Malcolm angrily reached for the door of the carriage, but Kate seized his arm.
“Don’t, Malcolm. We need to learn more about Blake and these four zoas. Won’t you return to Hartley Hall with us?”
The Scotsman narrowed his eyes at Simon. “Then you’re going to pursue this matter as well? It isn’t enough what you have dished out for us already?”
Simon shrugged helplessly. “Duty calls when it calls.”
Malcolm exhaled and shook his head. He settled back against the side of the carriage. “You don’t mind if I sleep on the ride back?”
“Not at all.” Kate pulled out a coach blanket and draped it over the Scotsman. He must’ve been exhausted because he didn’t even object to the mothering act. “By the way, there’s been a development at Hartley Hall just in the last day or two.”
Malcolm slitted one eye open in underplayed alarm.
“Do you remember that young werewolf who helped us at Bedlam? Charlotte?”
He merely waited in silence, continuing to stare at Kate.
“Well, she showed up at Hartley Hall,” she said, “thinking she could find wulfsyl there.”
Malcolm gave a savage smirk. “And you killed it?”
Kate tilted her head. “No. Actually we gave her a room and some warm milk laced with laudanum.” She smiled and tightened the blanket around his shoulders with a hard dig of her hand. “There we are, all snug now.”
Simon looked at Malcolm’s eyes, which were wide with shock. “We’ll wake you when we arrive. I’m sure she’d like to meet you. Enjoy your nap.”
Chapter 3
Charlotte sat in the center of the simple bed. She was a girl of around thirteen years old. Kate had provided her with one of Imogen’s older dresses, a pretty frock with pastel flowers of pink and yellow, with only the barest hint of lace at the cuffs. Charlotte’s left knee was up against her chest while her right leg was tucked beneath her, nearly hiding the bandages that covered her leg. Around the young girl’s slender left ankle was a heavy steel cuff linked to an iron chain bolted to the stone wall. Charlotte’s blue eyes were wide and fearful. They darted between the imposing forms of Simon, who checked the heavy bracket in the wall to make sure the mortar around it was solid, and Malcolm, who leaned against the wall near the door, lost in shadow. Then the girl locked on Kate, who approached fearlessly with a tray of bandages.
Kate set the tray on a small table by the bedside. “My, you’re a mess. Just look at your hair.”
The child’s hands pulled at the knotted, honey-shaded strands with embarrassment. “I lost my hairbrush.” Her voice was a delicate thing, a pleasing sound with a hint of melody.
“Good thing I have an extra.” Kate produced an ivory-handled brush from under a cloth on the tray.
“Are you going to kill me?” Charlotte asked with disturbing simplicity.
“Heavens no!” Kate gasped at such a question coming from the frightened child.
The girl’s gaze slipped accusingly to Malcolm.
“Oh, don’t mind him. He’s just surly.” Kate’s voice was reassuring.
The girl’s fingers touched the fine handle of the brush. “Are you going to help me?”
“We’re going to try, but first, I want to look at that burn on your leg. May I see it?”
“It will hurt, won’t it?” Charlotte slowly dragged her right leg out from under her with a small grunt of pain. A red gash showed along the calf and the skin was now yellowish purple and swollen, but it was no longer burned black. “It feels better.” Though she cried out when Kate touched it.
Kate kept an eye fixed on Charlotte as she soothed. “It’s a sight, all right. You’re lucky. You grazed a magical ward. If you had caught it full on, it would’ve been much worse for you. The wound is healing. From the swelling, I gather it hurts a great deal now, but I expect you’ll be running around in no time. You just need a few days’ rest.” With Simon’s silent help, Kate cleaned and bandaged the leg.
Charlotte gave an occasional gasp and fought back sniffles. “I don’t mean to hurt anyone. I just don’t know where else to go.”
“I’m glad you came to us,” Kate assured the child.
The child shuddered and reached out desperately to Kate, her fingers digging so deep into her muscle that she grimaced. “I need wulfsyl.”
“Get it from your master,” snarled Malcolm.
Kate was admirably calm despite the girl’s painful grip. “Why come to us, Charlotte?”
“You … you poisoned the wulfsyl at Bedlam. Dr. White said only an alchemist could do what you did. Do you have any wulfsyl?” There was desperate hope in the girl’s voice.
“I’m afraid not at the moment.” When Charlotte’s face fell into despair, Kate patted her arm. “Not to worry, child. We’ll get some. I don’t suppose you know how to make it?”
Charlotte shook her head, a tremor in her voice. “Don’t you?”
“Of course she does,” Simon confided with a wink. “Miss Anstruther is wonderfully clever.”