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Judith sighed. 'Dead. And I have no aunts or other relatives suitable. Tim has two very ancient aunts in Lincolnshire, but they could never take on three lively kids.' She looked pathetically at Emma. 'To be frank, I've been lying here worrying about the children. I've thought and thought and no one springs to mind.'
'Then it's settled,' Emma said firmly. 'I'll drive the children down to their uncle's cottage and sort it out with him. I'll be glad to do it, truly.'
Judith looked up at her, saw warm brown eyes, like chestnuts shining glossily on an autumn day; hair which matched in shade and was brushed until it gleamed, a creamy skin and oval face, with delicately formed features. She liked what she saw. It gave her comfort. She sensed that her children would be in safe hands. Emma had such a solid, reassuring look about her.
The ward Sister came back, her brow faintly wrinkled in concern. 'We've rung your brother again, Mrs Hart, but there's still no reply. Is there anyone else we could try?'
Judith frowned. 'He must be out on his rounds.'
'Rounds?' repeated the Sister. 'Is he a doctor?'
'A vet,' Judith said.
'Oh, I see. That explains it. Then I'll keep trying.'
'I'll take charge of the children,' said Emma. She and Judith explained what had been decided, and the ward Sister gave Emma a mildly approving smile. Judith was visibly looking better, more cheerful and relaxed, and the Sister was pleased by this change in her patient.
Emma went out to find the children. She wanted them to see their mother before they left. It would reassure them to know that their mother was in good hands, and that she approved of their temporary guardian.
The eldest jumped up as Emma came and asked eagerly, 'How's Mummy?'
'I'm going to take you to see her in a moment,' Emma told her, smiling down and taking her by the hand. 'I'm Emma. What's your name?'
'Tracy,' said the child flatly. She looked round at her little brother who was trying to listen to his own heart with a stethoscope he had found in a box on the desk. 'Robin, stop that! Put it back.'
Robin was small and round and rosy, with bright dark eyes and a mischievous grin. He was, Emma guessed, about four years old, but sturdily built for his age. He was wearing a red sweater and neat blue jeans.
The third child was asleep, leaning against the wall, her cheek curled up against her hand, her thumb in her mouth. Emma felt tenderness well up within her at the softness of that baby cheek, the golden down of the pink skin, the long curled lashes lying on the cheek. 'Who's the sleeping beauty?' she asked Tracy lightly.
'Donna,' Tracy said. 'She's only three and she sleeps a lot.' Her tone was disparaging. Emma bit back a smile.
She bent and gently lifted Donna into her arms, the heavy little head flopping against her shoulder. A warm feeling grew inside Emma. How wonderful it felt to hold this soft little body, to feel the trustful yielding, the weight of the small head against her.
'Shall we go and see Mummy?' she asked Tracy.
'Then what are we going to do?' Tracy had an almost adult way of speaking. Her eyes were intelligent as she studied Emma. 'Will Uncle Ross come to fetch us?'
'I'm going to take you to him,' Emma promised. 'As soon as we've seen your mother.'
Half an hour later she pulled up at a remote crossroad and stared hopefully at the dark countryside. Judith had given her a sketchmap of the route. This was definitely the crossroads marked on the map, so the road to the left must be the one to take. But if it was, where was the village marked on the map? She saw no lights, no houses anywhere? Had she taken a wrong turning at some point on the way?
She drove slowly along the road. In the darkness it was impossible to see a thing. Then, suddenly, from behind a belt of trees she saw the lights of a house. She gave a sigh of relief. At last!
She counted the houses. One, two, three…then another gap. Just as Judith had warned her. Three cottages close together, then a copse. Two fields lay between the copse and the next little clump of houses. Then she saw the small, whitewashed inn marked on the map. She turned off past the inn and drove up a very narrow, sandy lane, parked on the grass verge outside the final house in the village.
Her heart sank as she saw that there were no lights on in the building. The three children were all asleep now, curled up beneath a tartan rug in the back of the car, like puppies.
Emma left them in peace while she explored. She found the white gate and pushed it open, followed the winding garden path. The scent of roses, night-scented stock, lavender and other unidentifiable flowers came to her nostrils. She groped her way to the front door, knocked loudly, knocked again. No sound disturbed the house within. She lifted the letterbox flap and listened. A deep-throated ticking came from the hall. Nothing more. She groaned. Was there no one in at all?
Suddenly a sound made her jump. She swung round, heart thumping. Tracy materialised out of the darkness, slid her small warm hand into Emma's cold one and smiled up at her.
'I woke up. We're here. Isn't Uncle Ross in?'
'Apparently not,' said Emma, trying to sound cheerful. 'We shall have to break the window to get in, I think.'
'Isn't the key under the flowerpot?' Tracy asked.
Emma stared at her. 'What?'
