He hadn’t protested, so she felt on some instinctual level that her plan was sound – which was a relief because Jemima had never spent much time in her life assessing what to do in possible emergencies, and she had not expected to be any particular good at it. She was confident he was coming with her, at least – he was half guiding her at her waist, and she didn’t dare look over her shoulder at how close the blaze might be – but when they reached the door up ahead, he slowed down? Jemima was already grasping the handle and tugging it open as she shot an incredulous sidelong look at him. There wasn’t time enough to argue, but there also wasn’t time to stand about and check whether the coast was clear, here! Not that it was a vast room, especially, but still: one would think he was more worried to set foot inappropriately in a ladies’ powder room than to burn politely to a crisp. At any other moment, Jemima might have found this rather sweet.

But not now.

“Don’t – be – silly,” Jemima got out before the smoke caught in her lungs, and dragged him forcefully in with her. Letting out a cough, she lurched around him to close the door behind him, more concerned about that than anything else. It was no sure solution either but, turning and covering her mouth with her hand to prevent another cough, Jemima took a cursory glance of the room for something or someone to help. It seemed rather deserted of people, though, save for something that looked suspiciously like a lady’s foot missing the rest of its body. A splinching, maybe? Jemima decided to pretend she had hallucinated the stray leg, and only called out a swift, nervous, “Hello?”

Still, all she could hear was the crackling of the flames in the hall; the rain outside. She looked back at him.

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