Free Fields of Home by Marita Conlon-Mckenna Page A

It chased its way across the heavy, century-old damask curtains, the dry fabric splitting and igniting. It raced downwards to the polished floorboards, then across the hand-crafted chairs and upwards over the pelmet to the beautiful plasterwork ceilings.
    Finn, the great lumbering Irish wolfhound, Lord Henry’s favourite of all his dogs, began to howl as he tried to escape from the huge, smoke-filled hallway. Bynow an inferno was raging in the elegant drawing-room and its curving bay window blew out onto the lawn.
    Hearing some sort of commotion, Lord Henry roused himself, pulled on his silk dressing-gown and went to his bedroom window to see what was going on. But there was nobody outside. Suddenly he noticed the vivid orange flames reaching up over the bedroom windowsill and smoke seeping through the open cracks between the floorboards. Then a great roar came from the chimney at the side of the room, as if some enormous bellows were pumping air up it.
    Lord Henry ran to the bed. ‘Wake up, my dear! We must leave the house immediately.’
    ‘What is it, Henry?’ his wife asked crossly.
    Passing her a dressing-gown he implored her to rouse herself as there was ‘a bit of a fire’.
    Lady Buckland began to scream for the children and servants, while her husband shoved the jewels on her dressing-table into his pocket. In an instant, the two girls stood in their nightgowns outside their bedroom doors. They stared, terrified, across the banister where they could see huge flames sweeping up the broad staircase.
    ‘We must keep calm, my dears,’ ordered Lord Henry.
    Finn jumped amongst them, barking madly, and growling down at the encroaching fire. At the sameinstant they all began to shout. ‘WAKE UP! THERE’S A FIRE!’
    The housekeeper appeared immediately, her hair wrapped in tight rags and clutching a leather valise. ‘My valuables,’ she stated firmly.
    ‘Rouse the household!’ yelled Lord Henry, praying that the butler heard him. ‘We must go down the servants’ stairs!’ he said, leading the way through the small wooden door up on the half-landing. ‘Make haste. These old houses are like tinderboxes.’
    A smell of smoke permeated the small, enclosed space as they all hurried down the stairs, the large dog shoving ahead of them all and barking madly at the encroaching fire. The line increased rapidly as the rest of the staff filed down behind them. Half-afraid, Lord Henry shoved the door at the bottom of the staircase open, and stepped out into the tiled passageway, conscious of the loud cracking roar close by.
    ‘Hurry up! Do hurry up!’ he ordered curtly, and they all rushed out into the large kitchen. Bernard Delaney, the butler, now back in his own territory, busied himself unlocking the heavy door, trying to look in command of things, despite the fact that he was wearing only a pair of knee-britches.
    ‘Hurry up, man!’ ordered Lord Henry.
    ‘Are all the servants up?’ asked Lady Martha anxiously, regaining some of her composure.
    ‘Where’s Lizzie?’ wondered Mary Keating, Lady Martha’s personal maid, ‘and that new girl?’
    Mercy Farrell, who stood beside Mary, gasped. Lizzie Collins and the new girl, Dolores, slept right up at the very top of the house. Lizzie would sleep through anything after her long day’s work and had been banished to the furthest room because of her loud snoring, and Dolores, who spent her whole time scouring out pots and pans and washing in the scullery, was half-simple, and mightn’t know what was going on.
    ‘They mustn’t have heard us!’ Mercy wailed.
    The whole group stood silent as the plight of the young girls in the upstairs attic dawned on them.
    ‘I’ll run up and get them!’ volunteered Mercy, ‘they’re my friends.’
    ‘Are you sure, my dear?’ asked Lady Martha, not certain it was wise to risk the life of another of her servant girls.
    ‘I’m well used to racing up and down these stairs, your ladyship.’ Turning on her heel, her dark