“Dr. Singh’s flyin’ her into Plymouth,” Bantry added.
“Thank the Lord.” Mattie leaned forward on her hands for a moment, then pushed back her chair and stood upright. “I should pack a bag for Miss Ashers,” she said. “Mr. Bishop can bring it to her. She’ll be wanting her own things when she wakes up.”
“Run along, then,” said Bantry. “I’ll see to Lady Nell.”
Mattie hurried from the room and Bantry exchanged sober greetings with the men as he and Emma made their way down the length of the table to sit on either side of Nell. Two of the serving girls peered curiously at Emma, and she overheard one of them murmur “the garden lady” before Madama rapped the stove sharply with her spoon and sent them back to work. The rumble of voices and the clatter of crockery resumed, and a moment later one of the girls placed a cup of strong, sweet tea before Emma, followed quickly by a plateful of fried eggs, sausages, bacon, and grease-drenched toast. Emma glanced at the plate, shuddered slightly, and reached for the tea.
“You can have strawberries, if you like,” Nell suggested helpfully.
“I’ll just have tea for now, thank you,” Emma murmured.
The noise subsided once more as Derek came into the kitchen, his arm around Peter’s shoulders. Derek looked haggard, but the boy’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes bright, and he walked with a bounce in his step.
“You’re sure you heard nothing?” Derek was asking.
“I told you, Dad. I was out on the cliff path, reading. I didn’t even know she was there until everyone started to shout.”
“All right, son, all right.” Derek pulled the boy to him in a rough, sideways hug, then let him run to Nell’s side.
“She’s not dead,” Nell informed her brother bluntly.
“I know,” Peter replied, “but she’s gone.” The boy glanced over at the stove. “Madama, may I have strawberries, too, please?”
“Miss Porter? If I might have a word?” Derek gestured to the fireplace, where a tall settle offered a degree of privacy. Emma slipped out of Bantry’s jacket and returned it to him with a murmur of thanks, then joined Derek on the high-backed wooden bench.
“Miss Porter,” he began. “Emma. Want to thank you for looking after my daughter. Traumatic experience for such a young child. Not sure—” Derek stiffened as a thin, high-pitched scream sounded in the distance, then was abruptly cut off.
Knives and forks clattered to the tiled floor as the men at the table sprang to their feet and streamed through the kitchen door. Derek rose, too, and stood looking distractedly from the door to his children until Bantry waved him on.
“Go, man, go,” Bantry urged. “I’ll keep an eye on the young ’uns.”
Pausing only to drop a kiss on the top of Nell’s head, Derek raced from the room, with Emma hot on his heels, following the thud of retreating workboots to the entrance hall.
Emma felt as though she’d stumbled into a war zone. The chubby mechanic, Gash, was holding the front door open and the roar of an idling helicopter thundered through it on the wind. Newland, with his black beret tilted at a rakish angle, was barking orders to the group from the kitchen. Two men in windbreakers were wheeling Susannah toward the open door on a collapsible stretcher, her neck strapped in a padded brace, her head swathed in bloodstained bandages, and Syd Bishop trotted alongside, carrying the overnight case Mattie had packed.
Mattie lay at the foot of the main staircase, her head cradled in Kate Cole’s lap. Beside them knelt a bearded man in a white turban and caftan, brown socks and sandals, and a black leather bomber jacket. Crowley hovered nearby, white-faced, while the duke patted his shoulder, and Hallard stood to one side, observing the scene with intense concentration.
“What’s happened?” Derek asked.
“She’s fainted,” replied the bearded man. “Some people do, at the sight of blood.” Standing, he reached over to touch Crowley’s arm. “Not to worry. Get her to bed and keep her warm. She’ll be up and running again after a few hours’ rest.”
“Very good, Dr. Singh,” Crowley replied.
Syd had followed the stretcher-bearers out to the waiting helicopter, and Dr. Singh ran to catch up with them. The men from the kitchen had dispersed, and Newland and Gash, after conferring briefly in the doorway, had headed out after the men, closing the door behind them.
The duke knelt beside Mattie. “Poor child,” he murmured. “Hallard, please fetch the brandy and bring it up to Mattie’s room. Ask Madama to send up a pot of tea, as well.” As Hallard sped off in the direction of the kitchen, the duke lifted Mattie’s slight form in his arms and carried her up the main staircase, with Crowley close behind.