Gothic Romance - (LGBT)

Chapter Twelve

The rain was falling steadily now, extinguishing the flames. The smell of charred wet wood filled the air and everyone was drenched. 

Lord D'Anvers looked up at the house, trying to gauge how much damage had been done. The West Wing would be uninhabitable, at least until they were able to mount a thorough inspection, but it seemed to him that the East Wing was largely undamaged. The rain appeared to have doused the last of the flames but he couldn't be certain until he went upstairs for a closer look.  

Fortunately the kitchen was in the East Wing, on the ground floor towards the back of the house.  

"Mrs Maitland, can you take the womenfolk around the back into the kitchen? Get everyone out of the rain. A mug of warm cider for anyone who'd like one and perhaps a hot chocolate for Master Evelyn? I think you should be safe there for the moment, while I look at the rest of the house. Jonathan, James, the rest of you men, come with me." 

Lord D'Anvers led the way into the house through the front door. Smoke still filled the hallway but the doors leading to the East Wing were closed and he was hopeful that the smoke had not penetrated too badly. 

He sent the butler, Henshaw, and one of the menservants to check the rooms on the ground floor, and to open as many windows as possible to clear the smoke. Then the rest of them carefully climbed the stairs up to the second floor. 

Lord D'Anvers had wanted to go higher, to find Harry, or what was left of him, but even he could see that wasn't going to be possible tonight. Parts of the ceiling, the floor of the third story, had fallen through into the passage, other pieces hung down, threatening to fall at any moment. The heat was still fierce and the smoke hindered their move at every turn. 

"We'll get spades and clear out as much of this as possible," ordered D'Anvers. "We don't want the fire flaring up again, especially in the middle of the night." 

Eventually the men managed to clear most of the rubble out of the passage, enough so that they could enter the rooms, check that nothing was burning in there. Jonathan's room was nearest and he opened the door carefully. Everything seemed untouched, apart from the smell, but he gathered up all his belongings as a precaution, to carry downstairs.  

The schoolroom and Evelyn's bedroom were also relatively unscathed, but the ceiling had partially collapsed in the two rooms beyond. Once again the men went to work, clearing out the smouldering rubble and carrying out anything of value which might still be salvaged. 

By the time they finished, everyone was exhausted but the area was as safe as they could make it. Nothing appeared to be still burning, but D'Anvers decided to leave a man on watch for the the rest of the night, just in case. 

They had done all they could for the moment. Tomorrow would be soon enough to look at the top floor. 

Jonathan followed Lord D'Anvers downstairs, wondering where he was going to sleep that night. Thankfully, most of the servants' rooms were in the East Wing, surely there would be somewhere spare. 

"I told Mrs Maitland to put Evelyn in my bed," announced D'Anvers. "You can have the room next door, for now." 

"Thank you, my Lord," Jonathan felt as if he could sleep for a week. The adrenaline which had kept him going all night was fading fast.  

The room next to Lord D'Anvers was small, evidently intended for a valet in the past, with two doors, one into D'Anvers' room, the other into the servants' passage. Jonathan was too tired to care. He undressed down to his night shirt, which he was still wearing, tucked uncomfortably into his trousers, and climbed into bed. 

For a few minutes, he listened to the muffled sounds of his Lordship preparing for bed next door, then sleep claimed him. 

Lord D'Anvers got in next to Evelyn, fast asleep in the middle of his bed. He lay on his back, staring open-eyed at the ceiling, without seeing it. Helping to clear the West wing had kept him busy for the last couple of hours, kept him from dwelling on the horror of Harry's death, the frightening damage to his house, but now there was nothing to distract him. 

Harry was dead. It was over. 

Much as he grieved, a small part of him felt relief, relief that Harry wouldn't have to suffer any more through those last few months of an increasingly painful illness. 

They had been lovers for half a year before Harry became ill. That aspect of the relationship had come to an abrupt end with his illness, but he had still cared for him, as a friend perhaps more than a lover. He knew he would never forget the image of Harry stepping into the flames, for as long as he lived. 

An hour later he was still awake. He felt restless, unable to clear his mind of the evening's events. He tried to keep still, fearful that his tossing and turning would wake Evelyn, but despite his exhaustion, sleep eluded him. 

In the small room next door, Jonathan was sound asleep. He didn't stir when someone crept into his room in the dark and slipped into bed beside him. 

He slept solidly, right through until daybreak. When he awoke, it took him a few moments to remember where he was, what had happened. That was the reason, he told himself, that he hadn't noticed immediately that someone's hand was resting possessively on his hip. His bare hip. His nightshirt was rucked up around his waist and he wasn't alone. Someone was breathing softly and evenly into his ear, spooned cosily against his back in the narrow bed.