Imogen Robertson - Island of Bones

‘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.

When 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 Fraulein Hurst?’ Stephen looked and saw a tall female figure in a dark-green cloak moving along above them. ‘Fraulein?’ 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.