Despite the Angels (22 page)

“Death to the rich!”

“And I am not rich, either. Each year pays for itself.” Daniel pulled the second shutter in and fastened the two together. The jeering and catcalling outside continued.

“Quickly, now you are here, shut all the shutters. They are getting dangerous. Come on, the baby’s room . . .”

The baby, thought Daniel, smiling. He set the oil lamp down on a table. She is such a pretty little thing. Safe in her mother’s arms, being carried swiftly to the sanctuary of the village. I’m glad I sent them away, but a pity they did not go yesterday with Maman.

“No, you idiot, do not think about the baby – go to her room!”

Daniel ran back down the stairs, wondering why there was a sensation of cold on his face.
Jotin ran backwards in front of Daniel, trying to stop him and blow him back up the stairs to the baby’s room.

“A window must be open,” Daniel muttered.

“Yes! Upstairs! You missed one! One over the terrace, they can climb onto that. Go back up!”

“And if there is a window open, I can climb out. It must be the pantry, if the people outside have not noticed it.” Daniel ran towards the kitchen. As he opened the door to the pantry, he heard cheering, and overhead, the sound of running footsteps. He froze, listening.

“Oh, God, help me. They are in the house.”

“I tried to help. You did not listen. Now, quick, out!”

Daniel felt for the pantry window and was confused when he found it shut and barred. Oh well, he thought, there is a dark corner outside, so it is a good choice. He opened the window and was reaching for the bar holding the shutters when he heard screaming overhead. The voice sounded young. Then there were screams outside and cries of ‘Fire!’ Daniel ran in the dark for the stairs, but found he could see his way up them easily. Light flickered in one of the bedrooms and the screams were coming from there. Daniel moved quickly but carefully into the room. Outlined in the window was a young boy, his jacket on fire. Daniel pulled a blanket off the bed and threw it over the boy, hugging it to his writhing body. The carpet was smouldering and there were flames on the other bed where the oil lamp had been overturned. He pulled the boy from the room and unwrapped the blanket. The boy was not moving, but he was still breathing.

“What have you done to my son?” said an angry voice at Daniel’s shoulder.

“If this is your son, I have put him out and pulled him away from the fire. What is he doing in my house? And how did he, and you, get in?”

“From the terrace roof. Give him here, before you kill him,” The man lifted the unconscious boy and strode towards the baby’s bedroom, where he shouted down to friends below and lifted his son out onto the roof of the terrace. Daniel went back to the room on fire. The heat was now too great, he could not go in. Smoke billowed out into the corridor and made his eyes sting. He ran to the next room and grabbed the ewer from the table, making his way back now into the smoke and also into the crowd of men who were streaming into the house through Marie-Claire’s room.

“Help me put out this fire,” Daniel shouted at the men, who pushed roughly past. One of them aimed a blow in his direction, but the flailing fist caught one of the other men on the side of the head, knocking him into the wall. Within moments a fight had broken out and the staircase was full of kicking boots and grunting men. The ewer went flying out of Daniel’s grasp, its contents sloshing uselessly over the melee. The smoke was beginning to creep downwards now and the men began to cough.

“Come on, help me get water,” Daniel said, desperation taking the usual authority out of his voice. Several of the men laughed.

“Why should we? What have you ever done for us?”

“Nothing, of course, as I do not know you. But I have done plenty to help people like you.”

“No one ever helped me when I needed it. You are not my boss. Get lost, with your big house and your airs and graces.” The man pushed past him and went into the dining room. Daniel went down the stairs and along the hall. On his way past the dining room he could see the man helping himself to the brandy on the sideboard and threatening another of the raiders with a silver candlestick. Daniel ran to the back door. Maybe I can organise a chain, he thought and we can pass water from the pump.

“No.” Jotin was ahead of Daniel. “No, just run. Your life is important, Eloise and the baby are waiting in the wood for you. She was too upset to go to safety, she wants to stay near. You can be with her.” Jotin stopped and watched Daniel. “Oh no, I am babbling. He isn’t hearing me. Try again, clearer. . .Daniel! Go to Eloise!”

“Eloise!” Daniel stopped and thought. He looked back at the house. The upstairs windows were glowing now and men and women were running in and out carrying his possessions away. I cannot save the house, he thought, it is too far gone. But I could loot it too and save some of the things for Eloise.

“No, you do not need things. She just wants you. No more pretty things.”

“Pretty things,” Daniel ran towards the house,
Jotin in his wake, shouting “He is hearing me at last, but only in part. Help, please help!” A deep purple glow appeared in front of Jotin.

“You need help?” Jotin could hear the question deep within him.

“Yes. Daniel is hearing me, but only some words, not my meaning. And he is running back into a burning building. Not to save a person, just for things.”

“Stay beside him. That is all you can do. They are given free choice, sometimes they choose wrongly. You are doing well, I have been watching. It will all be well, you know that.” The soft voice soothed Jotin, even though it did not supply a human scale solution.

“Yes, I know. But I grieve too. We are trying so hard to help them.”

“You are all learning. Go now and be with Daniel. He will soon need you.”

Daniel ran into the living room, covering his face with his handkerchief to keep the worst of the smoke from his nose and mouth. He opened the cupboard, trying to decide what to rescue. Then he saw the painting above the fireplace and remembered Eloise on a winter’s evening telling him how she felt safe, that summer would always come again so long as she could see that picture. He reached up to lift it down and other hands reached out to help him. It was heavy, they could not get it off its hook. He pulled a chair over to the fireplace and climbed up. His throat stung and his eyes watered as he wrestled with the heavy frame. Eventually he worked the wire up off the hook and the picture’s weight fell into the arms of his assistants. Daniel climbed down and turned to thank them, but there was nobody there, nor was his picture.

“You thieves! You have taken everything,” he searched around for something else to take, but could see nothing, the smoke was choking now. He turned to the door and could see a couple of people outlined by the flickering orange, with more of his things under their arms as they ran along the hall. He ran towards them and saw that one had a small picture in his arms. He looked towards the stairs and could see legs coming down and then stopping, turning towards the wall, and he remembered the row of smaller pictures hanging up the stairs. Daniel turned and lunged for the stairs, his hand up feeling along the wall, as he closed his eyes and held his breath against the pungent smoke. An empty nail caught his hand and tore it and he swore under his breath, but continued to feel, climbing the stairs as he passed two more nails, their contents already stolen. Then he felt a picture. He went up two more steps, to be high enough to lift the little picture off its nail and felt the skin on the side of his face begin to blister.

“Leave it. The paint is blistered too, it is not worth saving. Run DOWN.”

Daniel lifted the picture, held it against his chest and turned to go down the stairs. As he did, there was a crack and a whooshing noise and a huge weight fell on him, engulfing him in flames, which rolled on into the hall, setting light to several people who were running for the door.

Daniel got up and looked around. He could see very little, just a mass of burning timbers and scattered tiles. He climbed over the flames, marvelling at the fact that he was feeling no pain and still clutching the painting to his chest. The paint on it bubbled and steamed, but then he realised it was no longer in his arms. The house was quiet, most of the raiders seemed to have left. No, there was one of them, but he was just standing, watching Daniel. Strange, he was standing on top of the burning roof, which was now lying on the floor of the hall, setting fire to it and the downstairs rooms.

“So why have you no loot? I thought that was all you people wanted, to take my things and destroy my house. You’ve had a success there- look at it!”

“Look at it closely yourself and see what is wrong,” Jotin came closer to Daniel.

“It is burnt down, that is what is wrong! What a stupid question.”

“And are you burning? Do you feel pain?”

“No.” Daniel stood and thought for a moment, then looked down at himself and at his hands, which were smooth and clean. He looked up at Jotin. “And I can see myself,” he said, “when there is no light. And I think I know you,” he peered at Jotin, squeezing up his face in the effort to remember. “I do know you.” There was a long pause.

“Oh, Jotin, I’m sorry. I was meant to survive, wasn’t I? And I got tempted by temporary things and now I’m dead. And Eloise will be on her own, with no house, no money,” his voice began to rise to a panicky shriek and Jotin stepped forward to put his arms around Daniel.

“Come, we will go and see Eloise, watch how she is getting on. Last I heard, she had reached the marsh.”

Eloise was woken suddenly, by a hand pulling at her arm.

“Quickly, get up, come with me,” Nicholas pulled her again, “come, ask no questions, just come. We must be quick, they are coming this way.”

Eloise and Pascale got to their feet and Eloise allowed herself to be guided through the trees, away from the house, away from the barns, the heat.

“The heat? What is it?” Eloise turned to Nicholas, her eyes wide.

“Fire. Come.” They stumbled on, through the dark wood, with occasional bursts of orange light helping their progress. Then they were out of the wood and into the vineyard. Nicholas guided Eloise ahead of him between the vines and she allowed herself to stumble on, with the hand in her back pushing her forward. At the end of the row she stopped and turned to face Nicholas. As she did, she looked past him, back to the barns, to the château, and her eyes widened with horror.

“Look!” Eloise said, all other comment dying in her throat. “The house. Look!”

“I know,” Nicholas said, putting an arm around her shoulders and holding her tight to him. “The house is gone. The barns too. It is a shame, there was wine in those barns.”

“Daniel? Where is Daniel?” Eloise’s voice was becoming shrill. “Let me go and see!” she began to pull him back towards the house.

“No, Eloise. It is better if you stay with me. Daniel….”

“
NO NO !” Roki said, as loudly as he could. “Do not tell her. She will save herself if she does not know.”

“..is saving the horses. He will ride them away. Tomorrow he will come back for you. Come, we must hurry.” Nicholas pulled Eloise around so that she could no longer see the burning house and they ran and stumbled on through two more fields of hibernating vines, then across a field which was waiting for the spring ploughing. The slight dip in the land hid the house from them and the triumphant cries of the crowd were less insistent. They slowed to a walk, moving more carefully now in the total darkness. Thick clouds were covering the sky and there was no more moonlight. Nicholas kept his arm around her shoulders, Eloise barely noticed it, accepting it as a guide. She was comforted by Pascale’s hand holding her skirt, the slight pulling reminding Eloise of when they had been children and she was given the care of her little sister.

Water filled Eloise’s shoe and her foot squelched on the bottom of the salt marsh. She recoiled, but her shoe stayed behind in the silt, and her skirt, its sodden hem clinging now round her legs, prevented her from feeling for it with her toes. She stood again on the grass, her foot chilled.

“We will fall in, Nicholas. My shoe is gone, my skirt is soaked. We should wait here for the dawn.”

“That will be hours yet. We should get to safety, into the warm. Hold my left arm and I will put my right foot in the water. So long as you are on the dry and my foot is wet, we will know we are following the edge of the marsh and will come to the village. Pascale, you hold Eloise on the other side.” They walked like that for several minutes, silent except for the rhythmic splashing of Nicholas’s foot. They did not speak, Eloise thinking of Daniel and the horses; Nicholas looking forward to the day when he could at last marry Eloise, now that she was a widow. Pascale was thinking of getting back to her mother.

A light showed ahead.

“Look, Nicholas. Is it the village?”

“I do not think so. It is moving. Stop,” he held still and the comforting splashes stopped. “Listen,” he whispered and she heard singing. The light bobbed as it approached and Eloise could see that it was three torches, carried high.

“Close your eyes. Get down.” Nicholas pushed Eloise to the ground and crouched beside her.

“Our Father, who art . . .”

“Shut up, you idiot,” Nicholas hissed. “The devils will hear you faster than God.”  Eloise swallowed her prayer and continued it in her mind.