“Could you come down here, please?” said Morgan patiently. Elke helped Miranda rise out of the shrubbery and they stood by his side.
The woman slowly made her way to confront them, feisty but anxious, and to ease her anxiety they stepped back outside the gate, then pulled it shut between them. She seemed unconcerned by the fires down the slope that had leapt now from roof to roof, so there was an awesome conflagration, with flames and smoke obscuring the eastern horizon.
“Did they fly away?” she said.
“Who?” Morgan asked. “Was that Mr. Savage, is Mr. Savage your son?”
“Oh, no, dear, I wouldn’t call my son Mister,” she said, smiling radiantly. “We don’t have any children.”
“You and Mr. Savage?”
“No dear, Peter and I, we don’t have children.”
“Peter is your husband?”
“Yes, dear. Peter passed away. Mr. Savage looks after me.”
“Really,” said Miranda.
“May I go in and clean up?” Elke asked the old woman, reaching over the gate and taking her by the hand. “I really need to use your bathroom.”
“I’m sorry, dear. Mr. Savage said I wasn’t to leave the house.”
“But may we come inside?” said Miranda.
“Mr. Savage didn’t say not to come in. He told me I wasn’t to leave.”
Sirens wailed in the background as fire trucks bumped over country roads, tracking the fire by sight. Cars were pouring down the long laneway as volunteers arrived before their equipment. Several had already pulled up but kept their distance from the fiery sheds, their headlights redundant in the clear evening air. The house was to the west of them, in shadow with the setting sun glaring from behind the escarpment. From down by the fire, no one could see the curious group negotiating by the garden gate.
“You see, my husband died after we tore up the orchards. It broke his heart. But Mr. Savage insisted. Mr. Savage owns the property, you see. It was in my husband’s family since 1791. But we have no children — are you all right, dear?” She interrupted her narrative on seeing the bloodstain spreading on Miranda’s thigh. “Perhaps they can help you.” She indicated the activities down by the sheds. “I never know what’s going on down there. I don’t leave the house.”
“Mr. Savage doesn’t like it?” suggested Morgan.
“No, he does not.”
“And where is Mr. Savage, now?”
“He told me to stay in the house,” said the old woman. “I’m Mrs. Peter Oughtred. Peter was a Haun on his mother’s side.”
Miranda felt dizzy with pain and blood loss. Elke helped her to sit down on the grass outside the gate. Morgan’s concern for her reflected in his voice.
“You’ll have to let us in, Mrs. Oughtred, my partner needs help.”
“What was all the noise, was that you? Did you make those loud noises? I heard explosions down by the winery. I stayed in the parlour. I was watching television.”
“Mr. Savage told you to stay inside?” Morgan asked.
“Yes, he did,” she responded. Her voice quavered with exasperation. She had told him this already.
“And Mr. Savage owns Bonnydoon Winery?”
“He built this house for us. They tore down the old house and built this one in its place. Peter never liked it.”
“No?” said Morgan.
“We had the parlour and the bedroom downstairs and the kitchen and a bathroom.”
“But it’s a huge house —”
“Yes, and they needed the rest.”
“When did your husband die, Mrs. Oughtred?”
“Three years ago. I’ve been here alone since then.”
“With Mr. Savage?”
“Mr. Savage comes and goes, sometimes by car and sometimes by airplane. He makes sure I have supplies. I can clean up after myself. Peter was ninety-four, I’m ninety six. He was a year older than me but I’m older now.”
“Does Mr. Savage have a first name?”
“I’m sure he does.”
“Would you mind telling me what it is?”
“No, I would not mind at all.”
Morgan waited. “Uh, what is it?”
“I don’t know, dear. Mr. Savage is Mr. Savage.”
Morgan paused. “Was your husband a vintner?”
“Oh no, we’re farmers. We had orchards. These vines are only four years old.”
Morgan looked around at the firefighters. An ambulance had arrived. It was sitting on the edge of the scene in case of an accident. An OPP car was lumbering up the laneway.
“Police are coming,” said Morgan to Miranda and Elke. “Provincials. There’s an ambulance, let’s get Miranda down there.”
He stopped and turned back to the ancient Mrs. Oughtred. “My name is Morgan, ma’am. I’d like to talk to you again. We’ll have someone look in on you. I don’t think Mr. Savage will be back.”
“Well, of course he will, he owns everything here until we both die. He promised me when Peter passed away, Mr. Savage promised I could stay until I died too.”
“He did. Well, I’m sure you can stay. Don’t worry, we’ll track Mr. Savage down.”
“He always comes back.”
“Mrs. Oughtred —”
“Now you go along with your friends, Mr. Morgan. They don’t look too steady on their feet. And you all should wash up, you know. You don’t make a very good impression.”
She waved at him with a hankie in her hand, even though he was just on the other side of the gate. Apparently unconcerned about the billowing smoke and flames behind him or the frenetic activities of the emergency crew, she turned and started walking back to the house. Morgan trudged down the walkway, glancing back at the old woman as he caught up with the other two. She was already at her door, and when he looked around next she had gone in and shut it firmly behind her.
As they emerged out of the gloom of the escarpment a cluster of police, firefighters, and medics surged up the slope towards them.
“We must really look like we need help,” said Miranda.
“We do,” said Elke. “We’ve been through hell.”
They stopped, leaning against each other, waiting for the emergency crew to reach them. Morgan turned and looked back at the house.
“She was determined to stay,” he said.
“Mr. Savage told her she could, until she passes away.” Miranda looked back as well.
“Mr. Savage told her to stay inside.” A tremor of horror crossed his face.
“Morgan?”
“My goodness!” he exclaimed.
“Morgan, no!”
Miranda shouted at him as he swung around, took a stride back towards the house, stumbled, and as he was rising to his feet the entire escarpment exploded into a blistering, deafening inferno. For an instant the house was outlined in flame, as if it were hovering against a fiery backdrop, then it smashed into a billion points of light as the shock waves hurled Morgan and Miranda and