CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
The electrical lighting circuit had heated up as Spartak Dryomov planned. Within the walls, hot wires burned through insulating sleeves, causing wood panelling, baked dry over one hundred and fifty years, to catch fire. Helped by paraffin fire-lighters stacked around the fuse box, the cupboard under the stairs was soon ablaze and the main hallway thick with smoke.
In the washroom, Audrey coughed every time she took a breath.
She opened the door to the corridor and was engulfed by hot, acrid smoke. She slammed the door shut and hurried to a washbasin to flush out her mouth. She was in trouble; five minutes earlier she had wanted to curl up and die, but now, she absolutely did not.
She looked across at the windows on the far side of the washroom. They were more like h
