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Mud and dirt. Together they were almost impossible to dig out of. But set the Fundy Bay on top, and one could be entombed forever.
Ethel’s body sunk beneath the mud until her limbs were bound and her legs were unmoving. Though she was pressed down like linen beneath a flat iron, her body was hollow, and her mind was a prisoner within it.
Quick photographs fluttered behind her eyes like playing cards released to the floor. Her heartbeat in her arm and her hip, and another pounded between her ears. It was all she could focus on, and she realised that it was not a heartbeat, but the drums of pain and ache beating her to consciousness.
She heard a voice from far away.
“Ethel! Ethel, are you awake?”
Was she? The voice was distorted, like it had been said from inside a glass jar. Ethel was unsure to whom the voice belonged, but neither could she tell if her eyes were open or where she was.
“Is...” her own voice was a stranger, said at the pit of the very same glass jar.
“Miss Beulah! Ethel is waking. Please, can you alert the doctor?”
Her head was a swollen pumpkin ready to pop, but as Ethel tried to focus and sit herself up, a knife in her arm caused her to scream.
“I haven’t got the plaster on yet, so don’t let her wave her arm about!”
A reassuring hand pressed upon the base of her back and helped to set her down on the bed. The scent of dust was accompanied by the sight of Constable Bertram. He was wearing a suit, one she hadn’t seen before. The brass on his double-breasted waistcoat winked as he removed his hand and examined her face.
Beulah was calling her name from another room, and Ethel realised she was in her quarters at Eden Hall. The curtains on the four post bed were tied, and the fire had been stoked. Mr. Bertram was in the room, sitting on a chair next to the bed. Next to him was another man, who looked to be a doctor by his very fine Gladstone bag.
“Miss Ethel!” Beulah called. The plump young woman entered through the bedroom door, and Ethel blinked to ensure her vision had restored. Her body was aching, disturbing her senses.
How did I get here?
What is happening?
“Can you give her something for the pain, Doctor Johnson?”
The other man shook his head as he set out the tools to begin. Bandages, plaster, scissors, and a few amber glass bottles. “Ether could dull the pain, but it’s also a sedative. She needs to stay awake. It would be wise for someone to stay with her for a few hours to keep her from falling asleep.”
“Is she going to be all right?”
The doctor nodded, and he looked up towards Miss Murphy as she stood across the bed and exhaled her relief. “Do you know how to bandage, Miss?”
“I do.”
The doctor nodded and snapped the mouth of his Gladstone shut. “Good. The materials are all there. I’ve included a few painkillers for after. They’ll cause her to sleep, so don’t give her any before evening.” He was already walking towards the door, as though anything else was common knowledge.
“Is it only her arm that I should bandage?”
The doctor was at the threshold when Ethel noticed a few other men loitering in the hallway.
“Yes. Everything else will heal without bandages, but she ought to get plenty of rest.”
“Doctor,” Bertram said, turning towards the door, as though throwing a rope in hopes of corralling him.
“You may visit my office for the medical report later, Constable. I’ll have it set aside as soon as I prepare it.” The doctor inclined his head, privy to Ethel’s concerning stare. “See to your witness, Constable. Excuse me.”
He left, closing the door behind him and muting the commotion that was going on outside of it.
“I’ll start preparing the plaster,” Beulah said, nodding as she bent to retrieve the materials set out on the opposite side of the bed.
Mr. Bertram was in front of the door, rubbing his eyes. His suit, though new, was wrinkled, and his hair was tousled and unkempt. Accompanying the smell of dust was the scent of sweat and pipe smoke.
“What time is it?” A tune was playing in her head, and as the notes meandered across her mind, Ethel recalled the words and refrain of the night’s chorus.
“It’s early. The sun hasn’t risen y—”
“Wait.” Her eyes wandered the maze she was scrambling through her in mind. The strength of the song pulled her towards the exit, and yet as she arrived, Ethel blanched.
“Roland... What of the man I killed? Did I kill him? I didn’t—”
“He’s fine, Ethel,” Bertram said, turning towards the bed and taking a seat at the chair. “Well... not fine, but he’ll live. You shot him, Ethel.”
Her heart was rooting in her chest, entangling itself around her vitals. Was it Roland? Did I see him? It was as though she were being contorted in every direction. The implication of every outcome was as bad as the last.
Her mind was throbbing, more so by her inability to think. “Please, Andrew,” she said, pulling her unpinned hair away from her eyes with her unbroken arm. “Can you tell me what happened? Who was it I saw? I... my mind is in shambles.”
Bertram smiled, though it was sad. Ethel had seen those smiles before. They were poorly concealed frowns harbouring a Trojan horse filled with pity. Her dread was building, ready to burst, and Ethel held her breath.
Andrew replied, “You’ve just woken up, Ethel. You fell from the second story landing. The man you shot—”
A man! Not a ghost... not Roland.
Unless...
“His name is Johnathan Dowie. We don’t know a lot, yet, but we believe he has been living at Eden Hall. He’s a sailor.”
A sailor? The burglar?
“L-living?” she blurted as her mind caught up.
Andrew lost his smile, and the line that was his mouth was straight and stoic. “We found evidence in the attic. Your brother’s gun, missing a few bullets, as well as some personal effects.” He looked up to Miss Murphy, who had prepared the plaster and was waiting.
Ethel looked sidelong, then back towards the constable before unbuttoning her blouse. “You can go ahead, Beulah. I’m not bashful of the constable.”
The comment made the young man’s face turn red.
Ethel pretended not to notice as Beulah began to see to her arm.
“Mr. Dowie has been taken in for questioning... but there is evidence of him hiding in several small spaces between the walls. Trash and whatnot, but also evidence of loitering.”
“He was living in the walls?” Ethel looked askance at the several portraits hanging upon her bedroom walls as though they’d been privy to this secret information. “Why?”
“I’ve a theory,” Bertram replied, reluctant to answer, “But I wish to question him first, and I wanted to see that you were all right before I left for the station.”
“Mr. Bertram was worried for you, Miss Ethel.”
He was trying not to look at her in her current state of undress, and Ethel couldn’t help but smile at his propriety. The plaster was cool, and she winced as Miss Murphy went about making the cast.
Ethel’s head was a trainwreck, filled with soot and ashes that obscured the extent of the damage. A burglar had been living in Eden Hall, and he’d been captured. That means Dolly has been telling the truth, and she’ll be set free, right?
Ethel laid her head back. She wanted to sleep. “Is Eden Hall safe?” she asked.
“It’s secure,” Bertram replied with a nod. “We checked every nook and cranny, Miss Ethel. You are safe here, which is why you yet remain.”
“And Aloysius?”
The constable pursed his lips and looked over his shoulder towards the door. With a glance to Miss Murphy, he leant in as though to whisper, though his voice came out loud and matter of fact. “There were no fingerprints belonging to Mr. Carlow anywhere upstairs.”
Ethel smiled. Which means he didn’t do it, and in the future, if rumours are spread, Miss Murphy can know from the constable’s own mouth that Al was declared innocent.
“I’m sorry to ask,” Ethel replied, aware that he had held her in confidence.
Mr. Bertram frowned but nodded with a small snort as Ethel glanced back to squeeze at Beulah’s hand.
“And can you tell me any more about Mr. Dowie?” She wondered if she’d ever forget that name. “Why was he here? What was his motive for... for hurting Ernest?” Was he a disgruntled employee? Someone displaced?
“He is being seen at Doctor Johnson’s private practice. Once his injuries are assessed and seen to, we will question him.”
“He is going to live?”
“Yes.”
She sighed, feeling something lift from off her shoulders. “Thank you, Andrew.”
He tipped his chin to glance at Miss Murphy. “I’ll be back as soon as I find out more.” He then donned a cap that had been resting on the side of the chair.
Ethel watched him go, his back blurring as tears poured out from the inner corners of her eyes.
“Miss Ethel, am I hurting you?”
Ethel shook her head. “No, Beulah. I’m sorry. I just... feel relieved.” She wiped at the sides of her nose and rubbed at her eyes to clear her vision. A man in the house. Not a ghost. Not her Beloved, come from the sea to spread woe and misery. I’ll try to make you a happy memory, Roland, and not a phantom in a grave I’ve lain upon.
Her sister would be home soon. Beulah and Al would no longer be suspects in her brother’s murder. “I want to sleep. I think I could finally do so comfortably.”
Each day was a step towards recovery. Towards it not hurting so much anymore. Though Beulah chuckled, her relief was not as apparent as Ethel’s when she spoke, “You heard the Doctor. You won’t be doing any of that for a few hours, and with this arm...” Beulah held up the bandages. “I’m not sure of comfort.”
Ethel’s mood wavered, and looking up at her, she noticed how much paler Beulah looked now than when they had journeyed together from Summerside. Paler and a bit older, though she wore a flowered comb in her hair now.
“Beulah, did you see him?” she asked, just now considering the sight Miss Murphy would have been witness to after the roar of the rifle went off.
The woman looked down and concentrated on laying the plaster and bandages. “I didn’t recognize him. He looked young and scared, but he was bleeding to death.” Beulah was quiet, but before the silence fouled, she looked up with tears in her eyes. “I was so scared for you Miss Ethel,” she continued, leaning across the bed as Ethel moved to hold her against her chest. Her hip was paining, but the comfort she found within Miss Murphy was worth more than the ache of her fall.
A noise from outside the room caused the two women to look up, and a man’s voice from the other side of the door shouted their leave as footsteps clamoured down the main front stairs.
The officers were all leaving.
“I suppose I have a mess to clean,” Beulah said, resuming her task as she wiped at her eyes.
Ethel waved her good hand, then winced from pain. “After this, why don’t you read to me from my book.”
Beulah laughed, with more sincerity this time. “I’d fall asleep if I read one of your books, Miss Ethel.”
“Well then, just turn the page, will you? I’ll read as you take care of me.”
“Fine, fine...” Beulah dismissed. “Just don’t do the voices. I need a steady hand you know.”
Ethel agreed. “You wouldn’t fetch the book for me, would you?” Her vision was still blurry, and she wondered if she could read the words. As expected, Beulah huffed, and the kerfuffle of her friend made Ethel giggle. “Don’t lose my page, please. I think I’m on chapter thirty-six.”
“You’re going to read to me from the last chapter of the ding dong book?”
“It’s not the last,” Ethel insisted, letting her head sway against her pillows. “Nobody’s gotten married yet.”
