The Mist on Bronte Moor (16 page)

We made it out the door without another word from Tabby but had just walked a few yards when Grasper came scampering up behind us.

“Grasper, no!” Emily whirled around. She pointed in the direction of the parsonage. “Go home!”

As she did, we caught sight of Tabby waving from the back door. “Ya forgo’ ya mutt,” she shouted.

Emily put her hands on her hips. “We can’t send him back now. She’ll get suspicious if I refuse to take him.”

Grasper barked and wagged his tail.

“Let him come then. But we’ll have to leave him outside, or that wolf will have him for dinner.”

“That won’t matter,” Emily said, “he’d never run off without me.”

We walked at a slow pace to the waterfall and stopped to eat, then crossed the stone bridge and headed for Top Withins. We arrived at the foot of the windswept hill about an hour before dinner, as I’d predicted.

The two of us gazed up at the bleak, stone farmhouse. This time, we weren’t merely walking past. We were going inside. All my instincts told me to run and abandon my crazy plan, but I couldn’t. I would never forgive myself if I didn’t at least try to help Clara. I’d promised Hugh. Even if Clara couldn’t escape Harthorn, at least she would know Hugh was still alive. I could give her that.

We started up the hill. With each step the farmhouse loomed larger before us. My muscles ached, but my resolve didn’t waver. Emily never complained, no matter how difficult or uncomfortable things became. She marched up the hill with Grasper and reached the top before me.

As I climbed toward her, she shouted something at me, but the wind raged, shrieking as if possessed, so it was impossible to hear her words. I scrambled to the top and stood next to Emily. The wind lashed at my body with wild fury. My eyes watered, and the farmhouse blurred.

Emily, whose eyes had more time to adjust, gripped my arm. “Look,” she hissed.

“What?” I blinked rapidly, but the farmhouse remained a gray blur.

Grasper yelped and wriggled in Emily’s arms. “Come on.” She tugged at my dress.

I didn’t move. Desperate to get the sting out of my eyes, I rubbed them with the palms of my hands. Blinking again, the farmhouse finally came into focus.

Harthorn’s wolf lay sleeping in front of the farmhouse door.

“Move behind the tree,” Emily said, pulling at my dress.

But I couldn’t move. I remained rooted to the spot like the withered tree beside me.

Grasper whined and struggled to get out of Emily’s grip. She scrambled for shelter and crouched low to the ground.

The wolf stretched in its sleep.

“Heather, I think he’s waking up. Do come!”

My scalp and neck tingled to life, but my legs refused to cooperate. I fell to my knees and crawled toward Emily.

Grasper yelped again. “Quiet, boy,” Emily whispered.

The wolf pricked up its ears and raised its head.

A lump of fear the size of a rock formed in my chest. Grasper barked and wriggled frantically.

“No, boy!” Emily said, wrapping both her arms around his small body and holding him close.

The wolf leapt up and looked directly at the tree, its muscles taut. I felt light headed with terror.

Grasper wrenched himself free and raced forward, his barking lost in the wind.

“No, Grasper.” Emily jumped up.

“Sit down!” I grabbed Emily’s cape and tried to pull her down.

Grasper ran toward the wolf, stopping only a few feet away from the huge beast. He barked at the wolf as if it were a tabby cat. I couldn’t believe it. He was only a little terrier. My heart raced around my chest as wolf and dog snarled at each other.

“He’s trying to keep the wolf away from us,” Emily said. “He’s risking his life to protect me.”

The wolf circled Grasper.

“It’s going to attack,” Emily cried. “I have to do something.” She charged forward.

“Stop!” I screamed.

Emily sprinted toward Grasper. The wolf jerked its head up, and Emily stopped abruptly. Clearly, she’d run off without a plan. The wolf fixed its eyes on her and bared its fangs.

Stay still, Emily. Don’t move.

She lost her footing and stumbled an inch. That was enough. The wolf sprang forward, its muscular body flying through the air. It landed on her chest, knocking her over like a weightless rag doll. She dropped with a sickening thud, her head smashing onto the ground and her body pinned down by the wolf’s weight.

A long, silent scream stuck in my throat. I willed my legs to move, but again they failed me. The wolf sunk its teeth into Emily’s arm. Her body convulsed with pain.

I picked up a large stone and ran forward. The wolf raised its head. Blood smeared its snout and soaked Emily’s sleeve. I lifted my arm and aimed the rock. The wolf curled its bloodied lips and snarled.

“Heel!” a voice boomed.

My hand froze in midair. Harthorn stepped out from the side of the house.

How long had he been there?

The wolf immediately released Emily and trotted off to his master. I weakened with relief, and the stone fell from my hand. Grasper ran to Emily’s side and licked her face. She groaned.

Harthorn marched toward Emily and glared down at her. “Stay ’f me land,” he growled. “Yer lucky he only nipped ya. Next time, I’ll let ’im ’av ya fer dinner.”

Emily staggered to her feet and backed away from Harthorn. She cradled her blood-soaked arm against her chest and walked without taking her eyes off him. Grasper trotted beside her.

I held my breath. Every step Emily took was agonizing. My eyes darted from Emily to Harthorn. I prayed she would keep moving and Harthorn would remain where he stood.

Then, a movement in the farmhouse caught my eye. Clara peered out of the upstairs window. Her long hair hung loose and wild around her pale face.

Harthorn must have noticed my gaze because he turned toward Clara. In that instant, I knew my chance had come. Without taking my eyes off the back of Harthorn’s head, I reached into my pocket and pulled out Hugh’s ring. I held it in the air, so Clara could see, and then I tossed it in the direction of the withered tree. Emily reached my side just as the ring landed with a clink on the ground.

In one swift motion, Harthorn spun around and moved toward me. I stumbled back in surprise. He peered down at me as if I were the mangled offerings of a rabbit trap. Then he snarled and raised his arm in the air. I was certain he was going to hit me.

Emily clutched my arm, her hand sticky with blood.

“Run,” she whispered.

M
y legs moved beneath me with such speed that I found it difficult to slow my run. Emily’s heavy breathing sounded behind me; I needed to see if she was all right. When I finally stumbled to a stop, my muscles trembled from the strain they’d been under and my legs gave way like a newborn colt’s. I sunk onto the muddy ground, wheezing and clutching my burning chest. My face and ears stung from the cold as if they’d been slapped repeatedly.

Emily collapsed beside me, holding her arm. Grasper, who had amazing speed for such a small dog, panted beside her.

I glanced at her mauled arm.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said, but her pinched face told a different story.

“Let me see.” I reached for her arm.

She flinched. “It’s merely a scratch. He didn’t bite me. He only pinned me down with his teeth.”

“I think a wolf sinking his teeth into your arm qualifies as a bite,” I said. “We have to stop the bleeding.” I scanned the area for something—anything. But there was nothing other than rocks and a few shrubs on the ground.

I fingered my silk dress, wondering if I could rip a piece of it off. Then I remembered the petticoat. Quickly, I lifted my dress and ripped a strip of silk from my homemade petticoat. It had been badly sewn, probably by Charlotte, and it came apart easily.

“I’ve never done this before, so let me know if it’s too tight.”

I knelt in front of Emily and wrapped the flimsy material around her arm. Blood seeped through the silk and coated my fingers, making it difficult to secure a knot.

Grasper pawed at her, barking and trying desperately to lick her arm.

“No, Grasper,” I said, pushing him gently with my elbow.

I secured the knot then tore another strip of material from my petticoat, which hung shredded from my body, and wrapped a second bandage.

“That’ll have to do until we get home.” She pressed her hand firmly over the bandage. “Let’s go. The sooner we get back the better.”

I helped Emily to her feet. I knew her arm hurt badly because it wasn’t like her to accept aid from anyone. That’s as far as it went though. She refused to let me wrap my arm around her waist and help her walk the rest of the way home.

The wind sliced through my coat and blew its icy breath into my bones as we stumbled along the darkening moors. My modern coat was a lot thicker than Emily’s homemade cape, still she never complained. Her bloodless face and pursed lips were the only signs of distress she showed.

By the time we arrived at the parsonage, the sky was completely black, although it couldn’t have been time for tea yet. I glanced at the back door that led to the kitchen and imagined the warmth inside. I wanted to rush Emily toward it. It comforted me to know that she’d soon be in her own bed, with her arm securely stitched and bandaged. But as soon as we reached the back steps, she stopped and refused to go any further.

“Go inside while I wait here and see if anyone’s in the kitchen,” she said. “If Tabby’s in there, get her out.”

“What?” I asked with a surprised laugh. “Why would I do that? We need to get you inside and seen by a doctor.”

“No! There’s no need to worry Papa and the rest of the household. I’ll take care of the wound myself.”

“Don’t be daft!” I said, finally losing patience with her stoic act. Emily’s stubbornness could turn into downright stupidity sometimes.

Her voice hardened. “Go inside and do as I ask, or go away and I’ll take care of my own business.”

I glared at her for a second, then nodded. She had made up her mind; I decided to go along with it—anything to get her upstairs and lying down. She wouldn’t be able to hide her arm from the others once we were inside.

“Ok,” I said. “Stay there. I’ll be right back.”

I ran up the steps, cracked open the back door, and peeked into the kitchen. A blast of warm air and the smell of baked cinnamon greeted me. My eyes moved to the fire that danced in the range, and I had to fight the urge to step inside and warm my frozen hands.

“Tabby.” I scanned the kitchen.

Silence.

“Tabby,” I called again, this time a little louder.

No answer.

I motioned to Emily. “The kitchen’s clear.”

Emily staggered up the steps. I leaned against the door, holding it open for her. She stumbled inside followed by Grasper who trotted over to the fire. He settled beside it but kept his brown eyes on Emily, as if he sensed it was too soon to relax.

I closed the back door, careful not to let it bang shut.

“Tabby must be in the cellar and the others are probably entertaining Mary,” Emily said.

Mary. That problem seemed miles away now.

“Go to the door and keep guard,” she said. “If anyone comes, distract them.”

“Why? What are you up to?” I asked, thinking she was probably going to steal a few drops of laudanum from Tabby’s supply. God knew she needed a pain killer.

“Go on.” Emily swayed on her feet. “Quick, before someone comes.”

I strode over to the kitchen door and faced the empty hallway. The loud tick tock of the grandfather clock echoed through the house, accentuating the fact that the others had not yet returned home.

Could they still be in the graveyard at this hour? Maybe they’d decided to go to the village. I chewed my bottom lip. Maybe, Branwell hadn’t found Mary’s company so bad after all.

A short cry sounded behind me. I whirled around and was hit by the smell of burning flesh. Grasper jumped up, yelping as if he’d been hurt. My eyes widened with horror. Emily held Tabby’s red-hot iron poker against her wound. After a few seconds, she lifted the poker and her skin sizzled. Vomit rose up in my throat and I forced it back down, its bitterness overwhelming all my senses.

Emily dropped the poker and let it clatter to the floor. She stumbled toward me.

“I need to lie down for a minute.”

“Are you mad?” I asked. My mind still unable to comprehend what I’d witnessed.

“It’s the only way to stop the bleeding,” Emily said, her voice weary.

“It’s not the only way!” I stared at her blistering arm. “A doctor could’ve stitched you up.”

“I don’t want a doctor,” she said.

I stared at her, too shocked to respond.

She stared back at me in stony silence.

I softened my tone, knowing she must be in serious pain. “Let me get your father, then—or Tabby.”

Her face hardened. “Don’t you dare tell Papa or anyone else, understand?”

“Fine!” I hissed, fear spurring my angry tone. “If you want to lose your arm, then that’s your problem.”

She clutched the wall for support and made her way toward the stairs. I lunged forward to help, but she shook me off. I hovered behind her, ready to catch her in case she lost her balance and fell .

There was no sign of anyone upstairs. Apart from Aunt Branwell, who was no doubt sitting beside her fire, the house seemed deserted. Emily stumbled toward her bedroom, pushing me away as I tried to help. She fell onto her bed and lay in silence, her dark hair tangled, her face pale, and her arm a swollen mess.

I waited with her for agonizing minutes before I heard footsteps downstairs. Tabby had probably come up from the cellar. Emily had fallen into a disturbed sleep. Sweat matted her hair and every now and then she jerked violently. I touched her forehead. It burned.

I needed to tell Tabby. At the very least, she could give Emily some laudanum to ease the pain.

I made my way downstairs. Tabby would be furious at us for going back to Top Withins, and Emily would never speak to me again. I’d probably get thrown out of the house, but I couldn’t worry about that now.

As I reached the bottom of the stairs, the front door opened and Charlotte and Anne ambled inside, talking and laughing while untying their bonnets.

They stopped when they saw me.

“Where have you been?” Charlotte asked, her face flushed from the cold. “Mary’s father came a day early and she wanted to say goodbye to Emily.”

I opened my mouth ready to answer, but no words came out.

Charlotte must have seen something in my face because she stopped fiddling with her bonnet and said, “What’s happened? Is Emily all right?”

“There’s been an accident.”

“What?” Charlotte strode toward me.

Anne’s face paled.

“We went back to Top Withins.” I faltered. “The wolf. It bit her arm.”

“Oh, Lord!” Charlotte swayed on her feet, and I worried she was about to faint.