Terrible Tide (20 page)

Luckily Holly’d hung on to her flashlight. They managed to see their way to Annie’s room even though smoke was already beginning to filter through the heavy oak door that shut off the staircase from the back of the house. Annie, incredibly, was sleeping like a baby.

“Come on, you old fool.” With surprising tenderness, Bert wrapped his long-time friend in a blanket and tried to pick her up, but he was still too shaky from the knockout drops. Quickly, Holly slid her hands under Annie’s armpits.

“Take her feet, Bert.”

Together they bundled the by now semiconscious and totally panic-stricken housekeeper out of the room and down the stairs, coughing as the smoke got into their lungs, needing to rub the smart from their eyes but not able to spare a hand to do it. Once Bert slipped, once Holly turned her ankle and almost sent the three of them head first down the long staircase. By the time they’d managed to wrestle the front door open and get Annie out on the lawn, she was unconscious again.

“She don’t look so good.”

Bert was right. Even the lurid glare of the flames now threatening the roof was putting no color into Annie’s face. Her breath was coming in strange, frightening gasps.

“She’s having a fit or something,” said Holly. “We’ve got to get her to the doctor, if your truck hasn’t caught fire yet. Give me your car keys, quick.”

“Hell, this is man’s work.” Bert bowlegged it to the rear drive where he’d left the ancient pickup while Holly prayed the gas tank wouldn’t blow up in his face. Somehow, though, he threaded his way through that flaming No-Man’s Land and pulled up beside the prostrate Annie.

Together, they heaved her aboard. Then Bert hopped back into the driver’s seat.

“Climb in here, fast!”

Holly had one foot in the cab when she remembered. “You go. I’ll wait for the firemen. Hurry!”

Bert opened his mouth to argue, but a shrub close to his right front wheel caught a flying ember and he wasted no more time. He was down the drive and Holly was alone with the inferno that had been Cliff House and the horrifying knowledge that Mrs. Parlett was still upstairs.

As she rushed back through the front door, she knew she was being insane. Even if the frail creature hadn’t already suffocated; even if Holly did somehow manage to get her out before they both burned to death, she most likely wouldn’t survive being dragged out into the chilly night.

“She’s going to die soon anyway,” Holly kept telling herself as she panted up the stairs. Still she went on, praying the heavy doors would hold a few seconds longer.

The air in the stairwell was almost unbreathable now, but in the huge master bedroom at the front, it was less intolerable. She rushed in, slammed the door, flung up the window that faced out on that absurd porch roof with its fancy iron railing. She spent precious moments padding the wasted body with the velvet comforter. That window was their only hope now. How she’d manage to get Mrs. Parlett down over the porch roof without killing them both, God only knew; but it was either try or fry.

She couldn’t lift the inert body, light as it was, so she dragged it across the floor, got Mrs. Parlett up over the windowsill somehow, and eased her down to the roof. For the first time, perhaps, in its existence, that railing would serve a useful purpose, holding its owner from plunging to the ground before Holly could rig a sling.

Those sheets people in books were always ripping up at times like this couldn’t have been these superb, fine-woven linen affairs with heavy tatted edges that wouldn’t come loose no matter how frantically one tugged. Holly had to attack the fabric with nail-file, buttonhook, lovely ivory-handled implements from the carved rosewood dressing table that would soon be ashes.

She got the ripping started at last, tore off wide strips, knotted them together as tight as she could. The varnish on the door was rising in huge blisters, the smoke getting thicker, the roaring of the flames incredibly loud. She got out on the roof a split second before the door blew in, slammed the window behind her to gain perhaps another second’s grace, and fumbled her makeshift rope around the velvet-covered bundle that lay so very still against the railing. Maybe Mrs. Parlett was already dead. Maybe she would be, too, soon. No matter. They’d go on.

She tied the other end of her sheet rope around that blessed railing, heaved the body over the edge of the roof, and began to lower it slowly, carefully even though she could feel the heat through the glass at her back. The window would explode, just as that floodlight had done. She’d be full of flying glass again. Why didn’t the fire truck come?

For an instant, Holly thought she saw somebody out across the drive, and screamed, “Help me!” But it must have been only a trick of the flickering flames and shadows, because nobody came.

That was all right. Mrs. Parlett was safe on the ground and she herself was sliding down, holding to the sturdy linen strip, wrapping her scarred legs around one of the blistering porch pillars; not minding the heat or the smoke or even the bits of flaming debris.

Now she was running, dragging the once-beautiful velvet comforter behind her, grateful that the grass was dry and slick. It was like pulling a child on a sled. Only there should be wonderful, cold snow under her feet and none of these sudden bursts of flame she had to keep darting around.

“Not that way!” Incredibly, someone was running beside her, shouting in her ear, steering her away from the course she’d been blindly following. “Head for the water. Never mind trying to save whatever you’ve got there. Leave it and run!”

“I can’t,” Holly gasped. “It’s Mrs. Parlett. Help me!”

“Oh, God. Trust you to complicate matters.”

Only one person could speak in such a tone of well-bred exasperation at a time like this.

“Geoffrey! How did you get here?”

“I saw the flames and thought I’d better find out where they were coming from. My house sits rather high, you know. How did it start?”

“The kitchen stove blew up.” Suddenly Holly knew why. “Somebody dropped a bucket of gasoline down the chimney.”

“From a helicopter? Holly, you’re hallucinating.”

“I am not! I smelled it. I know it was gasoline. I saw a Molotov cocktail tossed into a storefront on Broadway once. The explosion was exactly the same, only this was much worse.”

“Very well if you say so. Come on, we’ve got to get out of here.”

Paying no attention to the human bundle she’d risked her life for, he grabbed Holly’s arm and tried to hustle her along.

“Mrs. Parlett,” Holly screamed. “We can’t—”

“To hell with her. Let her stay.”

“Geoffrey, no!”

That was another voice. Out of the smoke and the sparks Claudine Parlett ran toward them, shrieking. “Pick her up, quick!”

“Why should I?” asked the professor coolly.

“Because that’s not Mathilde, you fool,” snapped Holly. “It’s Claudine’s mother. If you’re too scared to help us, get out of the way.”

Between them, the two women stooped to lift the bundle. Angrily, Cawne brushed them aside and took Alice Parlett into his arms.

“All right, if you must be totally irrational. Come along. This way.”

“But why not down the drive?” Holly protested. “People will be coming.”

“And we’ll all be dead by the time they get here. Toward the bay, for God’s sake, and stop arguing. Claudine, you’ve got to help me carry this thing. It weighs a ton.”

“Stop calling her ‘it,’” Holly raged. “She’s more human than you are.”

“Thank you.” Cawne thrust the velvet-covered burden at her and turned his back.

Claudine snatched to keep her mother from dropping to the ground. Together, she and Holly scrabbled Alice Parlett down over the bank, Geoffrey herding them every step of the way but not lifting a hand to assist. When they reached the bush from behind which she and Sam had watched Ellis set his trap, Holly panted, “This is far enough.”

“Until the grass catches fire,” said Cawne. “The sensible thing is for you two to keep going down to the ledge. I’ll make a dash for my car and come to pick you up.”

“You won’t have time,” Claudine protested. “The tide’s on the turn. The ledge will be covered in a few minutes. Look at the bay.”

In the reflections now cast high and wide by the leaping flames, they could see an eerie shiver on the surface of the water. Fundy’s inexorable flood was about to begin. They might as well be burned as drowned.

“We’ll stay here,” said Holly. “We’re safe enough. The wind’s blowing off the water. The grass fire will go the other way.”

“And the fire truck will be here any minute,” said Claudine. “They were ringing the alarm bell when I left my house.”

“Why were you coming here?” Holly asked her point-blank. “Did you know Cliff House was going to be fire-bombed?”

“Oh my God! Is that what happened? No, I didn’t know. Holly, you’ve got to believe me. I’d never have hurt you. I—it was those pills. I was afraid—”

“Shut up,” snapped Cawne. “Get down on that ledge, both of you.”

Claudine stared at the gun he was poking straight at her face. “Geoffrey, you’re mad! I don’t believe this.”

“You’d better believe it, my dear. You deceived me about your mother, and you’d have betrayed me over those pills. I could never have trusted you again. Goodbye, Claudine. At the risk of sounding trite, I must say I’m sorry it had to end this way.”

Claudine stayed frozen. Monstrously, Cawne reached out one foot and set Alice Parlett rolling toward the bay. At that, Claudine turned and ran after her mother, but Holly held her ground.

“You—you—there are no words for you. What was in those pills you sent me? The same stuff that almost killed Annie?”

“Let’s just say that if they’d been taken as directed, we’d both have been spared a certain amount of unpleasantness. Damn you, why didn’t you take them? Why didn’t you take them?”

Cawne started shaking her, screaming like a brat in a tantrum. “It’s your fault. I was doing fine until you spoiled everything by finding out about those tables. You deserve to die!”

Step by step he was forcing her backward, maneuvering for a chance to hook her feet from under her and send her hurtling toward the ledge. Holly tried to fight, but her strength was gone. All she had left was her voice, and not much of that.

“Sam! Sam!”

What was the use? Sam was asleep in Jugtown, four miles away. He couldn’t hear that feeble croak. Nobody could. Still she called. “Sam! Help me, Sam!”

Something tall and lean came leaping down the hill. Sam’s was no expert blow, but it did the job. Cawne sprawled among the hummocks. Holly grabbed for his gun. Sam grabbed for Holly.

“What’s he done to you?”

“Tried to kill me. Oh, Sam, how did you find me?”

“Darned if I know. I just came.” He rubbed his face in her hair. “You smell like a finnan haddie.”

“You’ve still got your pajamas on.”

“So I have.” Sam looked down at slightly less than six feet of striped cotton. “That’s odd. I don’t even remember getting out of bed. No you don’t,” he roared as Cawne started to crawl away. “Lie still or I’ll stomp a hole through you.”

Holly started to giggle hysterically. “You can’t, you idiot. You’re in your bare feet.”

“Then I’ll claw him to death with my toenails. Here, give me that gun of his before you shoot somebody. Not that it would be such a bad idea,” Sam added as he took thoughtful aim.

“See here, Neill,” Geoffrey began to bluster, “this is all a stupid misunderstanding. I can explain—”

“Don’t bother. Frankly, Cawne, I always did find you a bit of a bore. What am I going to do with this skunk, Holly? If I tie him up with my pajama cord, my pants will fall down.”

“Keep him covered. I’ll get something. Claudine, where are you?”

“Down here by the cliff. Mother’s caught on a bush and I don’t dare pull her loose for fear I’ll lose my balance and let her fall.”

“Hang on, I’m coming.”

“What’s all this?” Sam demanded, but Holly didn’t wait to explain. Claudine was indeed in a precarious position, crouched too close to the edge, clutching at what was left of the comforter with her mother still tied inside. Holly lay down on the ground and stretched out her arms.

“Take my hand and work yourself back to firm ground, keeping hold of the sheet. Lie down the way I’m doing. Then we can both wiggle forward and get a grip on her.”

Claudine obeyed. Between them, they managed to pull Mrs. Parlett back to safety.

“If she survives this, it’ll be a miracle,” Holly panted, “but I did the best I could.”

“You’ve been—what can I say?” Claudine sobbed. “Oh Holly, I never meant to get you into anything like this.”

“Of course you didn’t. Come on, let’s get her up the hill a little farther.”

“But Geoffrey will—”

“No he won’t. Sam Neill has him on the ground, covered by his own gun. Help me undo these strips of linen. We need them to tie up Geoffrey.”

“Let me do it,” said Claudine savagely. I’ll tie them around his neck!”

“Take it easy. You’re not the first woman who’s fallen for a smooth-talking crook.”

“I’ll be the last, as far as he’s concerned.”

“Never mind him now. Is your mother still breathing?”

“I—I think so. I can’t tell for sure.”

Holly left Claudine bent anxiously over Alice Parlett and went back to Sam. Between them, they got Cawne trussed up tight as a mummy.

“He’ll do,” Sam decided when they’d run out of sheet “Hey, I hear the fire truck.”

“About time.”

Then the area was swarming with volunteer firemen. Cliff House was gone, but they could still keep the flames from spreading into the woods. Men stood watching until the tide had completed its incredible inward surge, then rushed down to pump water from the bay.

Holly forgot the tide could have been the death of her. She and Sam got caught up in the confusion, Holly assuring people they’d all got out of Cliff House alive, Sam tugging at hose lines with the other men, making helpful suggestions to which the rugged individualists in the fire brigade paid no attention. It was some time before they remembered their prisoner. When they went to get him, Geoffrey was gone.

Earl Stoodley happened to be nearby, togged out like a fireman but not doing much of anything. Holly grabbed at the sleeve of his rubber coat.