A Barren Title: A Novel

by T. W. Speight

The earl, who was probably the most sober of the party, and who had seen many big fires in London in his time, was far more inclined for going home to bed than for going anywhere else at that untimely hour; but Mr. Plume, the great contractor, had already taken one of his arms and Van Loo the other, and as the rest of the gentlemen seemed desirous of going, the earl gave way and went with them, their broughams being left in front of the hotel.

The gentlemen made rather a noisy party, but were not so far gone as not to know what they were about. Following the flying feet of the ever-growing crowd, they found themselves in a few minutes in one of the lowest streets of the town, and close to the burning house. A number of police were already there--Brimley could only boast about a dozen men all told--together with the town engine, which was too small to be of any real service in an emergency like the present one.

The sergeant on duty, recognizing the earl and his friends, made way for them to pass into the inner ring, volunteering at the same time the information that the burning house had been let out in floors to different families, that a woman who took in mangling had rented the ground floor, and that it was in one of her rooms that the fire had originated. That the whole house was doomed any one could see at a glance; indeed, the two lower floors were partly burned out already, and every minute the exultant flames were climbing higher. It was a house of four or five stories, and had evidently at one time been inhabited by well-to-do people.

"Another half-hour and the roof will go," said Mr. Plume, regarding the affair from a contractor's point of view. "Every misfortune brings a blessing in its train. This place will have to be rebuilt by somebody, and just now trade is anything but lively."

"I suppose there's no fear, constable, of any one having been left inside the house?" queried the earl.

"Not much fear of that, my lord; the first thing we did after the alarm was to rouse the people and get them all out."

Van Loo passed his cigar-case round. "Almost as good as a firework night at the Palace," he remarked. "Another bottle or two of Heidsieck would improve the occasion vastly."

"What squirts the fire-engines are in these provincial towns," said Mr. Wingfield. "When once the flames get fairly hold they seem of no use whatever."

Flames and smoke were now issuing from all the windows except those of the top story, which peered out, like two black and sullen eyes, heedless of everything that was happening below.

Suddenly a woman, who had made her way through the crowd by main force, appeared on the scene. Haggard and wild-eyed, with streaming hair, torn shawl, and bedraggled gown, she fell on her knees before the constable, and, seizing him by the arm, cried, in a voice that was hoarse with agony: "My child--where's my child? Has anybody seen her? Has anybody got her out of the burning house? Oh, sir, tell me where is she!"