“Shelter? Aye. Not under my roof.”
Nicodemus, trembling with rage, exclaimed:
“ ’Twon’t be your roof much longer, you damned fool. You be headin’ straight for porehouse, you be. No part wine there, and the vittles so ontasty as never was.”
Agatha, noting the angry faces glaring at her uncle, said entreatingly:
“Better go in, uncle.”
“No,” said Timothy, “not till the house of that woman be utterly destroyed.”
V
Destroyed it was within an incredibly short space of time.
From the moment when the garage burst into flame Lady Selina behaved with fortitude, directing operations and exhibiting amazing pluck and resource. The most valuable furniture, the pictures, china and plate were carried to the farther end of the topiary garden. Despite the entreaties of Cicely, the lady of the manor was almost the last to leave the house. As she did so a tongue of flame licked her arm. Unmindful of this, she commanded a general retreat, a withdrawal to a slight eminence in the garden, whence the last act of the tragedy was witnessed. Here, to her satisfaction, she learned that nobody except herself had been injured. Already Cicely had dispatched George Ball in search of Grimshaw. Lady Selina, however, made light of her scorching, concerned only with the housing of her establishment. It was settled that Cicely and she would go to the Vicarage for the night. The worthy Goodrich hovered about her, scant of breath but full of sympathy and warm with indignation because the dreadful word “arson” lay pat on every lip except his own.
Towards the end, after the roof had fallen in, the rain poured down. Lady Selina gazed sadly at the ruins of her home, saying nothing. Cicely clutched her.