Island of Bones (47 page)

‘Oh God, Gabriel!’ Mrs Westerman dropped to her knees beside him and took Crowther’s hand. She was with another man. Felix.

‘I shall fetch the surgeon,’ he said. Mr Crowther seemed to shake his head, then nodded towards Casper.

‘Very well,’ she said quietly. ‘Crowther prefers Mr Grace’s care, Felix.’ She was very white. ‘Felix, we need bandages. Now. Go and rip a sheet from the bed.’ The boy left as Casper pulled his shirt over his head and bundled it into the wound on Crowther’s shoulder, pressing hard. He heard Harriet’s voice again. ‘Who is that?’

Casper turned round to see Agnes standing among the shattered glass of the doorway. She was black with filth, and her hands were scraped and bleeding. ‘My ’prentice. Agnes, get a fire going in the kitchen. Hot water.’

She nodded and made for the door, staggering only once.

W
HEN CROWTHER RETURNED
, painfully, to consciousness an hour later, he found himself lying in an unfamiliar bed, and Mrs Westerman sitting by it, her green eyes on his.

‘Welcome back, Crowther.’ He felt the burning of his shoulder and closed his eyes again for a moment until the first wave of it passed. The flesh was on fire, though he was aware of a coolness at the surface, working in. There was a similar sensation on his shoulderblade. It was as if two cold hands were cupping the burning of the muscle and bone between them. ‘Did the bullet pass through?’

‘It did. And took some of your flesh with it. Casper cleaned the wound and made some temporary concoction to treat it. He is gone out into the hills now to find other weeds to make something more complex. You are now being healed with what could be found here, among Mr Sturgess’s untended flowerbeds. It is his bed you are sleeping in at present, and we shall not risk moving you yet.’

He tried to raise himself a little and hissed as the wound burned and tore at him. Harriet passed him a water glass, and he drank. It tasted strangely bitter.

‘Casper says this is what you are to drink,’ she said.

Crowther took another mouthful. ‘I hope the village’s faith in him is justified.’

‘As do I. Are you sure we should not send for a surgeon?’

He let himself lean back into the pillows. ‘No, no. Casper will keep an eye on my fever. Just don’t let him lay me out on the floor or stuff mistletoe in my pockets.’ There were voices downstairs. ‘Who else is in the house?’

‘I hardly know,’ Harriet said, and put her chin into her hands. ‘The whole place is in an uproar. They think I am keeping watch on you, but really I am here to avoid the fuss. The family of that young girl had to be sent for, and arrived half-mad with worry. Remarkable girl. Resourceful too. She set fire to Sturgess’s grotto, striking sparks with the arrow that was supposed to kill her.’

Crowther decided to pick the narrative out of that statement when the pain had subsided a little.

‘Then, of course, everyone is trying to find a magistrate to take control of matters. Your sister apparently went into hysterics when she heard the news, and Mrs Briggs took the opportunity to slap her.’ She paused, watching his faint smile. ‘The Mr Leathes, junior and senior, and Mr Hudson are bent over Mrs Briggs’s sherry, sent from the Hall with her compliments, two of her servants and half the contents of the kitchen. They are in the parlour trying to make sense of it all, and ignoring Felix.’

She fell silent. Crowther sighed heavily; he thought he read her frown with reasonable accuracy. ‘Go on, Mrs Westerman. Say what you wish to say. I must face it at some time. Better now, I think, while I am distracted by the pain.’

Harriet looked a little indignant for a moment, then sat back and folded her arms. ‘Very well. Crowther, I am so angry with you that if I had a pistol of my own I would shoot you through your other shoulder. Do not sigh at me!’

‘The wound troubles me, Mrs Westerman.’

‘Good! How
could
you be so foolish? You remembered something from the portrait, I presume – something that led you to Sturgess?’

‘His chatelaine. Lord Greta was wearing it in the portrait. We thought he was concerned for his friend, but he was retrieving a broken piece of it from Mr Askew’s fist.’

‘Why did you not return to the Hall to tell me? Why come here on your own? You deserved to be shot.’

‘Mr Sturgess’s house lies on the way to the Hall. It was an impulse, Mrs Westerman.’

‘Crowther! Of all the . . .’ He smiled despite the fire in his shoulder. It was not often he left Mrs Westerman speechless.

‘I do assure you, Harriet, it is very painful.’

‘I am overjoyed to hear it! Really, how could you just
stand
there and let yourself be shot? Did he have a gun primed and ready?’

Crowther looked guilty at that. ‘No, he had his back to me. I confess I was too interested in what he was saying to think what he was about until the last moment.’

Harriet was scowling at him. ‘I thought he had killed you. If he had succeeded I would have gone mad, Crowther.’

He looked at her small angry face and said, very gently, ‘My apologies, Mrs Westerman. I will endeavour to be more careful in future.’ She placed her hand over his own and looked away as he continued, ‘I am certainly fortunate Casper appeared when he did.’

‘According to Mr Grace, you have the Luck to thank for that. He is quite sure it nudges events one way or another.’

The pain in his shoulder flared, and he felt her hand tighten on his own. He answered the pressure briefly and swallowed.

‘The Luck? But do we not believe the Luck destroyed? Have you found out how it came into my father’s hands?’

‘It seems there is more than one sort of meaning of “destroyed”. There is another visitor downstairs that I have not mentioned to you as yet. Mrs Lottie Tyers. As soon as she heard news of the shooting, and I do not think the word could have travelled any faster than the sound
of the gun itself, she picked up her stick and walked over here. She is sitting downstairs and annoying the lawyers by referring to them as foolish young men. I shall send her up to you in a little while, if you are strong enough.’

He nodded and she took her hand from his and stood. As she turned, her green skirts spun behind her and she slipped through the door like a passing breeze.

Stephen walked very slowly, letting Mr Quince lean on his shoulder. Their stroll had been slow and faltering, and though Stephen had wanted to dash ahead he did not wish Mr Quince to feel abandoned so he tried to be patient and move steadily. The last light was soft on their faces.

Stephen wondered if Casper had found Swithun yet, and if Casper had managed to find out from him where Agnes was, but most of all he felt the weight of the Luck in his waistband. He was proud, but he hoped he would not have to keep it long. A secret was a heavy thing to bear, and he was glad not to have seen much of his mother that day. He felt Mr Quince stop: the tutor was peering up into the trees to where the higher path skirted the grounds of Silverside.

‘Stephen, is that not Fräulein Hurst?’ Stephen looked and saw a tall female figure in a dark-green cloak moving along above them. ‘Fräulein?’ The figure turned and put back her hood. Stephen saw the familiar black hair. It was dark as Joe’s back. ‘Please do run up and ask her if she would be so kind as to come and speak with us,’ Quince said. I wish to express my condolences.’

Stephen scrambled up the slope to the young woman’s side. She smiled at him. ‘Master Westerman, I hope you are well?’

‘Please will you come with me and speak to my tutor, miss?’ She hesitated. ‘He has been rather ill, you know,’ he added a little pleadingly. She set down a small bag on the path at her side.

‘Yes, of course. Will you give me your hand down the bank?’

Mr Quince brightened considerably as Miss Hurst put out her hand to him, but his kind round face was soon creased with concern. Miss
Hurst was determined to see the ruins of Gutherscale Hall at dusk. Miss Scales had told her they were magnificent and her wish for some peace had encouraged her to make a late-afternoon walk round the lake. Mr Quince was worried that she might get lost in the dark or stumble and injure herself. She declared herself determined.

‘I would insist on accompanying you, Fräulein,’ he said, ‘but I am tired even having walked round the gardens of Silverside.’

She shook her head briskly. ‘There is no need, sir. I am quite capable of going myself.’

‘Perhaps one of the servants from the house, if you’ll allow me . . .’

‘Please, no!’ Her voice had become quite sharp, and as if sorry for causing poor Mr Quince any offence, she added quickly and more kindly, ‘Dusk is coming on, and I am anxious to be on my way. Please do not worry over me, Mr Quince. I would hate to think you troubled at all on my account.’

Mr Quince’s sickroom pallor was warmed momentarily with a blush. Stephen looked from one to the other.

‘I can go with Miss Hurst,’ he said. ‘If you can return to the house without my help, sir.’ It was Mr Quince who hesitated now. ‘I know the way – you know I have been there lots of times since you were ill, sir. And we shall be quite safe if we go together. I am not afraid of the dark.’

Mr Quince looked at Miss Hurst with a slight smile. ‘I would be much easier in my mind, Miss Hurst, if you would take Stephen with you. He can be a pleasant companion. Do not chatter at Miss Hurst, Stephen.’

Miss Hurst sighed. ‘Very well, sir, if it will make you easier.’ She proffered her hand and Mr Quince took it between his own. ‘I am glad to see your health improving. We shall go now, Stephen?’

Mr Quince watched them make their way up the slope to the higher path. It was a hard thing to see his charge at the woman’s side, since an evening’s walk to the ruins in her company would have been one of the great occasions of his life. The pair disappeared into the trees, and
he turned away feeling rather defeated, and through the lengthening shadows made his way slowly back to the Hall.

Harriet avoided the parlour when she left Crowther, and instead returned for a moment to the office. Crowther’s blood was darkening on the carpet, his bloodstained coat and Casper’s shirt tumbled and ripped beside it. She thought of her husband again, the way his blood had seeped through her hands, how he had looked at her while he lay dying. She stared at her hands curled in her lap. Her dress was damp in places where she had tried to scrub Crowther’s blood from it in the kitchen and her cuffs were still marked. Some traces remained under her fingernails. She had felt blood run across her fingers too many times, she knew its smell and texture too intimately, too well. She felt the muscles in her arms begin to tremble and the world seemed to darken. When she heard the rap at the door she started, and turned away to wipe her eyes as it opened. It was Mr Kerrick, the girl’s father.

‘Will he do, madam? Lord Keswick?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, thank you. I believe he will as long as there is no infection, though he is in pain now.’ She tucked her handkerchief back into her sleeve and attempted to smile. ‘How is your daughter? She is a brave girl.’

‘We were so frightened, madam. Can’t say as her mother will ever let her out of the front gate again. Thing is, we want to get her home and rested and fed, but she says she needs to see Casper first, and he’s off on the hills gathering plants for the baron . . . She won’t tell us why.’ He sighed, and Harriet recognised the love and frustration of fatherhood. ‘She’s as weak as a kitten, but stubborn as ever she was.’

‘Do you think she might speak to me? I would be happy to see her.’

His long face flooded with relief. ‘Yes, madam, thank you, I shall fetch her at once.’

Harriet was looking out over the dark lawn when Agnes appeared in the doorway. She was still wearing her muddied skirts but had a clean linen shawl over her shoulders. It was dark red. She was obviously
conscious of the bruises and cuts on her hands, and was trying to hide them in its folds.

‘Come and sit here, Agnes.’ Harriet sat in one of the spindly dining chairs and patted the one next to her own.

‘I shall dirty it.’

‘It is Mr Sturgess’s chair. You may dirty it all you like.’ Agnes grinned quickly at that and crossed the room to her. ‘Now, is there something you want to ask me? Is it about Mr Sturgess?’

She shook her head. ‘No, madam. Not that one. It is just . . . the German lady – she’s all right, isn’t she? Safe, I mean. No harm has come to her?’

Harriet frowned. ‘Miss Hurst is staying at the vicarage with Miss Scales, Agnes. I am sure she is quite safe. Why are you worried about her? You heard that Sturgess killed her father, I suppose. He knew Sturgess’s secret and was blackmailing him, I think. But I do not believe she had any part in the affair, and in any case Sturgess’s secret is out now. Her father brought her here for other reasons . . .’

Agnes’s fists continued to work in the folds of her shawl. ‘He was going to shoot me. Put an arrow through my head. He wanted to know where the Luck was, and I was so scared. I said that the German lady had it. That Casper told her to take it away till all was safe again.’ Harriet was quiet a moment. ‘I’m so sorry, madam. I thought she’d be safest. I didn’t know it was him, but I reckoned whoever it was they’d have a harder time chasing gentry.’

Harriet patted her knee. ‘It was a good idea, Agnes. I would have done the same. Just the same. Go home now and rest. Sturgess has fled. Whatever his hope of finding the Luck, it is all gone now, I am sure. But I promise I shall send to Miss Scales. Perhaps Ham can make a bed there for a while, until Sturgess is taken or we are sure he is gone for good.’

Agnes smiled, and for the first time Harriet realised she was a very pretty child.

‘Thank you! Thank you, Mrs Westerman. I will sleep easy, knowing
that. Lord, I am so tired I could stay in my bed a month.’ She yawned, showing her sharp white teeth.

Harriet delivered her to her parents and saw them ride away in Kerrick’s cart just as Mrs Tyers was emerging from the kitchen.

‘Mrs Tyers, you may see Crowther whenever you wish.’

‘Very well. He must hear it all now, I suppose. You got help enough, my dear? Lord, this house is looking poor.’