Since arriving in Yorkshire, I couldn’t fathom why my sister, who had never failed to speak her mind or have her voice be heard, was shrinking into a shell. Why she didn’t defend herself or argue with her nurse. Why she didn’t demand that her husband hear her and act accordingly.
Now, however, it made sense.
Because they—her husband, sister-in-law, and Nurse Gray—had broken her down. They’d made her feel small and silly. Whether they’d meant to or not, they made Catherine feel mad, so she gave up trying.
“Strange and unexpected things happen all the time,” I said, eyes focused on Camellia. She, more than anyone, should understand that point. She’d left her home one afternoon for a walk and come back to find it in ruins, her family destroyed. Why, then, did she have such a hard time believing something strange could be happening on the moors?
I’d admit, believing in house fires did not immediately predispose one to believing in spirits, but still, I felt Camellia should have been slightly more on my side given her past trauma.
Charles was still wringing his hands, and despite me saying I did not want any medication, I could see Nurse Gray eyeing the vials on the table.
I sighed. “I know this is a strange story. If it was not strange, I wouldn’t have run from the moors screaming as I did. I wouldn’t have collapsed from fear and exhaustion.”
“You speak in a rational tone, but your words do not make sense to me,” Charles admitted, his shoulders stooping forward. “From the window here, we can’t see any smoke on the horizon. And the ground is so wet from the rain that I’m not sure any fire could have caught.”
It was obvious to me that I was not going to change any minds, so I decided to save my strength. I lowered my head and nodded in solemn agreement, admitting that my time spent with the Wilds may have sparked my imagination.
“It was a long walk from the house to where I was, and I didn’t pack any water.”
“Thirst has done much worse things to people,” Charles said readily, happy to agree with any explanation other than the truth. “That is probably what it was.”
“Yes, most likely,” I lied. “I just need a glass of water and some rest.”
Nurse Gray rushed away to get me water, and I didn’t consider until halfway through the glass whether she’d put something in it.
Whether it was from an unknown medication or my physical exhaustion, I didn’t know, but I fell into a deep and untroubled sleep.
I didn’t wake until late the next morning.
Warm, golden light poured through the windows, and I could hear birds chirping in the nearby trees.
It sounded like a lovely day, and I was eager to get out of bed.
The second I lifted my arms to stretch, however, my entire body protested. My legs burned with even the slightest movement, and scratches on my arms stung as the skin pulled.
Suddenly, the evening’s events rushed back to me in a flurry, and the day didn’t seem quite so welcoming. In fact, it felt as though the earth were mocking me. The weather of the previous day—lashing rain and gray skies—would have been much more suited for how I felt.
Slowly, I peeled back my blankets and assessed myself.
Nurse Gray must have changed my clothes and tended to my wounds before I’d awoken from my bout of unconsciousness because, where I should have been caked in earth and blood, there was nothing but pink skin marred with cuts and deep bruises. I slid my hands over the small welts, wincing when I pressed on some of the more painful bruises.
I slid my legs to the side and lowered my feet to the floor, moving slowly to let my body grow accustomed to movement once again. Not only had the previous day’s exercise been more than I was used to, but the repeated falling during my clumsy escape had taken a toll on me. I would need to move slowly to avoid hurting myself further.
Long minutes passed as I rolled my ankles, flexed my calves, and stretched out my thighs. My arms received the same treatment, and by the time twenty minutes had gone by, I felt much more capable. I still smarted when I turned too quickly or squatted down to pull stockings from the bottom drawer, but it was not unbearable.
I dressed in a simple cotton dress that did not require any buttoning or tucking or fussing. It simply needed to be pulled over my head, which made my shoulders ache, and then it was done. Fastening my shoes required a good deal of movement I wasn’t prepared for, though. I rested on the side of my bed and drew my knee up to my chest to tie the laces of my two-toned oxfords, and even then, I had to take several breaks to let my leg relax.
When I was finally dressed, I pinned back the wild mess of curls on my head and went down to breakfast.
I didn’t look as polished as I would have liked, but no one would expect much else from me today. Not after everything I’d been through the day before.
Breakfast was likely already over, but I hoped there would be some bread and fruit remaining, at least. My stomach rumbled with hunger, and more than any medication or rest, I needed sustenance to heal.
I didn’t make any effort to walk especially quietly, but I had to take such slow steps to make sure I didn’t go light headed and lose my balance, that Camellia and Charles must not have heard my approach. For when I reached the top of the stairs, their hushed voices carried up to me.
“I think we are worrying about something we ought not to worry about yet,” Charles said.
“And I think you are once again avoiding a situation you find uncomfortable for no other reason than that you’d rather not deal
