Despite the Angels - By Madeline A Stringer Page 0,69
She is such a pretty little thing. Safe in her mother’s arms, being carried swiftly to the sanctuary of the village. I’m glad I sent them away, but a pity they did not go yesterday with Maman.
“No, you idiot, do not think about the baby – go to her room!”
Daniel ran back down the stairs, wondering why there was a sensation of cold on his face. Jotin ran backwards in front of Daniel, trying to stop him and blow him back up the stairs to the baby’s room.
“A window must be open,” Daniel muttered.
“Yes! Upstairs! You missed one! One over the terrace, they can climb onto that. Go back up!”
“And if there is a window open, I can climb out. It must be the pantry, if the people outside have not noticed it.” Daniel ran towards the kitchen. As he opened the door to the pantry, he heard cheering, and overhead, the sound of running footsteps. He froze, listening.
“Oh, God, help me. They are in the house.”
“I tried to help. You did not listen. Now, quick, out!”
Daniel felt for the pantry window and was confused when he found it shut and barred. Oh well, he thought, there is a dark corner outside, so it is a good choice. He opened the window and was reaching for the bar holding the shutters when he heard screaming overhead. The voice sounded young. Then there were screams outside and cries of ‘Fire!’ Daniel ran in the dark for the stairs, but found he could see his way up them easily. Light flickered in one of the bedrooms and the screams were coming from there. Daniel moved quickly but carefully into the room. Outlined in the window was a young boy, his jacket on fire. Daniel pulled a blanket off the bed and threw it over the boy, hugging it to his writhing body. The carpet was smouldering and there were flames on the other bed where the oil lamp had been overturned. He pulled the boy from the room and unwrapped the blanket. The boy was not moving, but he was still breathing.
“What have you done to my son?” said an angry voice at Daniel’s shoulder.
“If this is your son, I have put him out and pulled him away from the fire. What is he doing in my house? And how did he, and you, get in?”
“From the terrace roof. Give him here, before you kill him,” The man lifted the unconscious boy and strode towards the baby’s bedroom, where he shouted down to friends below and lifted his son out onto the roof of the terrace. Daniel went back to the room on fire. The heat was now too great, he could not go in. Smoke billowed out into the corridor and made his eyes sting. He ran to the next room and grabbed the ewer from the table, making his way back now into the smoke and also into the crowd of men who were streaming into the house through Marie-Claire’s room.
“Help me put out this fire,” Daniel shouted at the men, who pushed roughly past. One of them aimed a blow in his direction, but the flailing fist caught one of the other men on the side of the head, knocking him into the wall. Within moments a fight had broken out and the staircase was full of kicking boots and grunting men. The ewer went flying out of Daniel’s grasp, its contents sloshing uselessly over the melee. The smoke was beginning to creep downwards now and the men began to cough.
“Come on, help me get water,” Daniel said, desperation taking the usual authority out of his voice. Several of the men laughed.
“Why should we? What have you ever done for us?”
“Nothing, of course, as I do not know you. But I have done plenty to help people like you.”
“No one ever helped me when I needed it. You are not my boss. Get lost, with your big house and your airs and graces.” The man pushed past him and went into the dining room. Daniel went down the stairs and along the hall. On his way past the dining room he could see the man helping himself to the brandy on the sideboard and threatening another of the raiders with a silver candlestick. Daniel ran to the back door. Maybe I can organise a chain, he thought and we can pass water from the pump.
“No.” Jotin was ahead of Daniel. “No, just run. Your life is important, Eloise and