She had so many questions, but she didn’t want to press him. If they were going to be stuck in the same house together, hiding, they were going to have plenty of time to talk. And unless he knew something she didn’t, they wouldn’t be leaving in a hurry unless the Allies magically managed to storm back through France and regain all the territory they’d lost.

“We could give him something to drink, to help with the pain,” Harry suggested.

“Might need to save it to use on wounds,” she said. But when she glanced down at Jack, at his pale, damp complexion, she relented. “Well, maybe just a little, to ease it. But we need to be sparing.”

Harry left her then, no doubt to retrieve the alcohol; and Cate took a moment to hold Jack’s hand, whispering to him, “We’re safe here, Jack. You’re going to make it.”

His eyes held hers, but he didn’t say anything, and when Harry returned she held his head, cupping the back of his skull as Harry tipped the bottle to his lips. She watched Jack’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, and after two sips she gently lowered his head back down.

Adelaide and Elise returned with everything she’d asked for, and as everyone sat back and gave her space, she started to work.

“What can I do?” Elise asked.

“Hold the fabric steady while I cut it,” she said, having given up on untying the shirt around his waist. She could see from his sharp intake of breath that it hurt too much to tug on it. “There might well be a lot of blood when this comes loose, and I’m going to clean the wound, stitch where I have to, and then get him bandaged up. You might need to help hold the skin together, though, because it’ll be hard going using a blunt needle and regular cotton.”

She set to work, and soon found herself surprised by Elise, at how strong and capable she was. They continued on in silence, Cate holding her hand out and asking for supplies as she needed them, and Elise passing them to her, placing her hand for pressure when she needed it and cutting the end of the thread when Cate had finished the painstaking job of pressing the needle back and forth through Jack’s skin. It had been almost unbearable, the feel of the too-blunt needle, fighting for each thread, as if she were pressing through fabric that was too thick to be stitched. Harry had held him down by the shoulders, trying to keep him still as she’d worked, and now, under the light of a lamp and with the fire still flickering beside them, she was finally done. And thankfully, Jack’s groans of agony had abated, too.