A Mischief in the Snow - By Margaret Miles Page 0,52

able to apply a salve and bandages. Fortunately, Catherine's face had been spared. They could look without revulsion at her nearly sightless eyes as they spoke to her. But for how long?

Charlotte went to a chest and removed discarded linen sheets already cut for bandages, as well as a crock of goose fat she'd simmered with house leeks, comfrey, feverfew, and lavender. To her amazement, when she returned to the fire she found that Diana had begun to work efficiently, exposing more and more of the withered body, easing off bits of wool with warm water from the kettle, poured into a bowl.

The clock by the stairs struck three times, and then they heard knocking on the front door. It went unanswered. In a minute more, a tapping came from outside the kitchen. Orpheus, who had positioned himself at Magdalene's side, let out a growl when it opened.

Astonished by what he'd already glimpsed through the window, Moses Reed entered, taking in the activity at the hearth. When he turned to close the door he saw Magdalene in the dark corner.

Charlotte thought she heard the attorney call the woman's name. Turning, she saw him bend and offer his hand. It was good to see someone talking to her, if it was also a little strange. But she had no time to think further on their apparent acquaintance.

“Mr. Reed?” she called. He came swiftly to her side. “It's Mrs. Knowles, from Boar Island. She suffered an accident there. She's badly burned, as you can see.”

“But how did they get here?”

“Lem brought them. I sent him upstairs to prepare a fire in a bedroom.”

“The boy was on the island when this occurred?”

“Yes.”

“I see,” he answered with a deep frown. “I'd assumed…”

“We sent him to learn if anything might be done for Mrs. Knowles and her companion.”

“No—no—no!” Hearing her name, Catherine had become more aware of her situation. Her chest labored, and she began to gasp.

“What can I do?” asked Charlotte, leaning closer.

“Nothing,” the old woman managed in a whisper. It seemed she suffered from fluid rising in her lungs—perhaps she was even drowning. Diana positioned a pillow beneath the thin shoulders. Breathing more quietly, Catherine formed a few words with great effort.

“I stood—but saw nothing—” Then came a desperate cry, as if she were reliving her fall into the fire.

“I have something to calm her,” Charlotte said softly to Moses Reed.

“Opium, I hope?”

“Given to me by Noah Willett.”

“Ah, yes. The sea captain.”

“It should bring her sleep, at least. Under the circumstances, I think we need not worry about anything else.”

“I would agree,” said Reed. They watched Diana apply salve to a piece of linen, and set it gently in place.

“There seems little chance she'll last the night,” Reed added.

“But we'll try, with what we have on hand. We must.”

“Call me if she speaks again. I'll go and talk with Lem.”

The lawyer left them. Soon, over the whistling wind, Charlotte and Diana again heard the sound of boots stomping. Without further preamble, the door opened. This time, Orpheus let out a single bark.

Richard Longfellow came in with a blast of cold. Behind him trailed Christian Rowe. No doubt they'd expected to find warmth and calm, once they'd escaped from the swirling menace of the storm. What they saw made them stop quite suddenly, and stare.

“Carlotta?” asked Longfellow.

“It's Catherine Knowles. That is Magdalene Knowles behind you. Lem brought them here after an accident,” she added quietly, so that Longfellow had to bend close to hear.

“Dear God!” he then exclaimed, his face contorting. “Where is he?” he asked, after he'd pulled back.

“Upstairs, warming a bedroom.”

“Constable Dudley left us to stop at the inn, but he's on his way here to speak to the boy,” Christian Rowe announced. Charlotte's glance showed she believed this to be a thing of little importance at the moment.

“Have you seen burns this severe before?” Again she nearly whispered to Longfellow, supposing that Magdalene and Rowe would not hear her.

“No. But I don't see how she can survive them.”

“Nor do I.”

“You say that is Mrs. Knowles there?” Rowe inquired, after he'd made himself more presentable in the small mirror.

“She's in great discomfort,” Charlotte replied, hoping he would take the hint.

Rowe held himself aloof. He had little use for illness, which he suspected lay before him. Always, it was a thing he found others to attend to.

“This lady has never made herself known to me, and I think she has little time for religion, or for our village. Nor have I met Miss