The water seemed to shift as the trap sunk, glowing with the dull moonlight. My head pounded, my stomach in knots. Sharp, searing pain was my only anchor to consciousness as I struggled to lift my hand from the water. Afraid of what I would see, I moved backward on the docks, still lying on my belly, dragging my arm through the lapping waves. I blinked hard against the urge to faint. Something wasn’t right.
I looked down at the water. Was I bleeding? It was difficult to notice the change in the sea—the clouds of darkness that followed my hand through the saltwater. A sheet of parchment floated away from my sleeve, and the water stained it pink. Terror flooded through my chest and I staggered to my knees, raising my arm out of the water in one swift motion. My vision blurred one last time, and I saw the faint outline of my hand, dripping with water at first, then blood, and more blood. Something was missing.Something isn’t right.
Then I tipped onto the docks, landing hard on my back.
Loud voices echoed in my head like a gong—deep tones I recognized but couldn’t quite place. The water kissed my back from beneath the planks as the voices grew louder. Strong arms pulled me from the docks. And a haunting lullaby put me to sleep.
“That should do for now.” A grainy voice swam in my head, scraping the surface but never quite reaching. “When she regains consciousness I will administer more laudanum. She slept through the surgery, thank the heavens.”
“Will she be all right?” The shaky voice belonged to Clara.
“It will be a long healing process, and she will need plenty of rest to recover from the blood loss. It is most fortunate that you were there at such an opportune time, Mr. Wortham. You might have very well saved her life.”
A whimper from Clara followed the words.
“That will be enough for now, Mr. Watkins. Thank you.” Mr. Wortham’s rich, low voice caught my attention.
My eyelids fluttered, the tiny movement pulling me out of my dream. Was it a dream?
“Oh, dear…” It was Miss Bentford’s voice. “She’s awakening now.”
“Ah.” I heard a shuffling sound and the clinking of glass bottles. “Mr. Wortham, yes, please come assist me.”
A strong hand slid gently under my neck, and I was awake.
My eyes opened and every sense came alive. I was suddenly aware of my surroundings—the Abbots’ sitting room. I was aware of the thick bandages covering my hand, and the pain, excruciating, beneath them. My chin was quivering, I could feel it, and two hot tears slipped over my temples.
A bottle met my lips and I swallowed the acrid liquid that flowed into my mouth. I coughed, and the strong hand lowered my head softly to my pillow.
“Go back to sleep, Charlotte,” Mr. Wortham said from somewhere above me. I managed to focus on his face. His green eyes looked down at me with concern. “Everything is going to be all right.”
My eyelids were drooping; my head was filling with fluff once again.No.Nothing was all right. Mr. Wortham was helping me. He had rescued me. That was certainly not right. I couldn’t make sense of anything. Consciousness was fleeting, and my last thought entered once, and was gone.If I had been Mr. Wortham, I might have left me there on the docks after how I had treated him.So why didn’t he?
The second time I opened my eyes, I was alone. I found the clock on the wall, and read three. I tried to lift my head, but it protested with the full throb of a fresh headache. Everything around me was dull, the colors, the sounds, even the pain was less acute. I dared to lift my right arm, using my other hand for support.
I squinted, trying to cut through the blur of my vision. My right hand was wrapped from halfway up my forearm to the tips of my fingers. But the shape was wrong. My fingers were wrapped at different levels, some so low I wondered if they were even there at all. I tried to move them, but it brought renewed pain to the area, and the bandages were too tight anyway.
“Charlotte’s awake!” I hadn’t even noticed the door open. Clara stood there, hand pressed against her chest. Tears fell from my eyes all over again. I had never cried at the sight of my sister before, but she comforted me somehow in that moment. The familiarity of her. The concern.
She walked over slowly and knelt on the ground beside where I lay on the sofa. The door widened and Mrs. Abbot entered along with Lucy, Rachel, an old, unfamiliar man, and finally Mr. Wortham. My gaze settled on him. His jaw was firm but his eyes were weary and troubled.
The old man—I guessed he was the surgeon—shooed Clara away from my side and knelt in her place. He peered at me from behind thick spectacles. “Mr. Watkins, at your service. You suffered quite the injury. How are you managing with the pain?”
I shook my head, the embarrassment and terror of the entire situation catching up to me. I knew he was going to tell me aboutmy injuries, and I was afraid—very afraid of what he would say. “What happened?”
He stared at me a moment longer, his gaze so heavy with pity I felt close to suffocating in it. “Unfortunately, a large portion of the skin of your hand was torn away, but I tried my very best to repair it. As for the fingers, the damages were most…severe.” He took a breath. “I’m afraid the fifth finger was beyond repair, and also the upper half of the forefinger. And most of the middle. I will be available to aid you through the recovery. But I will not put it lightly—it will be long and intensive.”
I stared at the bulk of cloth wrapped around my hand. It couldn’t be true. “May I see it?” I croaked.
He shook his head. “I’m afraid not. We will change the bandages regularly, but I must advise you against looking until the stitches have been removed in a few weeks.”
It was likely sound advice, for I was squeamish when it came to blood. Tears continued to fall freely from my eyes, but I tried to slow my breath to keep from sobbing. I was embarrassed enough already.
“It would be best if you rested a bit longer, miss,” Mr. Watkins continued. “The laudanum is still fading and you have lost a considerable amount of blood. We will change the bandages this evening when I return.” He turned to Mrs. Abbot. “Please do not hesitate to call for me if there is any cause for concern.”
She nodded grimly. He doffed his hat before leaving the room.
I pressed my head into my pillow, hoping it would somehow drown out the sounds around me. I wanted to sleep again, to excuse this all for a dream, but the pain in my hand was a sharp reminder that I wasnotdreaming. I couldn’t speak. The threat of tears tightened my throat again.
