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?