soapstone sink in the far corner. Wrapping his hands within the sleeves of his leather coat to protect them, he bent low and braced one shoulder beneath the timber. He heaved upward with a grunt and threw the wood aside. A shower of sparks erupted through the blackness when it landed. In that moment of orange-gold brightness, Louise glimpsed two figures curled on the floor.
“There,” she coughed out the word. “Behind the shelves.”
Scrambling on hands and knees, she made her way to Amanda. Her friend had thrown herself over the little boy. Eddie was sobbing but his mother appeared unconscious. It looked to Louise as if a smaller timber had come down on her head just after she’d reached him.
“It’s all right, Eddie. Come here to Auntie Lou-lou.” She tucked him under one arm and drew her jacket over his head against the poisonous, broiling air.
Byrne hauled up Amanda and flopped her over his shoulder. “Go!” he shouted, his voice rough with inhaled smoke.
They crawled, staggered, and tumbled out into the street. A crowd had started to gather around the front of the shop. Three men with buckets sloshing with water raced past her; she had little hope they could do much good. Someone shouted that the fire squad had been summoned.
At a safe distance from the burning building Bryne deposited a soot-covered Amanda on a quilt supplied by one of the neighbor women. The glass display window exploded, spraying shards of glass across the street. Louise sat on the curb beside Amanda, rocking Eddie to quell his crying. Only when Amanda moaned and tried to sit up did Louise break down in tears of relief and hand the child to her.
They’d all made it out. It was a miracle. The shop would be in ruins, but the only thing that really mattered was—they were alive.
“Thank you,” she gasped when Byrne returned, having organized a bucket brigade and informed the fire squad of the location of the blaze. “Thank you for saving them . . . us.”
His coal black eyes looked more accusing than concerned now. “How did it start?”
“I don’t know,” Louise said. “The boy was sleeping in the back room. I suppose he must have knocked over a lantern.” Her chest hurt. She had to stop and cough before going on. “We’ve no gaslights. Sometimes Amanda leaves a candle or small lamp lit to soothe the child to sleep. There are no windows to let in light.”
She was sick with the realization of how close she’d come to losing them both.
“So you believe this was an accident?”
“What else could it be?”
He stared pointedly at her.
“Oh, no, it couldn’t have been the Fenians. Why would they have targeted . . .” But perhaps it was possible.
Amanda gave her a look then buried her face in her little boy’s scorched hair.
All around them, men rushed with hoses, buckets, and bowls—anything that might carry water. Others shouted encouragement and pushed a steam pumper into position. They doused not only the shop but also the neighboring buildings. If not contained, a fire like this could devastate entire blocks of the city.
Then the skies opened up and heaven released a deluge on them. Louise just sat there, soaking wet but grateful for the rain. Without it this might have been a far worse disaster.
Byrne said, “Let’s move you, Amanda, and the boy to the carriage. I’ve had your driver take it down the street out of reach of the fire.”
When they reached the barouche, her driver gave Louise a sheepish look as he helped Amanda and Eddie into the carriage. Louise supposed she couldn’t blame him for his refusal to enter the burning building, as terrifying as the fire had been. Still, she would not use him in the future.
“We should get all of you to the hospital,” Byrne said.
Amanda shook her head weakly. “No. Please, take us home. My husband will see to us.”
Louise understood. With the mention of the Fenians they all naturally wanted to be in a safe place. Or was there another explanation?
“Darvey,” Amanda whispered, turning to Byrne.
He scowled at her then shouted up at the driver, “Drive on, man!”
“The bawd. He might do something like this for revenge.”
Byrne’s jaw clenched. His neck muscles corded taut as ship’s rigging. “Tell me exactly what you saw and heard just before the fire broke out.”
“Nothing, actually.”
“No threats shouted at you or the shop? No Irish radical slogans found lying about?”
She supposed she knew what he was getting at. Why bother to