“What—?”
“Bullet,” Francis said grimly.
“You don’t say?”
We were all expecting more bullets to follow, but none did. Nonetheless, Francis kept us close to the ground as he gave us instructions for what to do next.
“Get to cover. Inside the door, Kit. Stay low. Go!”
Christopher crawled as fast as he could across the grass towards the door I had just come out through. I winced at the thought of what the knees of his flannel bags would look like when he stood up.
“Now you,” Francis said and gave me a shove. “Hurry.”
I followed, scurrying on my hands and knees across the grass. In this position, any additional shots that came would catch me in the derriere, as I kept my head down as I went. By this point, though, no one else had tried to shoot at us, and all the shots we could hear were from farther away. Ithought I could—perhaps—hear the sound of hooves moving away through the trees, but it might have been the blood beating in my ears, or alternatively, just the horses’ hooves from the rest of the shoot.
Christopher reached up and opened the door, and vanished inside, still in a crouch. I put on a burst of speed and followed him into the manor. A few seconds later, Francis had come in behind me and slammed the door.
For a second or two, we all three just sat there on the floor, wide-eyed, breathing heavily and staring at one another in shock. Then?—
“Someone shot at us,” I said blankly.
“Someone shot atyou,” Christopher corrected.
“Me?”
“Well,” he hesitated, looking from me to Francis and back, “one of you. The bullet went too wide to be intended for me.”
“Unless someone’s just a bad shot,” Francis said and pushed to his feet. He took a moment to brush down the fronts of his flannels before extending a hand to me. “Come on, Pipsqueak. Up you go.”
I took his hand and let him haul me to my feet, while Christopher got up on his own and brushed himself off, with a grimace at the state of his knees. Mine were bare but dirty, and currently hidden under my skirt, so I could get away with going into the lavatory and washing them later.
“We need you upstairs,” I told Francis. “Constance?—”
“What’s wrong with Constance?”
“I already told you. Nothing is wrong with Constance. I left her with Cecily Fletcher, and somethingiswrong with her.”
Francis headed towards the main staircase, and I scurried after, with Christopher on my heels. “What’s going on with her?” Francis threw back over his shoulder.
“The same thing that went on with Christopher in May. Or something like it.” I hustled to keep up with his longer strides. “She won’t wake up. She’s breathing, but it’s very shallow.”
“Did you check her pupils?”
I shook my head, and then answered verbally, when it occurred to me that he didn’t have eyes in the back of his head. “No. Her eyes were closed, and I didn’t try to open them. I wouldn’t know what to look for.”
Francis nodded, and started up the main staircase two steps at a time. I hurried after, double-time, since I had to step on every step instead of every other. Behind me, Christopher started up, as well.
“She’s on the top floor,” I said, a bit breathlessly, as we gained the first floor hallway. “The staircase is at the end of the hall.”
We headed that way, and half a minute later, found ourselves in the upstairs hallway. There was still no one else around, although the door to the Fortescues’ room on the first floor had stood ajar and I thought I had heard Nellie’s humming from behind it.
“Down there,” I pointed. “The door in the middle.”
Francis headed that way, and gave a peremptory knock but without stopping to wait for permission. Christopher and I crowded in behind him as he pushed the door open and stalked inside.
Nothing much had changed in the minutes—and had it truly only been a few minutes?—since I had left. In my absence, Constance had sat down, perched on the embroidered chair beside the bed. Her eyes were fastened on Cecily and her hands were gripping each other tightly in her lap, so hard that her knuckles were white. When she looked up and saw us, the worry in her eyes flickered for a moment, as if she were happy not tobe alone with the sick girl, but then clouded over again when she noticed our dishevelment.
“What happened?”
