I lowered my arms slightly, the rock resting against my hip. Clearly, the women were not shy about their activities out on the moors. If they were, they wouldn’t have admitted them so freely.
Before anyone could say anything else, more footsteps sounded from behind me. I spun around and backed towards the older women, deciding all at once that I trusted them. I had the rock in my hands again when Charles’ voice echoed through the trees.
“Camellia?” he called. “Alice?”
I looked down at Camellia lying on the ground, and my voice lodged in my throat. Would Charles be as willing to accept my version of events as the Wilds had? Or would he think I’d instigated the fight and tried to hurt his sister?
“Over here,” Margaret called, stepping forward to lay a hand on my arm. As soon as she did, she flinched. “My goodness, you’re freezing.”
As though her words broke whatever spell I was under, my teeth began to chatter and my body shivered uncontrollably. Margaret wrapped an arm fully around me, bringing me into what little warmth she could offer.
A moment later, Charles walked into the clearing, as well. Just as Margaret had done, he surveyed the scene—me with the rock and Camellia on the ground. Then, he dropped to his knees next to his sister, cradling her head in his hands.
“What happened to her?”
“Your sister attacked…your sister,” Margaret said, realizing the confusion of her words. “Camellia attacked Alice. We came upon them just as Alice managed to overpower her.”
“She attacked me and she is the one who attacked Catherine, as well,” I said.
Charles blinked, overwhelmed by the information being hurled at him. “How can you know that?”
“She told me.” I wanted to keep talking, but my teeth began to chatter uncontrollably, and all at once, my legs gave out. I crumpled to the ground.
“We have to get her inside,” Abigail said. “Both of them.”
Charles hefted his sister into his arms, and the elderly women, despite my weak protests, bore my weight between them.
As we walked, I faded in and out of consciousness. My head bobbed on my shoulders and it took every bit of strength in me to keep my arms around the Wilds. But sooner than seemed possible, we made it into the house.
Nurse Gray set to work at once, her thin mouth pursed and determined. She moved from my room to Camellia’s and back again several times, telling Margaret and Abigail how best to help tend to both of us until, suddenly, she didn’t come to my room anymore.
“Camellia is worse off than you are,” Margaret said with a small touch of pride in her voice. “You fought well.”
I wanted to join her and be proud of myself, but I just felt ill instead. “Will Camellia make it?”
“I think so,” she said. “The wound to her shoulder isn’t as deep as it could have been, and you missed her heart. She should survive to frown upon us all another day.”
I was relieved, but also, terrified. Camellia was not well. I didn’t know if it was grief or jealousy or a deadly mixture of them both, but she had gone mad. She couldn’t be allowed to stay in this house any longer. Not with my sister and niece. Not even with Charles. She couldn’t be trusted not to hurt someone else or herself.
Concern for my family and myself filled my mind until the exhaustion that had been looming over me since I’d pulled myself from the bog began to creep in at the edges of my vision. Every blink became more difficult. The laborious task of lifting my lids sounded less and less worthwhile, and eventually, I slipped beneath the surface of my fatigue and allowed myself to be carried away.
When I awoke, it was to bright light streaming in through the windows and birds chirping nearby. It was morning, but as far as my body was concerned, it was still the middle of the night.
I had never been less excited about the start of a new day. I wanted to bury my face back into my pillow and sleep for a lifetime. Two lifetimes if possible. Exhaustion filled my limbs with a heavy weight.
My head throbbed, my muscles protested at the smallest movement, and the morning light that was meant to be cheerful and calming felt like spotlights in each eye, blinding me.
“Alice?”
The sound of my sister’s voice made me open my eyes, and once I saw her, I couldn’t close them again.
Catherine was poised at the edge of my bed in the rocking chair that, last I knew, had been in her own room. She had a book in her hands, though it looked like she was still on the first page, and she wore her dressing gown. More worrisome than that, when I looked up into her eyes, they were rimmed with red.
There were swollen bags beneath them and tracks down her cheeks.
Catherine had been crying a great deal, it seemed.
I tried to sit up in bed, but the effort made me wince, and Catherine stood from her chair, setting her book aside, and laid a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t, Alice. Stay put.”
“Why are you crying?” I asked. My voice was little more than a croak, and Catherine grabbed the water from my nightstand and handed it to me. I took a small sip and repeated the question. “Why are you crying? Is Camellia all right?”
“Yes, yes,” she said, waving her hand in the direction of the hallway. “The old wench is fine.”
My eyebrows raised, and despite it all, I smiled. “I assume you believe my version of events, then?”
“I should have believed you the moment you arrived,” she said, grabbing my hand from where it rested on top of the blankets. Catherine curled her
