Jonathan Broughton: The Russian White: A Victorian Thriller

She lowered it, and as she let go, dust and debris tipped down the hole like a torrent of water.

James rubbed his legs and flexed them. “I feel a bit wobbly. Is that guard still here?”

“No. How do your legs feel?”

"Sore, but I think I can walk."

“I can help you.” She slotted her arms across his chest, and braced her legs to take his weight. “I’ve got you.” She lifted him, and he twined his arms around her, and held her, still and gentle. She noticed, with alarm, that such a simple movement had left him fighting for breath.

“We have to go back this way.” She shuffled him round away from the hole. He leant against her, and clung on tight, as a frightened child might with its mother.

“That’s good,” she encouraged. “One step at a time. We mustn’t make any sudden movements.”

She retraced her steps around the hole. She pressed her back against the wall to support them both, and to keep her balance. “It’s not far. Just hold onto me.”

The broken floorboards groaned. A column of smoke, blown on a fierce draught, spiralled through the hole, and rolled past them towards the roof.

“Hold your breath.” She turned his face away from the smoke. “Just a bit further.”

James needed all her support, and each step made him wince. The fire in the corridor might reach the door before they did, and then they would be trapped. She wished she had the strength to carry him. The thought of what might happen if she lost her footing dismissed that idea.

“Nearly there.” Sweat trickled down her face. The corridor wall beyond the open door flickered red and orange. The fire hadn’t reached the room yet.

Blood thumped in her ears, and the thumping intensified into a terrible rumbling. She panicked, and held James tight. The rumbling boomed above them, and then crashed and echoed through the hole in the ceiling.

Splinters of red hot metal cascaded past them. Fire and ash plunged towards them, and the House shook to its foundations and shuddered at the destruction.

She clamped her arms around James and dived for the door.

Burning wood smashed into the room. James collapsed, and she fell on top of him and covered his body.

The walls ignited, and the draught drawn up through the hole became a wind, which fuelled the fire, so that flames spun in a furious vortex which peppered them with burning splinters and threatened to engulf the House in an inferno.

She gasped for breath. The heat burned her face. She rolled off James, staggered to her feet, grabbed him under the arms, and dragged him to the door. Fear gave her strength, and she hauled him into the corridor and slammed the door to obliterate the terrible noise and destruction.

She dropped beside him and lifted him into her arms. He raised his face and kissed her neck. They sat and rocked and didn’t speak.

The fire in the corridor advanced. Rivulets of flame burned along the carpet, and the dusty threads ignited in bursts of white smoke. The only escape was back, towards her bedroom.

“Let’s make for the Grand Staircase,” she whispered. “It’s the quickest way out of the House and it won’t burn. Can you stand?”

“I think so. My legs wobble and they don’t do what I tell them, but I think I can walk.”

Pain flickered in his eyes. She knew his embarrassment at admitting weakness. He needed her strength, and her confidence too, that she believed in his ability to achieve what he promised. She brushed his long lank hair off his forehead. “You need some water.”

“I’m just weak. They chained me to the floor in Bedlam. I haven’t used my legs much. I just need to get them moving.”

“You’re very thin. I think I could almost carry you.”

“I love you so much.” He nestled his head against hers, and she kissed his tired and sooty face.

“Are we quits?” he asked.

“Quits?”

“I found you when you ran away from home. Now you found me, and saved me.”

She ran her fingers down his straggly beard, and kissed the tip of his nose. “You’re my knight in shining armour, and always will be.”

His eyes glittered. She knew that look; mischievous and humorous, and she laughed as his smile blossomed into a grin.

“A knight in shining armour eh?” He winked. “I see. So—what does that make you then?”

“You’re white charger, galloping to the rescue.”

She hugged him and giggled. She wanted to giggle forever. At the absurdity of everything; giggle at the Russian White, at The Brotherhood and Bedlam. Dismiss them all with giggles. His shoulders rocked as he giggled too. If they could stay like that, together, giggling at the world forever, then nothing else mattered.

A deep thump and a roar from behind the door shook the floor. She draped his arm over her shoulders. “We’ve got to move my darling.”

He leant against her, and she took his weight on her hips and they rose together.

“One step at a time,” she encouraged. His feet shuffled with jerky steps, and their progress, though slow, took them away from the fire.

“Have you got a pistol?” she asked.

“No. Why?” He stopped and frowned. “Will we need to fight?”

“Only if we meet The Brotherhood. I want to shoot them, one by one.”

They reached her bedroom, and she sat James on a chair in the corridor to rest, while she crept up to the door.

William and Terrington had gone, and Konstantin lay where he had died, beside the bed. The fire blazed across the ceiling and down the walls, and black smoke poured through the broken window. She shut the door and hurried back to James.

His breathing came in laboured gulps, and his shoulders rose and fell to the rhythm.

“The Guest Staircase is close.” She longed for water. Her dry mouth tasted like a dusty grate.

“Where are The Brotherhood?” James wheezed.

“I don’t know.” Somewhere safe, she guessed, and the prisoners left to their fate.

“I don’t think I’m strong enough to fight them.”

“Rest a little longer,” she suggested.

“No I’m all right. I just wish—I’m sorry. This is hard for you.”

“You’re walking much better.” His stiffness had eased, and with each step, he took more of his weight. She held his hands. “There’s a short flight of stairs a little further along. Then the Grand Staircase, and then we’ll be out of here.”

Did marble burn? She didn’t know. She hoped not and, with luck, the staff might be there to help. With luck, The Brotherhood would be nowhere in sight.

He rested his hand on her shoulder and pushed himself up. She looped her arm around his waist, and they set off once more. Smoke curled under her bedroom door, though the threat of immediate danger wasn’t urgent.

At the Guest Staircase she let him rest to catch his breath, and dabbed the sweat from his face with her sleeve. “The steps are quite shallow, and there’s a bannister to hold onto.”

“Yes—let me—” He took hold of the wooden rail with both hands, turned sideways, and descended one step at a time.

“Hold on tight.” She went in front, her arms outstretched, ready to catch him if he slipped. At the bottom, she hugged him.

“Hurray!” he croaked. “Going down is easy. Let’s not go up though.”

The fire’s noise diminished, a short reprieve, but a welcome one. James held her hands as a child does when the mother teaches her baby to walk, and he stepped towards her, head up, his eyes fixed on hers.

The corridor turned sharp left. At its corner stood a curtained doorway with a staircase down to the kitchens; The Servants Stairs.

She thought they might escape that way; the stone steps though, were deep, and the descent steep, and she didn’t think James would manage. The Grand Staircase would be much easier.