A Mischief in the Snow - By Margaret Miles Page 0,51

In the silence that followed, each came to the same conclusion.

“It must have been the husband,” said Diana, with a look of disdain. “A locked cabinet, and nothing else in the house taken? The children are hardly old enough to have become such villains. He probably needed money, and traded the spoons for silver coins. Then, seeing what a fuss he'd raised, he bought them back, and returned them. The Devil, indeed! These are hardly the Dark Ages—even here in Bracebridge.”

“It could be he said that for the children, so they'd not see his hand in it. Rachel blames him, I'm sure.”

“His children might as well know what he is. And the rest of the village, I should think. This is the man who's to investigate the latest outrage to occur here? What a joke it all is!”

Diana's laugh signaled a return of her usual humor, but its edge seemed uncomfortably cutting. Perhaps, thought Charlotte, another glass of fermented cider would do no harm. She rose to pour it.

“I wonder,” she then said, “what business Dudley could have had on the island.”

“I wonder,” Diana countered, “why he took this bag of yours, which he must have known wasn't his. Though I don't suppose it still held the hatchet, or he would not have sent it back.”

“But he didn't, did he?” Charlotte asked. “Rachel did.”

“Yes, that's true—”

Their thoughts were interrupted by sounds outside. With a rush of relief, Charlotte put down her glass. She walked from the kitchen to the front room, imagining Lem had come from the main road, as she'd done earlier. But before she could cross to the door, it seemed to blow open on its own. Covered with snow, Lem lurched in, pulling the loaded sled. Someone else, white-headed as well, came behind him.

“For pity's sake—!” Charlotte began, as the boards of the sled scraped across the polished floorboards. Then she realized its burden strongly resembled one she and Richard Longfellow had pulled down the hill that morning. Thankfully, this one had a small section of its face exposed, for breathing.

“Sorry! Couldn't be helped—” This came from under a swath of scarf. Lem turned and made sure the door was shut, with the woman who had followed him on the right side of it. And Magdalene Knowles stood looking down at the bundle on the sled, which still had not moved.

Chapter 17

IT'S OLD MRS. Knowles,” said Lem. Charlotte knelt quickly and pulled the wool away from the pinched face, then put an ear by the partly opened mouth. She heard and felt short, sharp breathing.

“What happened?” she asked. Lem had by now removed his hat and scarf, and stood wondering what to do next.

“She's burned—badly. Her skirts caught fire while no one was with her. By the time I heard her screams, it was nearly too late. It might be yet,” he said in a whisper, for Charlotte had risen to stand beside him.

Diana opened the kitchen door, and gaped at what she saw.

“We'll carry her into the kitchen,” Charlotte decided. “Then run upstairs, Lem, and build a fire in my bedroom—it's the warmest. Diana and I will see to the rest.” She helped Lem lift the slight body of Mrs. Knowles by the blankets surrounding her.

They soon put the bundle down again, beside the kitchen fire. The change seemed to awaken Catherine; she turned white eyes toward the flames, then raised an arm before her face, as if to save it from the heat. Charlotte took the woman's frail arms, and leaned forward to assure her.

“You're safe here! Catherine, it's Charlotte Willett. You've come to my house. You must stay warm by the fire, while we see to your—”

She quickly swallowed her next words, for on lifting the blankets she'd seen beyond the remains of ancient skirts, matted on top with grease from a succession of meals, below by oils from a body rarely washed. The smell of burned flesh was far worse than the other. Some of that flesh was blistered; more was mottled and weeping, with here and there some red that had been newly torn by writhing, and bits of white where bone showed through.

Lem stood spellbound. Charlotte signaled for him to help Magdalene into a chair across the room. This he did before he left them, his boots ringing on the stairs.

Charlotte knew she and Diana would have to cut away what remained of the skirts, and cleanse as best they could what had suffered beneath them. Only then would they be