Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
“We know what we are,
but we know not what we may be.”
Each time my eyes closed, they sprung open again with undying excitement.
Stealing the love letter from Mr. Wortham had not been enough.
He needed to see that I was capable of more than just quiet deceit in a moment luck brought to me.
I could formulate my own plans and carry them out without any qualms.
At four, I rolled out of bed, careful not to rustle the blankets or creak the floorboards.
Clara would surely object to my outing, so I didn’t want to wake her.
I felt for my writing desk in the dark as my eyes adjusted and wrote a quick note to Mr. Wortham.
I was sure my penmanship was appalling, but I doubted he would notice.
He would be too focused on the words, not their appearance.
I giggled again, but slapped my hand over my mouth to mask the sound.
When I finished, I stood and held the note up to my small window, letting the pearly moonlight bounce off the small, misshapen words.
To Mr. James Wortham,
I grew tired of ‘threading a needle through fabric’ and decided to assist you. Have I proven you wrong? If not, please let me know what I must do, because surely I am capable.
Always at your service,
C.L.
I folded the paper and set it on my desk while I changed.
I wore my darkest dress, an emerald green that would hopefully help me blend into the night.
I didn’t fret much over my hair, letting it loose over my shoulders with just two pins to keep it from falling in my eyes.
I retrieved my note and tucked it under my sleeve.
I didn’t trust my boot to keep it dry if I had to wade into the water.
My heart fluttered with nervousness. I hardly knew what to expect.
With all the arrangements in place, I grabbed my cloak and sneaked down the stairs and out the front door.
I was pierced by the coldness of the morning, the chill, damp air wrapping around my arms and legs as I walked.
Tendrils of light threaded through the sky in the distance.
On mornings when I couldn’t sleep, I often watched out my window as the fishermen arrived by the coast. It was always half past five when they pulled the traps out one at a time, lifted them to the sand, opened the latches, and dumped the contents into crates.
It seemed simple enough. I had roughly one hour to empty the traps, leave my note, and return home unnoticed.
But now that I was fully awake and shivering in the cold, I was beginning to doubt the wisdom of my plan.
I banished the worry from my mind. If I arrived at the docks and realized it was too difficult, I could return home and Mr. Wortham would never know that I had failed.
But the mere prospect of success bore me forward with a devious smile on my lips.
My heart pounded hard in my chest, and I walked faster.
Fear was catching up to me now, stepping on my heels as I hurried down the incline of stone and dirt to reach the boats.
It was vastly improper to be out—especially at this hour—alone.
I was beginning to wish I had invited Clara to accompany me.
The task would be easier with an extra set of hands.
I surveyed the area with a fast sweep of my gaze, half-expecting to see a pair of menacing eyes glowing in the dark.
Relieved, I determined that I was alone.
Calling on the excitement I felt before, I rushed forward and stepped onto the thin wooden docks.
Water splashed up between the planks, spilling over my boots.
There was enough light now to see six heavy ropes bobbing in the water with the gentle waves.
I reached forward and tested my strength on one of the ropes, and it moved slightly.
I pulled harder. The worn rope scratched against my hands, and I felt it lift only to drop again with the weight of dozens of fish.
After taking a step back, I paused to think, rubbing my palms against my skirts.
It would be difficult, but not impossible.
Stepping off the docks, I moved quickly toward the boats. They were anchored to shore, several empty wooden crates stacked inside. I lifted them out and positioned them along the sand where I could easily reach them once I pulled the traps out of the water.
Satisfied with the arrangement, I walked back to the docks.
The water level seemed to become drastically deeper just a few feet away from where the traps were placed, so I pulled on the ropes to drag the cages a little closer to shore.
After rolling up my sleeves, I grasped the first rope and tugged. I had to lean back for added weight.
The trap rose higher in the water, and I moved my hands down the rope for a better grip and pulled again.
The rusted metal on top of the trap came into view.
Inside, were the brown shiny shells of some sea creature.
I couldn’t tell what they were in the dim light, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
Grunting, I heaved the trap onto the docks, but only halfway.
I stopped to catch my breath and gasped when I noticed the rope sliding out of its knot around the handle of the trap.
I dropped the rope and lunged forward. The trap was slipping, rattling over the edge, only inches from falling back into the water.
Without thinking, I fell forward and thrust my hands toward it.
The weight of the cage was too much, and it pulled me forward by my fingers, which were wedged inside the trap.
I cried out in pain. Jerking one hand free, I used it to grasp desperately at the edge of the docks.
Panic blurred my vision. A horrifying thought struck me.
The trap is heavy enough to pull me under the water.
My hand was still stuck, and the pain was blinding.
My wedged fingers held all the weight of the trap now, and it crashed against the underside of the docks.
I screamed, trying to twist my hand free, but the trap only clamped harder on my fingers.
Pain shot up my arm, and the edges of my vision sparked in black and white.
I pulled against the trap, hard, but that brought on a series of popping noises that only intensified the pain and my lightheadedness.
I was slipping closer to the water. The sound of sobbing reached my ears, but I was unsure if it was coming from my own voice.
My hand was on fire, and my head was clouded by tears and heat.
I didn’t know if I could still feel my fingers.
Crying out, I shook my hand roughly, with all my strength, and finally felt the trap sliding away.
The change was abrupt, and the new onslaught of pain intense.
I was held only by two fingers now, and I bit my lip to focus on something other than the pain.
With one last hoarse scream, I shook my arm at the elbow and released my hand from the trap’s unrelenting teeth.
The water seemed to shift as the trap sunk, glowing with the dull moonlight.
My head pounded, my stomach in knots. Sharp, searing pain was my only anchor to consciousness as I struggled to lift my hand from the water.
Afraid of what I would see, I moved backward on the docks, still lying on my belly, dragging my arm through the lapping waves.
I blinked hard against the urge to faint. Something wasn’t right.
I looked down at the water. Was I bleeding?
It was difficult to notice the change in the sea—the clouds of darkness that followed my hand through the saltwater.
A sheet of parchment floated away from my sleeve, and the water stained it pink.
Terror flooded through my chest and I staggered to my knees, raising my arm out of the water in one swift motion.
My vision blurred one last time, and I saw the faint outline of my hand, dripping with water at first, then blood, and more blood.
Something was missing. Something isn’t right.
Then I tipped onto the docks, landing hard on my back.
Loud voices echoed in my head like a gong—deep tones I recognized but couldn’t quite place. The water kissed my back from beneath the planks as the voices grew louder. Strong arms pulled me from the docks. And a haunting lullaby put me to sleep.
“That should do for now.” A grainy voice swam in my head, scraping the surface but never quite reaching. “When she regains consciousness I will administer more laudanum. She slept through the surgery, thank the heavens.”
“Will she be all right?” The shaky voice belonged to Clara.
“It will be a long healing process, and she will need plenty of rest to recover from the blood loss. It is most fortunate that you were there at such an opportune time, Mr. Wortham. You might have very well saved her life.”
A whimper from Clara followed the words.
“That will be enough for now, Mr. Watkins. Thank you.” Mr. Wortham’s rich, low voice caught my attention.
My eyelids fluttered, the tiny movement pulling me out of my dream. Was it a dream?
“Oh, dear…” It was Miss Bentford’s voice. “She’s awakening now.”
“Ah.” I heard a shuffling sound and the clinking of glass bottles. “Mr. Wortham, yes, please come assist me.”
A strong hand slid gently under my neck, and I was awake.
My eyes opened and every sense came alive. I was suddenly aware of my surroundings—the Abbots’ sitting room. I was aware of the thick bandages covering my hand, and the pain, excruciating, beneath them. My chin was quivering, I could feel it, and two hot tears slipped over my temples.
A bottle met my lips and I swallowed the acrid liquid that flowed into my mouth. I coughed, and the strong hand lowered my head softly to my pillow.
“Go back to sleep, Charlotte,” Mr. Wortham said from somewhere above me. I managed to focus on his face. His green eyes looked down at me with concern. “Everything is going to be all right.”