“Dear old Kate,” Grayson said, draping a blanket across Emma’s shoulders. “Jolly brilliant of her to think of the flares, what?”
Shivering, Emma pulled the blanket tightly around her. She’d tried to get a clearer look at the window, but the lights, and everyone’s attention, were focused on Mattie, who lay on the rear bench, unconscious. “Grayson—” Emma murmured.
“Hush.” Grayson squeezed her shoulder and turned to watch Newland, who was crouching beside Mattie, checking her pulse. “Not a word, my dear, not until we’ve got you all back in the hall.” Newland looked up and Grayson nodded. “Right, then. Everyone ready? Off we go.”
Derek cradled Peter in his arms, Gash and Newland carried a blanket-wrapped Mattie between them, and Grayson put an unexpectedly strong arm around Emma’s waist as they left the chapel to face the storm once more. Emma felt lightheaded, and she moved through the mud and the pelting rain on legs that had turned to rubber. The castle ruins closed around her, then fell away, and the light in the dining-room windows hovered like a dream on a distant horizon.
Kate and Hallard were there, bearing ornate candelabras, since the electricity was still off, and they led the motley parade to the library, where Dr. Singh was waiting. Chilled to the bone, Emma told Grayson to go ahead with the others, then made her solitary way up the darkened staircase and through the silent corridors to her room, oddly comforted by her ability to find her way without a light to guide her.
The rose suite was warm and dry and quiet. Emma let the rain-soaked blanket slide from her shoulders, dried her glasses on the quilted coverlet, then knelt on the hearth and fumbled with numb fingers to start a fire. She gave up, finally, pulled the coverlet from the bed, and huddled beneath it, too exhausted to move. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before she was aroused from her stupor by the sound of a voice from the hallway.
“Emma, honey. It’s me, Syd. You think maybe you could get the door?”
Syd Bishop’s candles were balanced on a round tray. “Room service,” he announced, placing the tray on the low table between the pair of overstuffed armchairs. “Hot coffee, and a bowl of chicken soup. I’d go straight to hell if I was to say it’s as good as my grandma‘s, God rest her soul, but I’m tellin’ ya, Madama musta stole her recipe.” He filled a cup with steaming coffee and handed it to Emma, wincing when he saw her bloodied knuckles. “Ouch. Caught yourself pretty good there, huh? And what are you doin’, sittin’ here all this time in wet clothes? C’mon. Let’s get you changed before you catch pneumonia.”
Syd’s years behind the scenes at fashion shows had not been wasted. He knew how women’s clothing worked and was disarmingly matter-of-fact about nudity. He stripped off Emma’s dripping clothes and tucked her into her blue robe, wrapped a towel around her head, and sat her in an armchair without spilling a drop of her coffee or bringing the faintest blush to her cheek.
The coffee had revived her and the scent of chicken soup proved irresistible. While Syd bent to start a fire, Emma emptied the bowl, then sat back, wishing there was more. Her hand was sore and her knees were beginning to ache, and she knew she’d be stiff later on, but at that moment, with a bowl of warm soup inside her and a second cup of coffee to sip, a soft chair to sink into and a fire beginning to crackle at her feet, she felt as though she’d washed ashore in paradise.
“Is Peter all right?” she asked, as Syd settled into the other chair.
“Petey-boy? He’s gonna be just fine after he gets a little shut-eye. I’m tellin’ you, Emma, I’m so proud of that kid, I could bust.” He turned to pour a cup of coffee for himself. “He saved Mattie’s life, you know.”
“No, Syd,” said Emma. “I don’t know. What was she doing out there?”
“Tryin’ to off herself.” Syd nodded, picked up his cup and saucer, leaned back in his chair. “Crowley found a note.”
“Oh, no,” Emma whispered.
“Yeah, I know. Terrible thing. Terrible. Such a young girl. She’s gonna be okay, though. Busted her arm and banged herself up pretty good, but the doc, he says she’ll be fine.”
“But why?”
“Didn’t know how to explain things to Crowley. Didn’t want her old grandpa to be ashamed of her.” Syd paused to drink from his cup, then looked toward Emma. “She’s the one what clobbered Suzie.”
“Mattie?”
“That’s what the note was about. There was pages and pages of it and, I’m tellin’ ya, it was a real eye-opener.” Syd put his cup on the tray, folded his hands across his stomach, and sighed. “Mattie had her heart set on goin’ into the industry,” he began. “She was crazy about Suzie, real thrilled about meetin’ a pro. So, when Suzie told her to come to the chapel garden that morning, and to keep everything hush-hush so Nanny Cole’s nose wouldn’t be put outta joint ...”