“I’ve got you,” he said, rushing to her. The crowd pushed them both hard against the railing, knocking the wind out of Linley, but Patrick held her fast. He would not let her go.
A group of men rushed down the turf, carrying the woman’s limp body from the track. Spectators followed, wailing and weeping. Through all the dust and dirt, Patrick could see a flag of the Women’s Social and Political Union tied about her waist.
If this was indeed about the suffrage, things were about to get ugly.
“We’ve got to get you out of here,” he told her, hoping to shield Linley from seeing the poor woman as they carried her past.
It was too late. Linley went white in the face. Patrick held on to her, feeling her knees wobbling against his.
At that moment, Schoville burst through the crowd, his jacket torn and his trousers covered with blood and grass stains. “Oh thank God,” he said as soon as he saw Linley was safe. “I got separated in the panic. Almost didn’t make it out.”
“We need to take her somewhere safe,” Patrick said. “If we can find my motor, it will be better than trying to get on a train in all this madness.”
Schoville nodded, giving him complete control of the situation.
They rushed through the crowd, practically carrying Linley, who kept her face buried in Patrick’s shoulder. Thankfully, the commotion started to die down, and they were able to get to the motor area with little trouble.
Patrick scanned the rows and rows of automobiles for his own. With any luck, his driver would be waiting, and not caught up in the chaos. But there were hundreds of motorcars—how was he ever going to find his?
“Can you walk?” he asked Linley.
She held onto him tighter. “No, don’t let me go.”
“Everything is fine now,” he said. “No one is going to hurt you.”
Linley refused to be put down, and Patrick had no choice but to carry her up and down the lines of automobiles. Just when he thought the search was futile, his motorcar pulled up along side of them.
“I saw you walking,” his driver said. “Is everything all right, my lord?”
“No, everything is not all right,” Patrick said, opening the rear door of his motor and laying Linley across the seat. Turning, he flipped down the two rear-facing jump seats. “Get us to London.”
***
“That poor woman,” Linley whispered, staring out at the scenery as they rattled down the road to London. “That poor, poor woman.”
“I don’t think we should talk about it anymore,” Patrick said.
“Why not?” she asked. “We cannot pretend like it didn’t happen. I saw the entire thing. I saw…everything.”
Schoville sat beside her on the seat, trying to comfort her as best he could. The day had been a traumatizing one for all of them, but neither man thought it necessary to relive it over and over again.
“Once I take her home,” Patrick told Schoville. “I want you to call a physician. She will probably need something to help her sleep through the night.”
“Of course.”
Linley huffed at both of them. “Please do not talk about me like I am not sitting right here.”
“I’m sorry.” Patrick reached across the car and patted her hand. “When you arrive home, you should call a physician. It won’t do for you to be up all night worrying.”
She stared down at his hand over hers. “Do you think that woman died?”
“I don’t know.”
Linley ignored him and kept talking to his hand. “I don’t see how anyone could survive something like that. It was the most horrific thing I’ve ever seen.”
“You’d see just as bad in the hunting field,” Patrick said. “Those sort of accidents happen more frequently than you’d think.”
Schoville shifted in the seat. “You believe it was an accident?”
“No,” he said. “I believe it was deliberate.”
Linley pulled her hand out from underneath his. “But who would do such a thing?”
“The same people who try to bomb Parliament,” Patrick explained. “Who chain themselves to Downing Street.”
“Suffragettes?” she asked. “Oh, Patrick, you cannot be serious. No matter how radical those women are, I don’t think they would resort to throwing themselves in front of galloping horses.”
“Not just any galloping horse—the King’s horse,” he said. “You have to admit, it would make quite a statement.”
Linley shook her head. “I’d rather believe it was some sort of accident.”
“I’m sure you would, but that does not change the fact.”
“Must you be so cynical, Patrick?” she asked. “A woman might have died today.”
He leaned back in the seat, studying her. Finally, he sighed and admitted defeat. “You are right. I might not agree with her motives, but I am sorry she was injured.”