After supper the music became slower and fewer couples took to the floor. French doors had been opened, as the room was becoming rather warm, and I suppose there must have been a sudden gust of wind because I heard a shout and a scream. I looked around just in time to see one of the candelabras toppling over. Sandra Sechrest was standing beside it. She tried to get out of the way but it fell onto her trailing skirt and we watched in horror as those yards of filmy tulle went up in flames.

Chapter 30

Chapter 30

STILL DECEMBER 28

A horrible ending to the day.

Sandra Sechrest screamed as the flames engulfed her. There was a horrid crackling sound and a smell of acrid smoke as the long shimmering wig burst into flame. Futilely she tried to run. For a long moment nobody else moved. Then several men sprang into action. Johnnie Protheroe reached her first. He flung her to the floor, locked her in an embrace and rolled over with her.

“Get away from my wife, you swine,” Captain Sechrest bellowed.

“I’m saving her life, you damned idiot,” Johnnie shouted back as he staggered to his feet and stamped on the last of the flaming fabric. His face was streaked with soot and his gorgeous knight’s outfit was now also scorched and blackened.

The two men stood there glaring at each other while Sir Oswald, Darcy and a couple of others were down on their knees around Mrs. Sechrest. She was moaning and sobbing hysterically and she looked horrible—a blackened, frizzled mess of charred fabric and hair. Someone covered her with a tablecloth.

“Is the telephone working again?” Bunty asked. “We should call for an ambulance.”

“We can’t afford to wait for an ambulance,” Sir Oswald said. “I’ll drive her to the hospital myself.”

“I’ll come with you, Dad,” Monty said.

“And I want to be with my wife,” Captain Sechrest said, pushing in front of Monty.

“Lift her carefully. She’s in a lot of pain,” Sir Oswald said. “I’ll go and get the motor.”

We watched in silence as the somber procession left the room in eerie silence. Mrs. Sechrest no longer moaned.

“Awful. Absolutely shocking. I can’t believe it.” Voices murmured around me.

“How can that have happened?” someone asked.

“That open French window. Must have blown over the candelabra.”

Miss Prendergast had made her way over to the spot and was down on her knees. “That melting wax is ruining your lovely parquet floor, Lady Hawse-Gorzley,” she said as she attempted to pick up the still burning candles. “We should do something about it quickly.”

“Be careful, Miss Prendergast, or you’ll burn yourself,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said. “The servants will take care of it.” And indeed a footman and a maid were hurrying toward the smoldering wreck.