Читать книгу The Girl in the Woods - Camilla Lackberg - Страница 14

Elin leaned forward to make Britta’s bed. Then she straightened up and pressed her hand to her lower back. She was not yet accustomed to sleeping on the hard bed in the maid’s quarters.

As she looked down at the comfortable bed where Britta slept, she allowed herself to feel something like envy, but only for a moment. With a shake of her head, she reached for the empty pitcher on the night table.

It had come as a surprise to discover that her sister did not share either a bedroom or a bed with her husband. But it was not her place to judge. For her part, she had always thought the best time of day was when she could climb into bed next to Per. Resting safely in his arms had made her feel that she and Märta would never come to harm in the world.

How wrong she had been.

‘Elin?’

She started when she heard the gentle voice of the master of the house. She had been so lost in her own thoughts that she nearly dropped the pitcher.

‘Yes?’ she said, pausing to collect herself before turning around.

His kind blue eyes were fixed on her, and she felt the blood rush to her face. Quickly she lowered her eyes.

She did not know how to behave around her sister’s husband. Preben was always so kind to her and Märta. He was both a vicar and master of the house. And she was merely a servant in her sister’s employ. A widow living on the mercy of a household that was not her own.

‘Lill-Jan says you can cure milk fever. My best milk cow is afflicted.’

‘Is it Stjärna?’ asked Elin, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor. ‘The boy mentioned something about it this morning.’

‘Yes, Stjärna. Are you busy or might you come with me to have a look at her?’

‘Yes, of course I will come.’

She set the pitcher on the night table and silently followed Preben out to the cowshed. Stjärna lay on the stable floor at the very back, bellowing. She was clearly in pain and unable to stand. Elin nodded to the boy named Lill-Jan who stood nearby, looking dismayed.

‘Go to the kitchen and get me some salt.’

She squatted down and cautiously caressed the cow’s soft muzzle. Stjärna’s eyes were wide with fear.

‘Will you be able to help her?’ asked Preben quietly as he too patted the brown-and-white spotted cow.

For a second their hands touched. Elin swiftly pulled hers away, as if she had been bitten by a snake. Again she felt the blood rush to her face, and she noticed a slight flush on the master’s face before he straightened up as Lill-Jan returned, out of breath.

‘Here you are,’ said the boy with that lisp of his, and he handed the container of salt to Elin.

She poured a mound of salt into the palm of her left hand. With the index finger of her right hand she stirred the salt in a clockwise direction as she loudly spoke the words her maternal grandmother had taught her:

‘Our Lord Jesus, he journeys far and wide, curing pox and blight, water bane and all manner of banes between heaven and earth. In God’s name, amen.’

‘Amen,’ said Preben, and Lill-Jan hurried to chime in.

Stjärna bellowed.

‘What happens now?’ asked Preben.

‘All we can do now is wait. Praying over salt most often will do the trick, but it can take time, and it also depends on how bad the fever is. But have a look at her early in the morning. I think this will have helped.’

‘Hear that, Lill-Jan?’ said Preben. ‘Look in on Stjärna as soon as you get up in the morning.’

‘That I will, master,’ said Lill-Jan, backing his way out of the cowshed.

Preben turned to Elin.

‘Where did you learn such things?’

‘From my grandmother,’ said Elin tersely.

She could still feel the touch of his hand.

‘What else can you cure?’ asked Preben, leaning against one of the stalls.

She scraped her toe on the ground, pausing before she answered.

‘Most things as long as the pain is not too far gone.’

‘Both people and animals?’ asked Preben curiously.

‘Yes,’ replied Elin.

It surprised her that Britta had never mentioned this to her husband. Yet the boy Lill-Jan had heard rumours about Elin’s skills. Perhaps that was not so strange, after all. When they lived together under their father’s roof, her sister had always spoken scornfully about Elin’s grandmother and her wisdom.

‘Tell me more,’ said Preben as he headed for the door.

Elin followed reluctantly. It was not proper for her to be chatting with the master of the house in this manner, and it was all too easy for gossip to begin spreading on the farm. But Preben was the one in charge, so she had no choice but to follow him. Britta was standing outside, her arms hanging at her sides, a dark look on her face. Elin’s heart sank. This was what she had feared. He risked nothing, but she could easily land in disfavour. And Märta along with her.

Her trepidation about how it might be to live at the mercy of her younger sister had been fully realized. Britta was a stern and unkind mistress, and both she and Märta had felt the sting of her sharp tongue.

‘Elin has been helping me with Stjärna,’ said Preben, calmly meeting his wife’s eye. ‘Now she is on her way to set the dinner table for us. She suggested that we might spend some time together, you and I, since I have been away so much lately, tending to church business.’

‘Did she now?’ said Britta, still suspicious, though not quite as stern as usual. ‘Well, that was a good suggestion.’

She briskly took hold of Preben’s arm.

‘I have been missing my lord and master terribly, and I think he has been neglecting his wife of late.’

‘My dear wife is perfectly right about that,’ he replied, heading for the house along with Britta. ‘But we will now make amends. Elin said we might sit down at the table in half an hour’s time, which suits me well, as I will have time to wash and dress properly so I will not appear like a shabby ruffian next to my beautiful wife.’

‘Oh, come now, you can never look shabby,’ said Britta, slapping him on the shoulder.

Elin walked behind them, forgotten for the moment, and sighed with relief. The darkness she had glimpsed in Britta’s eyes was all too familiar. She knew her sister would not hesitate to do harm to anyone she thought had wronged her. But this time Preben had saved her and Märta, and she would remain eternally grateful to him for that, even though he should not have placed her in this situation to begin with.

She picked up her pace and hurried to the kitchen. She had only half an hour to set out the food and ask the cook to prepare something special. She smoothed her apron, feeling again the warmth of Preben’s hand.