Béatrice heard the sound of violence, of weeping, of primal cries from inside the house. She scrambled up the steps and inside, slipping on the slick floor and tumbling to her knees just outside the drawing room to find—
—Maggie, pounding on Liam’s chest with both hands, over and over again. “No!” she screamed. “No! No!”
Béatrice rushed to Maggie’s side, trying to pull her back, but got an elbow to the chest as Maggie went back at it, shaking Liam furiously, tears streaming down her face.
“Madame Kelly, he’s not—”
“He is!” Maggie said, and then glared over her shoulder with the fury of a wronged god: “He’s not dying here.”
She slammed both fists down on Liam’s chest again, and this time, he convulsed, seizing upward as a long, desperate gasp filled his lungs with air. He collapsed back down again, limp but alive.
Béatrice said a quiet prayer as Maggie moved closer, feeling his cheek, his forehead, brushing the sweat from his brow.
“He’s still feverish,” she said, like what had just happened hadn’t really happened. “We need more snow.”
“Oui,” whispered Béatrice, and hurried back outside.
Ada wasn’t there anymore; her bucket was there, half-full, abandoned.
Béatrice retreated back a step. Had Aylen’s men found them already? Her clothes and hands were red with Liam’s blood. Innocence was impossible. Whatever was coming, she would have to face it head-on.
She heard voices around the side of the house, and crept closer, careful and slow, trying to make out what was being said. A man was talking, and sounded agitated, and—
“Ah, Béatrice,” said Ada, noticing her poor excuse for spying. She gestured to the visitor. “Show Dr Cameron inside, if you please.”
Dr Cameron looked more like a tavern brawler than a doctor, but given the circumstances, anyone with confidence would do. Béatrice ushered him in, stopping at the entrance to the drawing room so she could read his face when he saw what he was up against.
“Good God,” he whispered, and stripped off his coat, rolling up his sleeves. “How long has he been like this?”
Maggie wasn’t acknowledging his presence. She wasn’t acknowledging anything at all.
Dr Cameron looked to Béatrice for guidance. How long?
“An hour? Maybe more?” she said.
He nodded to her. “If he’s to survive this, I will need help.” He tipped his head in Maggie’s direction. “Dispassionate help.”
Béatrice took a sharp breath. “Understood.”
He touched Maggie’s shoulder gently before getting too close; she flinched like someone had stabbed her. “Mrs Kelly, I’m Dr Cameron,” he said. “I’d like to examine your—”
“Don’t ask, just do!” Maggie snapped, moving closer to Liam’s head to give the doctor room to work. He smiled patiently, kneeling down and holding a candle closer to the wound.
For whatever reason, Béatrice felt suddenly ill. Something about being an observer made it all unbearable. Having time to think about the things she was seeing, instead of trying to stop them from happening…it was too much. She felt faint, reaching out a hand to catch a wall for support.
“This tourniquet saved his life, no doubt,” said Cameron. “You’ve done an admirable job—”
“We don’t need compliments, we need action,” Maggie said. “Fix him.”
“I’m afraid I can’t,” sighed Cameron. “There’s no saving the leg. The damage is too extensive to—”
“No,” said Maggie. “No, he needs his leg.”
“Mrs Kelly, I know this is difficult, but—”
“He’s prey, don’t you see? If he can’t run, they’ll kill him…”
“If I leave him like this, he’ll die anyway,” said the doctor.
“Set the bones,” said Maggie, pleading with desperate eyes. “Set them and—”
“They’re splintered. Broken apart. Even if I could align them properly, they’d never hold. He’d end up just as bad, or worse, and the days between would be full of agony and—”
“Try,” Maggie said. “If it goes wrong, we try again.”
“It will go wrong. And he won’t survive long enough to try again.”
“He will,” said Maggie, gently, stroking Liam’s hair.
Cameron winced and looked over his shoulder to Béatrice. She sucked in her sickness, standing taller, more confident. She was fine. She could do this.
He opened his bag and spread it wide. Inside was an assortment of tools and medicines: little vials of various shades, strikingly white cloths, an array of scalpels, of mallets, and…
He nodded to Béatrice very slowly as he took hold of a saw.
He was going to do what had to be done, no matter how much it hurt. Béatrice held her breath, and nodded back.
“Mrs Kelly,” he said. “This may vex him. Hold his shoulders, please, and keep him calm.”
Maggie did as she was told, oblivious to what was about to happen. Béatrice felt ill again, so violently ill she wanted to run back outside and—
“Be ready with towels, Béatrice,” he said to her, voice so calm it was like he was somewhere else entirely. “As I call for them. Nice and slow.”
“Yes, doctor,” she squeaked, swallowing bile.
“Alright then,” he said, and slipped the saw out of his bag. “Let’s begin.”
The blade hovered over the exposed bone, the raw flesh all around. Béatrice held her breath, terrified of what would happen when he did what he had to do. This couldn’t be right, could it? This couldn’t be proper. Would Liam wake? Would he scream and thrash, or just fall into a deeper slumber from which he might never recover? As the blade inched lower, she shivered, and—
“Deep breaths, everyone,” said Cameron, and the saw—
Maggie’s hand whipped around so fast, it was unreal. Her fingers were locked around the side of Cameron’s neck, squeezing so tightly, his right hand jerked up reflexively.
“I said save it,” Maggie seethed, glaring over her shoulder.
“Mrs Kelly…” Cameron wheezed, but her tightening grip made him stop. He set the saw down next to him, raised his hands like he was conceding defeat.
Maggie let him go, but her glare was relentless.
“When he dies…” said Cameron.
“He won’t die,” said Maggie.
“The risk of infection alone should—”
“He will not die,” Maggie said, then turned back to her poor, broken brother-in-law. “You do your job, Dr Cameron, and he won’t die.”
Cameron looked at the leg again, with fresh horror. He reached a trembling hand out to Béatrice. “Bandages, please. The thinnest ones you can find.”
Béatrice started looking immediately, but couldn’t understand what they were trying to do. “Can you bandage the leg like this?” she asked. “Will that work?”
“It’s not for the skin,” said Cameron, voice hollow. “It’s for the bone. We’ll bind the bone first, and…” He shook his head. “And pray to God his death comes quickly.”
Béatrice stood in the cold without a jacket, shivering for reasons entirely unrelated to the weather. She stared into the distance, where the sun was just starting to come over the horizon, her hands held out in front of her like she wanted them off, but couldn’t quite figure out how…
“He lives?” asked Ada, coming up from behind.
“For now,” nodded Béatrice. “For now.”
“And you? Are you—”
“I’m fine,” said Béatrice. “I didn’t do anything, I just—”
“Not that,” said Ada. “Émile. You haven’t had a moment to breathe since we found Mrs and Mr Kelly, and I worry you’re—”
“I’m fine,” Béatrice said, less convincingly this time. “I was angry before, but…” She squeezed her hands together and began to realize just how cold she was. “When I saw how she fought to save his leg…I knew if that were Émile on that floor, that would be me, too, threatening murder to save the man I love. I cannot fault her for that.”
“But you can still be angry,” said Ada, gently.
“That comes later. When Émile comes home to me safely.”
Footsteps on the stairs signaled another visitor. Dr Cameron was cleaning the blood off his hands, a deep frown upon his face.
“He’s awake,” he said. “I’ve left them alone, for as long as it lasts.”
“What are his chances?” asked Ada.
Cameron shook his head solemnly. “He’ll succumb to infection within days,” he said. “If the blood loss doesn’t get him first.”
They all stood in silence for a moment, breathing puffs of frozen air out in the morning sunlight.
“God help us all when she loses another,” said Béatrice.
Maggie brushed the hair from Liam’s face. He was still feverish, but less urgently now. His eyes were having trouble focusing, and he kept licking his lips like he tasted something strange on them. She fed him water again and again, but it didn’t seem to help at all.
“Maggie…” he said, voice so weak it was barely audible.
“I’m here,” she said, smiling through her worries, to give him hope.
“Maggie, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry, I should have—”
“No, no,” she said. “You did everything right. Everything.”
“I should have saved you,” he said, staring past her, at another her only he could see. “I should have got you out of this place.”
Her smile faltered. “You didn’t know. Nobody knew.”
“No, no, no…” he said, shaking his head in tiny increments. “When I die—”
“You’re not dying, Liam. You’re not dying.”
“When I die, Maggie—”
“No, you’re—”
He caught her hand in his, squeezed it tight, and his eyes focused on hers. “You have to promise me…”
“Anything,” she said. “Anything. Just please don’t—”
“Cloyne,” he said. “You remember?”
She laughed. “Yes, I remember. But—”
“You find your way there,” he said. “And you set down roots, and you…you live, Maggie. Find someone to love, and hold onto them until—”
She put her hands on either side of his face and held him steady. “I’m not done with you yet.”
He smiled, getting distant again. “It was never me,” he said. “It was never going to be me.”
Her hands drifted from his face as a sadness crept over her. She didn’t know what to say.
“It’s alright,” he said, reaching out a hand and brushing it past her shoulder like he was trying to pat her, but couldn’t quite make it work. “It’s better this way. Saves you from more pain.”
Her nostrils flared. “Less pain? You don’t think this hurts me?”
“Not like Rían hurt you,” he whispered. “So please, Maggie…please, when I’m gone, live your best life for me. For both of us. We need to see you happy…”
And before she could answer, he drifted off to sleep.
She sat back, in a daze, looking at the mess she’d made. If she’d left well enough alone, she would still be a widow, yes, but the tragedy would’ve stopped there. Liam, near death. Émile, lost or dead somewhere on the road to Perth. Corkstown burned down, and who knew how many lives lost. And if Aylen’s men found them here, Ada and Béatrice would be in danger, too.
Cloyne.
A dream from a lifetime ago, taunting her with safety. If she fled there and just forgot all about this, would she be able to live with herself? Or would the guilt gnaw at her soul until she made good on that promise, that night at the edge of the cliffs overlooking Wrightstown, when the ice had beckoned her in.
Live your best life for me, he’d said. There was no best life anymore. Only tragedies of varying severity.
She rested a hand on Liam’s chest, felt his heart beating, and prayed for mercy. Not for her, but for those she’d hurt along the way.
“Mrs Kelly,” said Ada from the doorway, voice quiet and respectful.
Maggie joined her in the foyer and was immediately agitated by the look on her face. The look of someone who was dreading delivering bad news, but couldn’t find a way around it.
“Doctor Cameron complained, did he?” sighed Maggie. “I told him I don’t care about the risks. We’re not amputating that leg unless there are absolutely no other options, and—”
“It’s not the leg,” said Ada. “It’s not Dr Cameron.”
Maggie frowned. “Then…what?”
Ada took a halting breath, and said—