Characters aren't mine, no copyright infringement intended, etc.

(Had to put this into more than one chapter, so there will be more after this…)

Charles Carson stumbled through the never-ending smoke. This was a corridor he had spent years gliding down with dignified ease, but today he was reduced to a blundering mess.

"Mrs. Hughes!" he cried through the darkness. No answer. "Mrs. Hughes! Thomas! Ah..." He coughed, doubling over and balancing against the wall. It was impossible to see anything in the corridor but he generally knew where he was: a few feet away from the kitchen. He coughed again and felt his way along the hall, then found the doorway to the kitchen with his hands.

"Mrs. Hughes!" More coughing. He pulled out a handkerchief and held it to his mouth, then ducked and crept inside. The smoke was thinner the closer he kept to the ground. He set eyes on the damnable oven, and stopped.

It was open, and clear.

He strained to look again. Not a wisp of smoke was coming from the problematic contraption. Charles was confused. How could there be a fire? He looked around. It had to be coming from another room.

Then the thought of her struck him and he pounded the table next to him and roared in frustration. "Elsie!"

He ducked again and moved to leave the kitchen. He hurried out of the doorway and deeper into the smoke, holding his arm in front of his face and squinting as he went.

It's no use, he thought. I can't see a damn thing.

He closed his eyes, and kept walking, patting the walls of the corridor as he went. Till now he'd been sure of where he was in the network of stone passages, but now he wasn't so sure. He took in a horrible breath of black smoke, bigger than intended, and choked. He doubled over again and spat, feeling wretched at an act so undignified.

Confound that woman! he thought. Stubborn, Scottish, straight-laced… He stopped and tried to breathe again , the thought of her returning to him like the welcoming, bright beam of a lighthouse. He saw her standing in front of him, almost regal, holding an iron key and motioning to him. She held her arm aloft, her gaze strong and compassionate. She was saying something to him, mouthing words he couldn't make out. She tilted her head and spoke again, soundlessly.

"I can't… I can't hear you, Mrs. Hughes."

Charles had stopped walking and leaned against the wall. Then he was sliding, slowly against its cool surface till he came to a stop and sat against it, his hands flat against the cool floor. His squeezed his eyes shut and felt his face glowing in sweat. He half-heartedly put the handkerchief to his mouth again, then let it fall away.

"Mrs. Hughes…"

He creased his brow. He thought he'd finally heard it, whatever it was she was saying. He tried to see the image of her again, standing there with the key. He remembered the key hole he would stare at every night when he was finishing his last duties. The one that opened up the silverware cupboard. How he would stare at it and notice the rust around the edges and how it would remind him that his time was running out. That he was old. He strained his mind again to see her standing in front of him and talking.

Finally he was hearing her words clearly. Except they weren't gentle and loving, but urgent and commanding. Up. Getting up. And then a sharp, sudden pain on the side of his face.

"Get up Mr. Carson!"

He opened his eyes to slits. Everything was a blur, but he made out a dark figure in front of him. Then he felt the pain again. A slap.

His eyes shot open. Who on earth had the gall to slap him? He blinked and the figure came into focus. It was Elsie, her face etched deep with worry. It shifted quickly into indignation when she saw he was wide awake.

"Mr. Carson get up!" she demanded. She grasped his shoulders and was pulling him upwards, yanking him out of the dream and into the dark and horrible reality of their smoke filled corridor. He looked around and moved to stand up. He shook his head.

"Mrs. Hughes. Thank God you're alright," he said. Charles put his hand to the wall to steady himself and let his arm drape over Elsie's shoulder.

"We've got to get out of this smoke!" she cried. Her face was glowing with sweat and caked with a layer of soot from the smoke. "Now!"

Charles couldn't think. He was in a daze. Then he looked at her, and remembered the image he'd seen of her holding the key.

A key.

He suddenly knew exactly where they were. "You've got your keys, haven't you?" She looked at him. "The store cupboard," he continued. "It's right there."

They shuffled over to the door and she leaned him against the wall, fumbling to get the right key. She jammed it into the lock and turned it. They tumbled into a room filled with crates of vegetables and canned goods. The air was deliciously clean.

She shut the door behind her and the two of them burst into hacking coughs. After a minute it subsided, and they looked at one another, out of breath. The room was silent. Elsie looked harried. Then her knees buckled and she pulled at her hair, crying out. The piercing sound chilled him to the bone. She grasped for a shelf and leaned on it, suddenly overwhelmed.

She didn't find him, Charles thought.

"He's probably already outside," Charles said, resting a hand on her arm.

She stared at the floor and shook her head. "No. I know he's not outside. He's somewhere in here. I know it."

"All right," said Charles. "The other men will be at the house by now. They'll be trying to get in."

"I've got to find him." She reached for the door handle.

"No!" he bellowed. "I'm not letting you run off this time."

She stopped her hand. "All right."

"The fire. It's not coming from the oven. I don't know where it's started."

"I agree," said Elsie. "It's not coming from anywhere downstairs."

They looked at one another and recognition dawned on them both.

"The guest. Sir James. He was smoking a cigarette I saw him." Charles grabbed for the door handle, but Elsie put down a hand to stop him.

"We're going together." The thought crossed her mind that he might lock her in here for her own good.

"Yes," he said, nodding. "We'll try to head upstairs, use the east wing staircase. I think I know where he might have gone."

He moved for the door and Elsie stopped him once more. This time she gripped his arm and stared at him, her face a storm of emotion.

"Charles. Whatever happens outside of this room... know that I love you." She grasped him tighter, as if her statement was a matter of life and death. "Know that I love you more than words can say."

The creases in his face, lined with black soot, opened as he gazed back her and stroked her cheek. He kissed her forehead. "You can tell me that again when this is all over."

He turned the the door handle and they hurried out of the room.