Here, she was horrified to find another smoldering mass, this one on Mayson’s bedside rug. The small room was filled with smoke, and flames were beginning to lick at the edge of the bedspread.
Evelyn whipped the coverlet off the bed, tamping it down on the smoldering mess on the rug. Deprived of air, the fire went out, but the thick clouds of smoke continued to waft from the bundle of charred fabric.
Bruce entered, carrying a large pot of water, dumping it over the smoking mass on the floor. This added billows of steam to the thick smoke.
Evelyn began to cough, tears streaming down her face, but she hurried to Mayson. He seemed to be heavily asleep, his breathing labored and harsh.
Mr. Wilson, and another footman hurried after Bruce. “It is the smoke,” Mr. Wilson said. “Let us have him up and out of here.”
Not bothering to wait for the other footman, Mr. Bruce pulled Mayson into a sitting position, and slung him up over his shoulder. He staggered a bit under the weight, but managed to get himself and Mayson out the door, then out the back kitchen door into the cleaner outside air. Evelyn, the other footman, and Mr. Wilson hurried after them.
They were met at the back door by the head gardener and the head stableman who helped ease Mayson down onto the ground.
“He’s heavier than he looks,” Bruce commented. “Solid, too, not like most cooks.”
Evelyn scarcely paid him any heed at all, kneeling down beside Mayson. “Someone send for Dr. Alton,” she cried.
Mrs. Henshaw appeared at her elbow with a basin of water and a soft cloth. “Turn him on his side so that he does not choke,” she directed. “Then bathe his face, especially around the nose. It won’t help what’s already gone inside, but it will help clear the remains from his face and perhaps wake him up.”
Evelynn did as she was directed, silently weeping as she wiped the smoke stains from Mayson’s face. Dip, wring, wipe, repeat. Until Mayson stirred with a groan, and caught Evelyn’s hand.
“What is happening?” he asked. “Why am I outside?”
“Someone tried to set fire to the kitchen and to your room,” Evelyn replied. “I was afraid that you were not going to wake up.” She gulped back a sob, and tried to smile.
“Would it matter to you?” Mayson asked.
“So very much,” Evelyn replied, sniffling. She wiped a hand across her face, smearing tears and soot.
Mayson caught her hand, and offered her back the cloth she had been using on his face. “Evelyn,” he said softly. “Is anyone nearby?”
Evelyn looked around. Most people were focused on getting the smoke out of the kitchen and cleaning up the mess from the fires.
“Not at the moment,” she said. “Why?”
“I think I know what is going on,” he said. “I spoke with my friend, the magistrate, about proving that I am the rightful heir. I thought I had been discreet, but someone must have discovered that I am attempting to take up my inheritance.”
Evelyn sucked in a deep breath. “You think you are the target?”
He nodded. “It makes sense. The chair that broke is the one that I usually sit in. If I had not become restless and pushed away from the table, I would have been under that iron rack. The cellar steps were greased and someone had loosened a stone. Now this. I need to leave, Evelyn, before someone gets hurt.”
“But where will you go? What will you do?” Evelynn asked.
“For right now, he is not going anywhere or doing anything,” Dr. Alton said firmly, “Except to one of the upstairs rooms where the air is not filled with smoke. If you do not develop pneumonia from this night’s work, Mr. Rudge, it will be a miracle.”
Dr. Alton knelt down on the other side of Mayson, and began listening to his chest, using an ear trumpet.
“There’s a rattle in there that I do not like,” the physician commented. “No, no, do not try to get up. We will pad a table and use that to carry you up to one of the guest chambers. Constable Morris has some men coming from London. In the meanwhile, two watchers will be at your door day and night. We will have no more of this nonsense.”
“How is Jemmy?” Evelyn asked.
“He will do. He will have quite a headache tomorrow, but he is in better shape than Mr. Rudge. Meanwhile, the Duke is sending two cooks down from the main estate to man the kitchens since we are now down three helpers.”
“Three?” Evelyn squeaked.
“Three,” Dr. Alton confirmed. “Someone managed to make off with Mr. McElroy’s wooden leg, and added it to the fire in the kitchen.”
“That is dreadful!” Evelyn exclaimed. “How could anyone be so full of anger or hate as to burn a one-legged man’s wooden leg?”