Clash of Arms: A Romance

by John Bloundelle-Burton

"'Tis true, sir. I was of the English Regiment under Colonel Churchill, and am on leave of absence. And," pointing to where some of the English and Scotch were now making their way towards the house, "there are some who should know me, seeing that we fought side by side. But, monsieur, the fire gains rapidly, if the wind shifts a point it will soon reach here; I beseech you lose no time in effecting our rescue. We have had a terrible night of it, and--once I am with you--I have a marvellous story to tell."

The rescue was not effected for still some two hours, while, during the passage of that time, the fire in the south wing crept ever nearer and nearer towards the one on which Andrew and the two others were. At last, however, it was accomplished. And thus it was done.

Leaving Marion in the charge of Clemence, and observing that she seemed somewhat easier now, though all that she had gone through during the night, the excitement of the past few days, the terror of the burning house, and the exposure to the cold of the early morning, had undoubtedly brought her very near her end, he descended once more to the garret and, through it, to the floor below. This was still untouched by the fire, and it seemed indeed as though, should the flames from the south wing be prevented from spreading, or should they by any chance become extinguished, that portion of the house would not be destroyed. Then he went on farther down, reaching at last the top of the first floor, and standing over the gulf left yawning by the falling in of the great oak stairs.

It was here that his further descent was impeded, though, had the fire not still been smouldering below, he could perhaps have escaped easily enough: could have leaped down on to all the fallen débris that was heaped up a dozen feet beneath him, have attempted a way across it to the open doorway--bereft now of its huge double-door, which had been chopped off its hinges by the besiegers and hurled on as fresh fuel to feed the flames--have possibly forced his way out thus to safety and freedom.

But, now, at this time, no such attempt was wise--not wise, even had he been alone and unencumbered with Marion Wyatt and Clemence.

For, although the fire no longer blazed up from the centre of that hall, although from the vast heap beneath him there rose only the slow-curling, grey smoke that told of what was smouldering beneath, he knew that, to spring into its midst yet, would be to spring into a seething, still burning mass, to hurl himself into a vast heap of charred embers--to be choked, burnt, suffocated beyond any hope of recovery.

The way was not to be found there!

He went, therefore, rapidly along the gallery of that floor on the west side in hopes of finding, perhaps, some other descent, some escalier de service, or back stairs, by which escape might be made. But there was none, or, if there had ever been any, it must have existed in the north wing, which was long since entirely destroyed, or in the south, which was on fire--or perhaps the front, which was unreachable.

"There is but one way," he told himself, "one way left. From some window. I must bring the women down here, find somehow the opportunity of lowering them to the ground. Yet 'twill be no easy task. This stone basement is high, was once the whole height of the house--was the house itself. Laurent told me--'tis far to the ground from here."

It was, indeed; the windows of the rooms that opened off the corridor he was now on being fully thirty-five feet from the ground. A height to appal a man who had to lower two almost helpless women--one certainly helpless--from it to the earth; a man who had also not so much as a cord in his possession wherewith to do so. Yet that, he thought, could be overcome, provided for. The cavalry men outside might catch the women in their arms as he lowered them; if they sat close upon their horses and near together under the windows from which he let down Marion and Clemence, at his--and their--full arms' length, the distance would not be so much to fall. But entering the room nearest to him, in which, to his horror, he found Beaujos, the steward, lying dead in a bed--no doubt he had been keeping that bed since the injuries he had received in Andrew's encounter with him when he and Marion made their first attempt to escape, and had been suffocated while lying there forgotten--another obstacle presented itself. Outside the small diamond-paned lattice windows, themselves a strong barrier to any exit, with their leaden framework for the small panes, and with small stone columns dividing each window into three compartments, he noticed at once that they were strongly guarded by iron bars crossed both horizontally and perpendicularly. He tried another room--it was the same, both as regarded bars outside and stone columns within; was indeed a counterpart of the first. They offered no chance.