Downstairs in the empty dining room, Margery wedged three pieces of bread into the toaster on the sideboard, turned the dial up as far as it would go and pushed down the lever. She, too, was counting. When the smoke started frothing out of the toaster, she stood and waited until she saw flames. Only then did she walk out into the corridor, pull the fire alarm and wait patiently for all hell to break loose.
The guests were scattered about the property. Some were in the building, and others were out on the grounds. Frederick, with Steven Warner close on his heels, ran into the foyer, where they found Margery wide eyed with fear and trying to look in all directions at once. The two men spoke simultaneously over each other.
“What’s happened?”
“Is this a fire drill?”
“Was it scheduled?”
Margery appeared to be completely undone. Her voice was shrill, and her hands were shaking.
“No, I’m afraid it’s the real thing. There’s smoke coming out of the dining room. I need to make sure everyone is out of the building before I go looking for it.” She pointed toward the stairs. “Please, you two go up and knock on all the doors and see that everyone’s out. I’ll check the downstairs rooms. The alarm is connected to the nearest fire station, but it’s all volunteer, so it will take a few minutes for them to get here.
“Oh, my God, Olympia’s in the shower,” yelled Frederick.
“No, I’m not.” Her hair was still wet, but she was fully dressed and standing on the stairs behind him. “I need to run and get my laptop.”
Frederick looked doubtful. “Well, then, hurry. There’s smoke coming from the dining room, can you smell it? Get outside and wait for me there. I’ll go and see to the others. Steve’s gone up already. I won’t be long.”
As Olympia turned to go, Margery caught Frederick by the sleeve.
“Mr. Watkins, do you think you might go up to the top floor for me? I think Mrs. Attison might be trapped in there. She went up to get something just before the alarm sounded, and she didn’t know the door won’t open from the inside. Do hurry, the poor thing must be frightened out of her wits. How could I not have told her there was no handle …”
The rest of the sentence was lost in the mist as Frederick turned and raced up the stairs. As he did so, he could hear the pounding and Celia’s frantic calls for help getting louder and louder.
“Hang on,” he screamed over the alarm, “I’m coming.”
When he reached the top he wrenched the door open, and Celia Attison raced past him and started down the stairs. The smell of smoke was getting stronger.
When the two reached the bottom, Margery told them to go outside and count heads, and she’d go make sure the kitchen staff was safely out.
“Got it all under control, haven’t you, Margery?” Celia hissed the words under her breath. She was seething with rage and absolutely unable to do anything but follow instructions. Her first responsibility was to the guests, get them to safety, but where was Richard? Please, God, let him be outside.
“Celia?” Richard was calling from the doorway.
“I’m here. Oh, Richard!”
“Come outside, darling, I think we’re all accounted for.”
When everyone was safely out and standing around the front garden in worried clusters, Margery carefully and quietly locked the front entry door behind them and turned to greet her husband.
“We have less than ten minutes before the fire brigade gets here. I want you to go upstairs to the attic, take the three boxes marked Accounts, take them down by the back stairs and hide them in the wardrobe in our bedroom.”
“But …”
“And while you’re in there, make it look like someone’s had a sort of dust-up there. Knock over one or two of the other boxes, spill out some of the contents and maybe break a chamber pot or a bit of bric-a-brac. Remember, our dear Celia was frightened and desperate to get out, and we have to make it look that way. Now get up the stairs.”
Out in the front the conferees and staff were gathered, holding on to what few things they could carry. They were relatively calm because of Celia, who was now back and fully in charge. As she pointed out, there were no flames leaping out of windows and the smoke was not billowing from anywhere she could see. “Very likely it was a frayed wire or something burning in the kitchen. We’ll know soon, but we are staying here until we do. I hope you aren’t getting too cold.”
“Celia, have you or anyone else seen Rosie Lewis? She’s not here. She’s not still inside, is she?” Richard Attison had just realized they were missing one of their group members.”
“She’s gone,” said Steve Warner.
“Are you sure of that?”
He nodded and held up a piece of paper. “She’s packed up and left. I found this on her bed. All it says is she had an emergency and had to leave. She apologizes for not telling anyone, but there was no one about. We are not to worry. She says she’s fine, and she’ll send a message when she gets home.” Steve crumpled the paper, jammed it in his pocket and turned away just as the sounds of sirens could be heard approaching from the direction of the village.
Later that day, when the firemen and their noisy trucks had departed, the staff and guests were all sitting together in the dining room, cradling cups of hot tea. Celia stood and called for their attention.
“First, let me thank you all for your splendid behavior, your quick response and your readiness to do whatever was needed. I am profoundly grateful that our fire scare was nothing more than an unattended toaster, but we all know it could have been much worse. I particularly want to thank Mrs. Mosely for acting so responsibly in my untimely absence. Who would have thought I could have been so stupid as to lock myself in the attic? I might add that first on the to-do list for tomorrow will be to put a new handle on the inside of that door.”
“I love to fix doorknobs, especially broken ones. I’ll do that for you.” It was Frederick being helpful, slightly ridiculous and most endearing. It made people laugh and lifted their collective moods.
Olympia shook her head and smiled. Trust Frederick to break the tension, she thought, but it’s going to take more than a new doorknob to fix the tension in this place. Then her thoughts wandered to Steven Warner. She looked around the room to where he might be sitting, but he was nowhere to be seen. Best leave him alone, she thought, but keep an eye out for him, as well.
Around her people were putting their cups and saucers onto the tea trolley and slowly getting themselves back on the job. The excitement was over, and so was the tea break; it was time to get back to work.
“Olympia, do you have a few minutes? I need to go back up to the attic, and I want someone to hold the door open for me.” It was Celia.
“It’s no wonder after what just happened. I don’t think I’d set foot up there again without a bodyguard and a locksmith. That must have scared the hell out of you.”
“Oh, that it did, but I’m fine now, and I need to get back up there as soon as possible.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “I found what I was looking for. I found the early accounts books. I had to leave them there when I thought I was running for my life. Now that I’m not, I need to go back and get them.”
“Do you want to do it right now?”
“If you don’t mind.”
“Okay, then.”
Standing in the corner of the room while finishing the last of her tea, Margery watched the two women leave. She was nodding her head and smiling. She was back on track.
In the kitchen Mrs. Loring, the cook, was back in her domain and once again queen of all she surveyed. With her composure now fully regained, she went about discarding the charred toaster and replacing it with a new one fresh out of the box. Then she posted a dire warning to all and sundry about the dangers of over filling the toaster and, worse still, leaving it unattended.
Margery returned to her office, locked the door and powered up her computer. There were a few things she needed to move for safekeeping, and she couldn’t risk being interrupted.