Gripping Sylvia’s hand more firmly, Kit led the way down the narrow alley that ran along the side of the hall.
The smoke was thinning as they stepped onto the cobbles of the rear yard.
Sylvia held her breath and swiftly scanned the scene. A deeper wave of relief swept through her at the sight of Jellicoe and Cross, soot-streaked and mopping tears from their eyes, but otherwise apparently unharmed.
A bevy of neighbors was hanging over the rear fence and both side fences; from the buckets dangling from several hands, the neighbors had helped ferry water to put out the flames. Evidently, not everyone wished the school gone.
Kit r
eleased her hand and nodded to Jellicoe and Cross.
Sylvia hurried to where they were slumped against the side of the privy. “Are you all right?” When both nodded, she asked, “What happened?”
Jellicoe waved a hand before his face, batting away the lingering smoke. “We came to take a look at our notes for Monday’s lessons, smelt smoke, tried to get out of the back door and couldn’t, then we raced around and found that.” He pointed to a pile of wood stacked against the hall’s back door. “It was well alight—or so we thought—with flames leaping up against the door. I sent Cross to get help while I tried to beat out the flames with a sack. Then the sack caught fire as well.”
Cross took up the tale. “I found Eddie out front—sheer luck—and sent him for help.” Cross squinted up at her through watering eyes. “I take it he thought I meant you.”
Sylvia smiled gently. “He did.”
Cross humphed. “Luckily, the neighbors smelt the smoke, too, and came to help.” He waved at the watching men. “Thank you all.”
The men nodded and smiled, and one called, “Put all of us at risk, the blighters did—fires spread quickly in streets like ours. Any idea who it was?”
A dark murmur of agreement rippled through the onlookers.
Kit, who had been studying the smoldering wood, replied, “Not yet.”
Words and tone held a promise of retribution that seemed to satisfy the watching men.
Then Kit flicked out a handkerchief, anchored it over his nose, and walked to the still-smoking pile. He stared for a moment, then bent, picked up a broken branch, and prodded and scraped at what looked like remnants of rags hanging off the logs. After a moment, he said, “These rags were soaked in some sort of liquid fuel—that’s why your sack caught fire. But the rags were placed on top of the wood, so although the rags burned merrily, most of the wood didn’t catch, then when you tried to force the back door, the pile shifted, and the rags fell over the front of the logs.”
Slowly, Kit rose, frowning down at the detritus. Then he raised his gaze and scanned the hall’s rear wall.
Sylvia followed his gaze, taking in the blistered paintwork on the door and the soot streaks on the solid stone walls.
Glancing around, she saw that the neighbors were watching Kit with interest. She doubted he realized just how definite was the aura of not just status and wealth but also command that hung from his shoulders, an invisible mantle a large portion of the populace instinctively recognized.
She watched as he stepped back from the now-damp stack of wood and walked over to join her before Cross and Jellicoe, who were still slumped against the privy.
Kit extended his hand to Jellicoe.
Jellicoe looked faintly startled, but then took the proffered hand and let Kit haul him to his feet.
“Good work, you two.” Kit lightly thumped Jellicoe’s shoulder, then reached down and helped Cross up as well.
As soon as he was on his feet, Cross, now frowning, went to stare at the smoking pile. After a moment, he grunted. “Now I can see how this was laid, I’m having trouble believing there was ever much of a threat.”
Jellicoe coughed and went to look, too, then nodded. “I see what you mean. Whoever set this had no idea what they were doing.”
His hands sunk in his greatcoat pockets, Kit joined the teachers.
Sylvia followed and halted on Cross’s other side. “What do you mean?” she asked.
Kit pointed at the rags. “If you wanted that pile to burn, any sensible person would have put the rags beneath the wood—at least in the center of the pile.”
Jellicoe snorted. “And why try to set fire to a thick oak door set in a stone wall anyway? Even if the door had caught”—he directed his gaze up, above the door—“the wall is so high, the rafters would almost certainly be out of reach of any flames.”
“The hall wouldn’t have burned,” Kit concluded. “Which leaves us with the question of whether whoever set the fire intended it merely as a warning, or if they truly were so inept that they had no notion of how to set an effective blaze. Regardless, I believe we can be certain that no expert arsonist was involved.”