Читать книгу Thaddeus Lewis Mysteries 5-Book Bundle - Janet Kellough - Страница 50

Clara Sprung might well have remained Clementine’s only client if it hadn’t been for the early winter storm that blew in the next evening.

Lewis had known it was coming. One of the enduring effects of his wife’s prolonged struggle with ill health was her ability to foretell the weather. All would appear to be fine until, in the middle of cooking dinner or sweeping the floor, she would suddenly stand stock-still with a preoccupied expression on her face. The next moment she would be clutching the table, her legs barely able to support her weight, and it would be a struggle for her to make it even as far as the kitchen bed, where she would collapse in agony. This pain was merely a herald. After an hour or so of lying immobile she could often get up again and resume her chores, but she would know that the respite was temporary, for as soon as the wind started to blow in from the east she would have to return to her bed.

He found her there when he carried in the supper Susannah had made for them. Martha, like the good girl she was, had fed the fire to boil up some tea, but was struggling to lift the heavy kettle off the stove without spilling it on herself.

“Storm coming?” he asked, and Betsy’s groaned reply was all the answer he needed.

By the time they finished eating, the wind was pounding in great gusts against the house, making the pottery rattle and setting up a multitude of draughts that whistled through the windows and sought out even the coziest corners of the room. Lewis chased Martha off to bed and got an extra quilt to cover Betsy. He would spend the night in the chair by the stove, both to keep an eye on his ailing wife and to feed the fire. It was no hardship for someone who had spent many years on horseback in all weathers, with many a night passed huddled under just a cloak in a barn somewhere or in an indifferent bed provided to him by some well-meaning but indigent Methodist supporter.

He dozed off for a while, but was awakened by the sound of ice pellets pattering on the roof. This was a nasty one, he reflected, and he sent up a prayer for anyone caught in the open country, or on a ship out on the lake. He slipped another log into the stove and glanced out the window. He couldn’t see a thing. The small pane of glass was completely glazed over with a layer of ice. He felt Betsy’s hand under the covers. She seemed warm enough, so he returned to his chair and had soon dozed off again.

He slept heavily until morning, when he woke to the sound of Martha filling the kettle from the water bucket. Betsy seemed better now that the storm appeared to have blown itself out.

“Could you run up to the hotel and ask Susannah for a couple of biscuits?” he asked the little girl. Betsy’s recovery would be faster if he could get her to eat a little biscuit softened in her tea.

Martha ran to the door and pulled at the latch, but nothing happened. She pulled harder, but still it remained stubbornly closed.

She turned back to Lewis. “Can you help me, Grandpa? I can’t get the door open.”

“What? Have you gone all feeble all of a sudden?” he teased, but when he pulled at it he could get it to budge no more than she could.

He doubled his efforts, but the door remained stubbornly fast.

“Well now, there’s a conundrum,” he said, as Martha’s eyes grew wide.

“Are we stuck here forever?”

“Oh, no, don’t worry. I think it’s just frozen shut. The ice will melt in the spring and then we’ll be able to go outside.”

For a moment her eyes betrayed the fact that she considered this a real possibility, but since her grandpa had teased her in this way often, her brow quickly wrinkled as she dismissed his assertion and considered other possibilities.

“Oh! I wonder if the shed door will open,” she said.

There was a woodshed off the kitchen, with a door leading to the outside. It had been in the lee of the storm and was not nearly as iced up. With a smart tug, Lewis was able to jerk it open. He was astonished at what he saw. Thick layers of ice coated every surface, and the weight of it had bent the trees over nearly to the ground. Many of the hardwoods had broken under the strain and there were downed trees and great branches littering the side street that ran past the hotel. The Donovan house, directly across the street from Lewis’s, had been damaged by one of these; a thick piece of oak had fallen or been blown onto the roof, and he could see a gaping hole where it had landed. Lewis stepped out into the yard — he would go and see if the Donovans needed help — but as soon as his foot hit the ground, it skidded out from underneath him and he had to brace himself against the side of the shed to keep from falling.

“Are you all right?” Betsy called. Martha ran back into the kitchen to report that the ground was too slippery to walk on.

“There’s been a lot of damage,” he told her as he went back in to collect his coat. “There’s one roof gone just from what I can see from the back door. I’d better go and see if I can help anywhere.”

She nodded. “Yes, go. I’m much better. Just get me a cup of tea first, will you? And don’t fall and break anything, all right?”

Lewis’s years on the road had been spent on horseback, not on foot, and he possessed no walking stick. He rummaged in the shed until he found a stout branch that had not yet been cut for kindling. It was about the right height, and he pounded three long nails at an angle through one end, so that the points protruded. This would give him a little extra purchase on the icy surface.

As he stepped out the back door, he saw Mr. Donovan creeping gingerly to the front of his own house. He, too, had to come through his woodshed, but had the presence of mind to bring a heavy mallet with him.

“The roof’s fallen on my boy,” he said in response to Lewis’s hail. “I’m just going for the doctor now. I don’t think there’s anything more to be done inside until the doctor comes, but would you see if you can get the front door open?” Lewis nodded and, with the aid of his homemade ice pick, slithered across the road and took the hammer from the man.

“Here, take this,” he said and he handed Donovan the stick in exchange. “You’ll go faster.”

It took ten minutes of beating at the Donovan’s door to loosen it, for the ice came away in bits and pieces instead of falling to the ground in a sheet. When he had finally cleared it enough to open it, he poked his head inside and called. Mrs. Donovan appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” Lewis asked.

“No, we just need the doctor. The boy has come to now, but he got an awful blow to the head. He was insensible for a terrible long time. I tell you, I thought he was dead when I first found him. I just hope he’s not addled as a result.”

“I hope so, too,” Lewis replied. “I’m just going to free my own door now, and then I’ll be at the hotel if you need anything before your husband returns. Just yell across the street. I’ll tell my granddaughter to listen for you.”

He set to work to open his own door with the borrowed mallet, and by the time he finished, Mr. Donovan had returned with the doctor. Lewis returned the mallet and retrieved his makeshift ice pick.

The yard between his house and the back of the hotel was littered with icy branches and he judged that it was safer to make his way along the side of the street to the front door. Even so, the walking was treacherous, and the distance he had to travel was twice as long as it should have been. He had to pick his way around several large branches that partially blocked the road, and at the same time he was careful to stay well away from the eaves of the hotel. Every few minutes a long icicle would let go its tenuous hold and come crashing down, smashing on the ground with a shattering explosion.

Daniel had just finished freeing the hotel’s doors when he arrived.

“Have you ever seen anything like it,” he said in greeting.

“No, and I pity anyone who was out in it. It’s too early for any kind of news, I suppose.”

“Yes, people are only just getting out and about. We’ll just have to pray that no one’s been killed in this. I’m fine, for now. You go on and see what you can do.”

Lewis made his way up one side of the street and down the other, but it appeared that the rest of Wellington had suffered only minor damage from the ice. Beyond a few torn roofs and smashed windows, all its buildings stood, and the only casualty reported so far was the Donovan boy. It would take many days, however, to clear away the mess.

By the time Lewis returned to the hotel, the ice was softening underfoot, for in the wake of the storm the temperature had risen. The sun would wear a lot of it away by the end of the day, but in the meantime the water collecting on the ice surface promised to make the footing even more slippery.

Lewis busied himself with the morning chores and was just sweeping out the kitchen when he heard the bell at the front door. Surprised at anyone venturing out on such a day, he went to see who it was. It was Mrs. Sprung, this time without her sister. He waved her up the stairs and shook his head at the notion of anyone venturing out on such an unnecessary errand when good sense dictated staying safely at home.

“We used the last of the bread for breakfast, didn’t we?” Susannah said to him as he returned to the kitchen.

“I wish I’d known sooner,” Lewis said. “I could have stopped at the bakery when I was out. I’ll go now, if you like.” He was a little annoyed at the prospect of having to make a second trip down the slippery street, but he supposed it was more interesting than sweeping.

Susannah must have the heard the annoyance in his voice. “No, no, I’ll go now that the dishes are done,” she said. “There’s plenty of time before I have to start dinner.”

Lewis finished tidying up the kitchen and swept both the stairs and the second-floor hall, and when he realized that Susannah had not come back yet, he returned to the kitchen and started to peel the potatoes for the noontime meal. There was still no sign of his sister by the time he’d started them boiling. Come to think of it, he had no idea where Daniel had got to either. He was beginning to notice that his brother-in-law seemed able to disappear for long stretches of time, but where he went and what he did were a mystery. It was nearly eleven o’clock, and soon the Elliotts and Mr. Gilmour would be descending the stairs in expectation of their dinner. Lewis needed to return home to check on Betsy, but he didn’t want to leave his sister to cook and serve at the same time.

At last, the bell at the front door sounded and Lewis assumed it was the tardy Susannah. After a few moments, when she had not appeared in the kitchen, he went into the hall to discover that his sister had, indeed, returned, but not in a state he expected. She was being carried on a door by the baker and Mr. Scully, and her left leg was tied firmly down to it with a couple of belts.

“Someone’s gone for the doctor,” Scully reported. “We thought it best to get her in out of the cold.”

“I’m so sorry, Thaddeus.” Susannah smiled weakly. “One of those icicles came crashing down from a roof and I jumped to avoid it. Unfortunately, I jumped right onto a stretch of half-melted ice, and I went down hard.”

It was obvious from the strange angle of her boot that the leg was broken, and that the doctor would need to set it, for it was unlikely to be a simple fracture. Her lips were set in a taut line against the pain and her face had lost all colour.

“Susannah!” Daniel had finally returned from wherever he had been and was standing in the kitchen doorway, aghast at the sight of his injured wife. “Bring her through here,” he said, directing the door carriers to the downstairs room at the back of the hotel.

They set the door down on top of the bed and left Susannah strapped to it. If they tried to move her, they could well do more damage to the injured leg. Besides, there was no point in putting her to bed just yet, for who knew what the doctor would need to do — a wooden door was easier to wash if it proved to be a bloody affair. In the meantime, Lewis could hear footsteps on the stairs and he knew that Mrs. Elliott’s morning session was at an end. She and the boy would be heading for the dining room shortly.

Daniel turned to Lewis. “Do you think you could finish dinner?” he asked.

“Probably not. It’s only half-ready,” Lewis said. He had no confidence in his abilities as a cook.

“Could you stay with Susannah, then?”

“Yes, but then you have no one to serve. Maybe we should ask everyone to go down to the tavern this one time.”

“Maybe, although by rights we should offer to pay for it.” This was a prospect Daniel found less than appealing, in spite of his concern for his injured wife.

Lewis nodded, but as he headed to the bottom of the staircase to intercept the guests, he noticed that Mrs. Sprung was still in the hall.

“Has there been some trouble?” she asked. Her handkerchief was still in her hand and she dabbed at her eyes as she inquired.

“Yes, the proprietor’s wife has broken her leg.” A sudden thought had just occurred to him. This woman apparently had no need to be anywhere at any specific time, judging from her return visit to the hotel. Perhaps she had some time to spare. It might even do her good to have someone else to think of for a few minutes.

“I wonder if you might sit with her while we serve dinner?” he asked. “We’re waiting for the doctor. You don’t have to do anything,” he assured her when she hesitated, “If she needs anything, you have only to come and fetch me.”

“If it would be a help, then of course,” she said.

He showed her to the room and ran back to the kitchen.

He quickly refried some of the bacon that had been left over from breakfast while Daniel dished up the potatoes that had by now boiled to a watery pulp. They then carried the bowls through to the dining room where Mr. Gilmour and the Elliotts were waiting. There was no bread to go with the dinner; no one had thought to bring the loaves that Susannah had dropped when she fell. The Elliott boy made a mewling noise when the food was set down in front of him.

“Now, Horatio,” his mother admonished. “Be thankful for what there is.”

“I’m sorry there are no other dishes,” Lewis explained. “I’ll fetch a bowl of pickle to round this out and we’ll do better tonight, all right? We’ve had a bit of an upset this morning. My sister has fallen and broken her leg rather badly, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sorry to put you to so much trouble,” Clementine said. “It’s just that Horatio is so delicate, his digestion is easily upset. I do hope that your sister isn’t in too much pain.” She smiled, and just for a moment Lewis could understand why the men scrambled so to tip their hats. Then the smile left her face and he was left wondering if his eyes had deceived him, for in repose her face was hard.

When he returned with a bowlful of pickled cabbage, he noted that Horatio appeared to have finished eating, having consumed nothing but a few spoonfuls of the potatoes. He removed the boy’s plate without comment, even though the waste of good food aggravated him. Ah, well, they pay for it anyway, don’t they, he thought, and the pigs will eat it up well enough.

Lewis had finished scrubbing the pots by the time Dr. Keough arrived to confirm what they already knew — Susannah’s leg was broken in two places.

“I need you to hold her down while I set it,” he told Lewis and Daniel. “And you, ma’am.” He nodded to Mrs. Sprung. “Perhaps you could grasp her foot, just so.”

“I … well … all right,” she said tentatively. “I guess I could.” She looked most alarmed at the prospect.

Keough knew his business well and it was only a short time before he announced that he was satisfied with the alignment. He fixed two wooden splints to the leg and wound it around with heavy bandaging to hold them in place.

“Fortunately, the bone didn’t puncture the skin,” he said. “It should heal without difficulty, although she may have a bit of a limp for the rest of her life.” He sighed. “What a morning.”

“Would you have tea?” Lewis asked, and the doctor gratefully accepted his offer. Mrs. Sprung declined. “I must go,” she said. “I’ve been gone too long now.”

So she did have somewhere she needed to be, Lewis thought. “Well, thank you for all your help.”

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” she said. “I’m Mrs. Sprung. I do know that you’re Mr. Lewis, though. You’re the man who caught the murderer.”

“Yes, that was me,” he said. It wasn’t a reputation that he welcomed, but it was one that seemed to follow him around. “Again, thank you for your help, Mrs. Sprung.” She smiled and made her own way to the front door, and he was relieved that she didn’t, like so many people, pry into the details of his pursuit of Isaac Simms.

The doctor was full of news as he drank his tea. The Donovan boy would recover from his head wound, although, as he pointed out, “You can never tell with these things. He may be a little odd as the result of it.”

There had been numerous sprained ankles — less dire outcomes of spills on the ice than Susannah’s. Mr. Harry, the headstone carver, had sliced open his hand when he attempted to free his front door with one of his own chisels; and Sarah Bowerman had taken a bad fall, an incident that caused some alarm as she was in the family way again. Thankfully, it appeared that no harm had been done.

“Minor stuff, fortunately,” the doctor said. “Most of the damage appears to have occurred elsewhere. There were several ships damaged, I hear, and the Anthea hasn’t been heard from. She was due in at Picton last night. We can only hope she found safe anchorage somewhere, or better yet, didn’t set out at all. I would hate to have been out on the lake in all that.”

“Were there any local men on the ship?”

“Oh, yes. Peter Spencer’s brother is the captain, and his sister is the cook. I’m not sure where all the crew was from, but they may have picked them up in Oswego for a last run.”

A great number of the shipwrecks that occurred on the Great Lakes happened in November. Fall was a time when sudden storms swept seemingly out of nowhere, like the one of the previous night. Deciding when to end the shipping season was a perilous gamble for the shipowners and captains, and there were always a few who were willing to bet that they could get “one last run” in before laying the ships up for the winter. All too often, the last run of the season ended up being the last run forever.

The Spencer family was Methodist, Lewis knew, as he remembered having seen them at several meetings. Not that that should make any difference, really, but normally he would have gone to the family to offer whatever comfort he could. But as a result of Susannah’s mishap, he would now have too much to do at the hotel, and he set about doing it as soon as the doctor had finished his tea and gone on his way.

Betsy received the news of her sister-in-law’s accident with dismay. “How are we ever going to manage?” she asked. “Surely, you and Daniel can’t do it all.”

“I know. I’ll try to help as much as I can, and we can certainly keep things going for a few days, but I don’t know what will happen after that. Daniel’s not much help at the best of times, and neither of us knows our way around a kitchen.”

“Is there anything I can do? This latest bout seems to have passed, and I’m feeling much better.”

Lewis looked at her face, still pale, and with traces of the pinched look it got when she was unwell.

“No, I don’t think you should try to do too much. You’ll just get sick again. I wonder, though, if it might be a help if you could spend part of the day sitting with Susannah. It might save Daniel some steps if he doesn’t have to run back and forth, and she’s sure to be happier with a woman there to see to her needs.”

“Of course.”

“And Martha can lend a hand. She’s old enough to run errands and do a little sweeping.”

He had to laugh a little at the look on Betsy’s face. The little girl was quite willing to turn her hand to whatever she was asked to do, and he knew that she was a real help to Betsy when he wasn’t there, but when he was at home he often stopped her in mid-task and sent her out to play instead. “They grow up too fast as it is,” was his reply when Betsy protested. “Let her be a little girl.”

He knew this was spoiling her, but he couldn’t help himself. Her mother had been his favourite child, and her premature death at the hands of a murderer had nearly destroyed him. That he himself had brought the murderer to justice had allowed him to close the door on his mourning, but the fact that the killer had nearly taken Martha as well was almost more than he could bear to think about, and it coloured his dealings with his granddaughter.

Betsy and Martha walked across the yard to the hotel with him. The warmer temperatures and the bright sunlight had softened much of the ice. The patches of roadway that had seen the heaviest morning traffic had cleared entirely. By picking their way carefully, they could find secure footing. Even so, Lewis kept a firm grip on Betsy’s arm and Betsy on Martha’s.

Daniel looked relieved when they arrived, as did Susannah when she realized that Betsy would be there to keep her company. “Yes, yes, much the best solution,” she said.

Martha was sent to the bakery to fetch some bread for the evening meal. Supper was always a much simpler affair than dinner, with the leftovers from the noon meal serving as the main course, rounded out with a good soup and a pudding; except that today there were no leftovers from the poor meal they had served up at noon. There were, however, two apple pies that Susannah had prepared that morning, which only needed to go into the oven. That would do for dessert, and they could put some cheese with each slice, as well.

Surely, Lewis thought, he and Daniel could manage to fry some chops and potatoes and boil up some carrots or turnip. With a generous serving of bakery bread and a selection of the pickled vegetables that Susannah had done down that fall, it would be an adequate menu for a supper. It’s better than what I gave them for dinner, anyway, Lewis thought. He resigned himself to the fact that in the next few weeks he would undoubtedly be forced to learn far more about what went on in a kitchen than he had ever wanted to know.