
#
Ethan came to find me, in spite of Jennifer hanging on his arm, begging him to rest. "How are you doing?"
I made my way to the ambulance exit and stepped down onto firm ground. "I'm okay," I said. "But what about you?"
"I'll be fine," he assured me, although his voice sounded hoarse. He glared at me through red-rimmed eyes. "What the hell did you think you were doing? That's the most stupid thing I've ever seen."
"I beg your pardon?" I said indignantly.
"What were you playing at? Fancy running into a burning building!"
"You mean, like you did?" I demanded.
"That's different!" He coughed, shaking his head at the same time. "You could have been killed."
"So could you," I pointed out.
We stared at each other, then he put his arms around me, and his forehead pressed against my own. "You came back," he whispered.
"I did. And whatever happens, I'm never leaving you again."
If I'd needed something to convince me of how much I loved him before, I'd had my proof. When I thought I was going to lose him in that fire, I'd felt as if my own life was over, too. I had no idea what was going on with Antonia, but at that moment, it really hadn't seemed to matter.
"And what you heard …"
"It doesn't matter right now," I said, aware that neither of us were up to a deep and meaningful conversation. Besides, there was a more pressing matter to discuss. "Who was the person in the fire? And are they going to be okay?"
He looked towards a second ambulance, his face anxious. "I have no idea who he is," he confessed. "But he doesn't look good."
"What on earth was he doing in the attic?" I said, bewildered.
"I haven't a clue. Thank God I spotted him, though. If I hadn't gone up there …" His voice trailed off, and he stared up toward the roof. The flames had been extinguished, but the Hall looked in a sorry state. Smoke still billowed from the windows and the hole in the roof, and I could only imagine how bad it looked inside.
"Your lovely house," I murmured. "I'm so sorry."
"Houses can be repaired," he said firmly. "All that matters is that we made it, and, hopefully, our mysterious visitor will make it, too."
"Quite right," said Jennifer tearfully. "I was so scared when I realised you were in there, Ethan, and then when Cara followed you …. Honestly, you two are both mad. You were made for each other."
Ethan winked at me, and I grinned.
"You look like you should be singing Chim Chim Cher-ee," I told him. "You need a shower."
"We both do," he said, trying to sound seductive. Unfortunately, another bout of coughing put paid to that effort. "Serves me right," he said finally, then took my hand. "I need to check on our mystery man, Cara. Wait here, if you like. I'm not sure how he'll look, so—"
"I'm coming, too," I said firmly. "I want to know he's okay, and I want to know who he is."
The paramedic in the second ambulance was writing something down when we approached. On the trolley to his side, a figure lay with an oxygen mask on his face.
"We're just about to get off to the hospital," the paramedic said.
"Is he—I mean, will he—"
"He came round long enough to speak to me," the paramedic assured us, "and the signs are good. Do either of you want to go with him to the hospital?"
"I'll go," Ethan said. "Someone needs to find out who he is. He must have someone, somewhere, who's worried about him."
The paramedic raised an eyebrow. "Don't you know who he is?" he said, puzzled.
We shook our heads. "Not a clue."
"Hmm. All I got out of him was his name's Seth," the paramedic informed us. He put down his clipboard and nodded to Ethan. "Okay, get in if you're coming. We need to get off."
Ethan and I stared at each other in shock. "Seth!" I glanced over at the figure, lying still on the trolley. "What the hell was he doing up there?"
"You'd better go with him," Ethan said, squeezing my arm. "It's okay," he added, clearly seeing the look of anxiety in my eyes, "I'll follow you. Go on, Cara. If he comes round again, he'll need you."
I could only nod in bewildered silence, before the paramedic closed the ambulance doors, and we headed off to the hospital.