Jimmy said: ‘Should we slide Harry off the door and onto the mattress?’
‘He’d be more comfortable,’ Sal said.
‘And I’ll be happier when I’ve returned that door safely to the timber yard.’
Sal went to the other side of the bed and knelt on the earth floor. She put out her arms to receive Harry when he slid off the door. The three men took hold of the other side. ‘Slowly, gently,’ Sal said. They lifted their edge, the door tilted, and Harry slid an inch and groaned. ‘Tilt a bit more,’ she said. This time he slid to the edge of the wood. She got her hands under his body. ‘More,’ she said, ‘and pull the door away an inch or two.’ As Harry slid, she eased her hands and then her forearms under him. Her aim was to keep him as near to still as possible. It seemed to be working, for he made no noise. The thought crossed her mind that silence was ominous.
At the very end they pulled the door away a little too sharply, and Harry’s smashed leg landed on the mattress with a slight thump. He screamed again. This time Sal took it as a welcome sign that he was still alive.
Annie Mann arrived with Alec, the surgeon. The first thing she did was check that her children were all right. Next she looked at Harry. She said nothing, but Sal could tell that she was shocked by how bad he looked.
Alec Pollock was a neat man, dressed in a tail coat and breeches that were old but well preserved. He had had no medical training other than what he had learned from his father, who had done the job before him and bequeathed him the sharp knives and other tools that were all the qualifications a surgeon needed.
He carried a small wooden chest with a handle, and now he set it on the floor near the fireplace. Then he looked at Harry.
Sal studied Alec’s face, looking for some sign, but his expression gave nothing away.
He said: ‘Harry, can you hear me? How do you feel?’
Harry made no response.
Alec looked at the crushed leg. The mattress under it was now soaked in blood. Alec touched the bones sticking out through the skin. Harry gave a cry of pain, but it was not as terrible as his screams. Alec probed the wound with a finger, and Harry cried out again. Then Alec grasped Harry’s ankle and lifted the leg, and Harry screamed.
Sal said: ‘It’s bad, isn’t it?’
Alec looked at her, hesitated, then said simply: ‘Yes.’
‘What can you do?’
‘I can’t set the broken bones,’ he said. ‘Sometimes it’s possible: if just one bone is broken, and it’s not too far out of place, I can ease it back into the right position, strap it up with a splint, and give it a chance to heal itself. But the knee is too complex and the damage done to Harry’s bones is too severe.’
‘So...?’
‘The worst danger is that contamination will enter the wound and cause corruption of the flesh. That can be fatal. The solution is to amputate the leg.’
‘No,’ she said, her voice shaking with desperation. ‘No, you can’t saw his leg off, he’s suffered too much agony already.’
‘It may save his life.’
‘There must be something else.’
‘I can try to seal the wound,’ he said dubiously. ‘But if that doesn’t work, then amputation will be the only way.’
‘Try, please.’
‘Very well.’ Alec bent and opened the wooden chest. He said: ‘Sal, can you put some wood on the fire? I need it really hot.’ She hurried to build up the fire under the smoke hood.
Alec took from his chest an earthenware bowl and a stoppered jug. He said to Sal: ‘I don’t suppose you have any brandy?’
‘No,’ said Sal, then she remembered Will’s flask. She had tucked it into her dress. ‘Yes, I do,’ she said, and she drew it out.
Alec raised his eyebrows.
‘It’s Will Riddick’s,’ she explained. ‘The accident was his fault, the damn fool. I wish it was his knee that got smashed.’
Alec pretended not to hear the insult to the son of the squire. ‘Make Harry drink as much as possible. If he passes out, so much the better.’
She sat on the bed beside Harry, lifting his head and trickling brandy into his mouth, while Alec heated oil in the bowl. By the time the flask was empty, the oil was bubbling in the bowl, a sight that made Sal feel ill.
