“We know,” said Nell, “but we can fix that.” She turned to call a greeting to Hallard, the nearsighted footman, who was back in his wicker armchair, tapping at his keyboard, then proceeded down the grassy corridor toward the banquet hall, with Emma trailing slowly in her wake.
The banquet hall was deserted. Some of the vines on the birdcage arbor had been knocked loose by last night’s rain and Emma paused to tie them up again, looking over her shoulder to see if Bantry was around. She felt ill-equipped to deal with Nell’s unnerving pronouncements on her own.
By the time Emma finished retying the vines, Nell had left the banquet hall. Emma hoped that the little girl had decided to go somewhere other than the chapel garden, but her hopes were dashed when she rounded a corner and saw Nell lifting the latch on the green door. Emma was still several yards away when the door swung wide.
Nell made no move to enter the garden. She stood in the doorway, clinging tightly to her bear, and Bertie’s black eyes peered imploringly over her shoulder, as though pleading with Emma to hurry up.
“Nell?” Emma called, hastening to the child’s side. “What is it? What’s—” Emma froze as she saw Susannah Ashley-Woods sprawled facedown in the grass at the bottom of the uneven stone steps, very near the old wheelbarrow. Her blond hair lay like a silken fan around her head, a gleaming black heel dangled from one shoe, and a thin trickle of blood trailed from her shell-like ear.
Kneeling in the doorway, Emma turned Nell to face her. “There’s been an accident,” Emma said, amazed by the steadiness of her voice. “Susannah’s shoe broke and she fell down the stairs. You understand?”
Curls bobbing, the child nodded.
“I want you and Bertie to run back to the hall as fast as you can. Tell the first grown-up you see to call for a doctor. Can you do that for me?”
Nell gave another emphatic nod, then darted back up the corridor, with Bertie flopping limply, clutched in a dimpled fist.
Emma rushed down the steps to kneel at Susannah’s side. She breathed a sigh of relief when she pressed a hand to Susannah’s neck and detected a pulse. Bending lower, she saw that Susannah’s eyes were closed and her left cheek was pillowed in a blood-soaked clump of grass.
“Warm. I have to keep her warm,” Emma muttered. She grabbed blindly for the oilcloth on the old wheelbarrow, but it was no longer there. Frantically scanning the ground, she saw it lying a few steps away on the flagstone path. She scrambled to retrieve it, then spread it over Susannah’s prone form and waited.
“My God ...” Grayson stood at the top of the stairs, his face ashen. “Is she dead?” he whispered hoarsely.
Emma shook her head. “Have you called for an ambulance?”
Before the duke could answer, Kate Cole appeared beside him, carrying a heavy wool blanket. She hurried down the stairs, spread the blanket on top of the oilcloth, knelt, and with a practiced hand lifted Susannah’s eyelid. She nodded, then took hold of the woman’s wrist. “She’s still with us,” Kate confirmed, “but Dr. Singh had better get here quickly.”
“Should we take her into the hall?” Emma asked.
“Best not,” said Kate, gently placing Susannah’s limp arm beneath the coverings. “There’s not much blood, but there’s a nasty bruise on her temple, and no telling what the fall might’ve done to her neck.” She rose to her feet and regarded Susannah grimly.
Her gaze fixed on the bloodstained grass, Emma backed away until she bumped into the chapel door. There she stood, clasping and unclasping her hands, watching Kate direct the action as more people crowded into the grassy space at the foot of the stairs.
Crowley arrived with another blanket, and Hallard was next, carrying a first-aid kit. The distant sound of a helicopter reached Emma’s ears just before Bantry stepped past the duke. The head gardener paused when he saw Susannah, then hurried down the stairs to confer quietly with Kate. Crowley joined them, and Emma caught something about “the men from the village” and “alerting Newland at the gate” before Crowley nodded and left.
“Dr. Singh’ll be here straightaway,” Bantry announced.
Still at the top of the stairs, the duke pointed downward. “It’s those damned shoes,” he said. Susannah’s broken high heel protruded from the edge of the oilcloth. “If she hadn’t insisted on wearing such absurd footwear, this never would’ve happened.”
After checking Susannah’s pulse once more, Kate went up the stairs to take hold of Grayson’s hands. “We’ll have to prepare a statement,” she said.
“Of course,” said the duke, and, “Damn.” Turning to Bantry, he asked, “Is Lady Nell all right?”
Bantry nodded. “Mattie’s lookin’ after Lady Nell, and Mr. Harris is out lookin’ for young Master Peter. Seems the boy’s disappeared.”
Emma wanted to tell them all that Nanny Cole had ordered the boy outside to play, but her teeth were chattering so badly that the most she could manage was a strangled squeak.
“Here, now, Miss Emma.” The head gardener stripped off his oiled green jacket and walked over to where she stood. “You’ve had quite a shock. You come with me to the kitchen and we’ll have Madama make you a nice cup of tea. There’s a good girl, now, come along.” As he spoke, Bantry draped his jacket around Emma’s shoulders. It was still warm and smelled comfortingly of compost and pipe tobacco. The head gardener put a wiry arm around her shoulders as well, guiding her up the stairs and past the green door. Emma turned in the doorway to look once more at the nightmarish scene, and saw Grayson fire a questioning look at Kate, whose only reply was a minute shrug.
9
In the kitchen, bacon sizzled on a griddle, an outsized teakettle sent a plume of steam toward the vaulted ceiling, and Madama stood at the massive stove, using a wooden spoon to stir a row of bubbling stockpots and to direct the activities of a trio of white-aproned girls who scurried back and forth from the stove to the long oak table in the center of the cavernous room.
The girls were busily replenishing the breakfast plates of a dozen men in workboots and thick sweaters who sat at the table, talking in a low rumble among themselves while they ate. Like Newland, the gatekeeper, each wore a radio unit on his hip and an earphone in one ear.
Nell sat at the far end of the. table, calmly devouring a large bowl of plump strawberries and heavy cream. Beside her, Mattie stared down at her teacup. Nell merely nodded when Emma and Bantry came into the room, but Mattie half rose from her chair. “Is she—?”
The girl’s breathless question silenced the room, and every face turned to look expectantly at the new arrivals. Emma pulled Bantry’s jacket around her self-consciously and looked across the sea of unfamiliar faces to Mattie.
“Susannah was still unconscious when we left her,” she said, “but she was alive.”
“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.