Lady Breckenridge sat up and brushed the hair from her face. She wore a thin silk gown that rested low on her shoulders, made for attending the opera. Whatever shawl or wrap she'd had, they must have taken it. I removed the coat of my regimentals; I had a devil of a time unfastening the cords with my clumsy hands. I draped the coat over Lady Breckenridge's shoulders, and she gathered it to her gratefully.
"I will try to get the door open," I said, my voice dry as dust.
"That would certainly be to our advantage," she said.
I had to use the wall for support while I made my way to the door. The starlight was faint, showing me little.
I found the door when my groping hand bashed painfully into the doorframe. The door was locked, not surprisingly.
I bent to the keyhole and felt a faint draft on my face. That meant that that no key had been left on the other side. I remembered that I'd been able to force open the door of Peaches' room rather easily; I hoped that would be the case here.
They'd taken the walking stick, of course, the fine, strong cane that had helped me make short work of the kitchen door. My bad leg hurt too much for me to stand on it while I kicked with my right boot heel. The left leg was too weak to make much of an impression if I kicked with it instead. This door also seemed much more stout than the one to Peaches' room.
I felt for the hinges and found them, cold and metal. If I could remove them, I could pry the door loose. I would need a tool. I fumbled my way across the room, hoping to find something with which to aid me. My boot crunched glass, then I tripped over the remains of a mirror frame. I crouched to discover if anything in the debris would be of use.
I cut myself on the shards as I sifted through them and grunted and cursed under my breath. Lady Breckenridge asked if I were all right. I said no. While I picked through the glass, I explained to her what I planned to do.
"I might need your help," I said.
I heard her struggle to her feet, while I continued to search the floor.
I found, by cutting myself on it, a fairly large piece of mirror. It might help, but only if the glass were strong.
Lady Breckenridge's outstretched hand touched mine. I grasped her under the arm, before she could cut herself on the glass, and pulled her with me back to the door.
The mirror did not work. The door's hinges were old but frozen with rust. I could not pry a gap large enough to lever out the hinge-pin on either hinge. The mirror slipped and cut my hand open, and I swore without apology.
"They did not even leave me a handkerchief," I muttered, popping the pad of my hand into my mouth.
"They left mine." Lady Breckenridge slid a warm piece of silk from her bosom and pressed it into my palm.
I promptly ruined the fine handkerchief by sopping up my blood. I kicked the door, out of temper, but it remained solidly closed.
"We could try to climb out of the window," Lady Breckenridge said. "If we can reach it."
The window in question sat high on the wall, a dormer that would look out over the street.
"It is a long way up," I said. "We could not climb down the roofs without breaking out necks."
"We might at least shout out of it," Lady Breckenridge said. "Someone might hear us and help."
I thought her optimistic; if anyone had heard me break in through the back door, not to mention the men who'd brought Lady Breckenridge here, no one had sent for help. Perhaps they'd put their heads under the bedclothes and gone back to sleep, having learned to ignore what went on at number 12, St. Charles Row. I wondered whether the lad I'd paid had actually gone to fetch Pomeroy. In any case, he'd not come.
The only way to reach the window was for me to lift her to it. She proved light and agile, and scrambled to my shoulders without much difficulty.
"I climbed many trees as a girl," she said. "To my governesses' despair. They might be happy to know it's proved to be useful."
Standing on my shoulders, Lady Breckenridge could just reach the window. Happily, the catch moved, but she was still not high enough to open it.
We decided to try what we'd seen acrobats do; she would stand on my hands while I lifted my arms above my head. She agreed shakily, and I promised to catch her if she fell, and hoped that I could.
Lady Breckenridge leaned her weight on the wall and braced herself on the sill as I lifted her. At last she was able to open the window and look out.
"There is a man below," she said, and then she began shouting, her voice strong.
When she stopped, I heard the unmistakable, smooth tones of James Denis asking, "Is Lacey with you?"
"Yes," Lady Breckenridge called down.
Why Denis was there and what the devil had happened to Pomeroy, I could not imagine. Denis and Lady Breckenridge exchanged more words, which I could not hear, then Lady Breckenridge was admonishing me to let her down.
"He is coming," she said, her voice shaking, but with her sangfroid in place. "But there is a bit of a problem. Someone has set the house on fire."
Chapter Nineteen
We smelled the smoke soon after that. We stood together against the wall under the window, waiting for rescue and trying not to think of the fire rising beneath us.
It had started in the kitchen, Lady Breckenridge informed me, and had reached the ground floor. Both of us knew how quickly fires could spread, consuming all within its reach in no time at all. We could hear more commotion in the street now, as the neighbors in St. Charles Row and the street behind poured out of their houses and rushed about to stop the blaze from spreading.
Lady Breckenridge huddled into my regimental coat, the cording hanging loose. We stood side by side, shoulders touching, taking comfort in each other's presence.
"Donata," I said in a low voice. I took a great liberty using her Christian name; a gentleman did not call a lady, especially not one above his class, by her first name until invited. My father had always referred to my mother as "Mrs. Lacey," both before and after her death. "You are here because of me, and for that I can only beg your pardon. But I vow to you that the men who did this, who dishonored you, will pay for that dishonor. I swear it to you."
Lady Breckenridge looked up at me, her hands resting on the lapels of my coat. "I've heard you described as a man of integrity, Lacey. I would expect no less of you."
"You are an infuriating woman, but a fine lady. You do not deserve to be here."
She laughed at my bluntness, then she said, "You did not expect to find me here at all. You called out for someone else."
"Louisa Brandon," I confessed. "She is a dear friend to me. Anyone who wishes to hurt me can do so by hurting her. I assumed Kensington would have known that."
"Mr. Kensington made a foolish mistake, then," she observed without rancor.
"He has made many mistakes. And I will not forgive him for putting you in danger."
"We are still in danger," Lady Breckenridge pointed out.
We could smell the smoke intensely now, the acrid, charring smell of burning wood and cloth.
"You do not deserve to be." I put my hand over hers.
She twined her fingers through mine, and held on tight.
Not many moments later, the door splintered open. I stepped instinctively in front of Lady Breckenridge, shielding her from smoke and flying wood. Blinding light silhouetted a large man on the threshold, the pugilist turned coachman from Denis' house. Without preliminary, he grabbed us both and dragged us out behind him.
James Denis served us brandy in his elegant coach and told us how he'd come to find us.
"The boy you'd sent running off for the hackney was one of mine," he said. "He came at once to me and told me where you'd gone."