Ashworth Hall - Anne Perry [101]
The woman was still screaming.
Jack!
Sick at heart, Pitt staggered in without even bothering to steady the remains of the door. He could see shards of wood everywhere, and smell gas and burning wool. The curtains were flapping into the room, filled like sails and then snapped empty, their bottoms torn. Books lay in piles and heaps on the carpet. The burning was getting worse. The coals must have been thrown out of the fire by the blast.
There was someone on the carpet behind the ruins of the desk, spread-eagled, one leg bent under him. There was blood all over his chest and stomach, bright scarlet blood.
Pitt could barely force himself to pick his way through the debris, treading on papers and the wreckage of furniture and ornaments.
The jaw was broken, the throat torn, but the rest of the face was remarkably undisfigured. It was Lorcan McGinley. He looked faintly surprised, but there was no fear in him, no horror at all. He had not seen death coming.
Pitt climbed to his feet slowly and turned back to the door. The wind filled the curtains and sent them flying up. One caught a picture swinging on its broken hook and sent it crashing to the floor, glass exploding.
Emily was standing in the doorway, her body shaking, her face gray.
“It’s McGinley,” he said clearly, walking over towards her, slipping on books, loose papers, glass, splintered wood.
Emily shook more violently. She was gasping for breath as if she were choking, unaware that she was beginning to sob.
“It’s McGinley!” Pitt said again, taking hold of her shoulders. “It’s not Jack!”
She raised her fists, tightly clenched, and started to beat against him, lashing out blindly, terrified, wanting to hurt him, to share some of the intolerable pain inside her.
“Emily! It’s not Jack!” He did not wish to shout. His throat was sore with the dust and smoke. Somewhere behind him the study carpet was beginning to burn. He took her shoulders and shook her hard. “It’s Lorcan McGinley! Stop it! Emily, stop it! I’ve got to put the fire out before the whole damn house is alight!” He raised his voice to a shout, coughing violently. “Somebody get a bucket of water! Quickly! You!” He pointed to a dim figure through the settling dust. The maid had stopped screaming at last. Other people were coming, frightened, not knowing what to do. One of the footmen stood as if paralyzed, his livery filthy. “Get a bucket of water!” Pitt shouted at him. “The carpet’s on fire in there.”
The footman moved suddenly, swinging around as if to escape.
Emily was still shaking and crying, but she had stopped hitting him. Her hair was coming undone and she looked ashen pale.
“Where’s Jack?” she said hoarsely. “What have you done with Jack? You were supposed to look after him! Where is he?” She jerked back as if to strike at him again.
There was a clatter of feet, and loud voices.
“What is it?” O’Day demanded. “Oh, my God! What happened? Is anyone hurt?” He swung around. “Radley?”
“I’m here.” Jack pushed his way past Doyle and Justine. Other people were coming down the stairs, and more from the baize door at the far end of the hall.
Emily did not even hear Jack. She was still furious with Pitt, and he had to hold her hard to prevent her from hurling herself at him again.
One of the footmen was cradling Hennessey in his arms, and he appeared to be slowly regaining his senses.
Jack strode forward, glancing at the wreckage of the study, and his face paled.
“McGinley,” Pitt said, meeting his eyes. “There was an explosion—dynamite, I should think.”
“Is he … dead?”
“Yes.”
Jack put his arm around Emily and held her, and she began to cry, but softly, as of relief, the terror slipping out of her.
O’Day came forward to stand almost between them, his face grim. They must all be able to smell the smoke now.
“Where the devil is the footman with the water?” Pitt shouted. “Do you want the whole house on fire?