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“I’ll get one. Stay with her?”
“Of course,” Portia replied.
“Be right back, dear,” Jane said to me.
I nodded.
She floated out the door, but quickly.
“It’s swelling,” Portia noted, staring at my cut. “I should have told her to get ice too. I know where that is, but I don’t want to leave you.”
“No,” I said urgently, holding tight to her. “Don’t leave me.”
She put her other arm around me and held me, cooing, “I’m right here, Daph.”
Jane came back, incredibly quickly, but I knew why. She was with a lady, a redhead, but her hair was turning white, a little older than Bonnie.
She was holding a rather large case that looked like a fishing tackle box, but it was white and had a red cross on it.
She was also wearing a nightgown with a dressing gown over it.
“Good God,” she said when she saw me.
“Have you met Christine?” Jane asked and didn’t wait for my answer. “This is Christine. Christine, Daphne. Christine takes care of us. And now she’s going to help me take care of you. Portia, can you let us in there?”
Reluctantly, Portia slid out of bed. She rushed toward the bathroom.
I scooted over to the edge of the bed, staying under the covers.
Christine sat down with me, eyes to my temple.
“Everyone’s saying lovely things about you,” she murmured, turning to the box, flicking it open. “I would have liked to have met you before you were bleeding and given a fright.”
That almost made me laugh.
She turned to me. “It’s not bad, but I’ll have to clean it and that might not feel good.”
“Do what you gotta do,” I invited.
Portia returned, having helped herself to my merino duster.
Christine was right. With Portia and Jane watching like hawks ready to swoop in for the kill if Christine put a gauze swab wrong, Christine cleaned the wound with alcohol and it hurt like heck. Then Jane moved in to add some fingers as they held it together and plastered it over with two strips.
Christine came back with a clean gauze she’d squirted sterile solution on, and she gently washed the blood away from my temple, eye and cheek.
“There you go, fit as a fiddle,” she decreed when she was finished.
Not even.
“All right, now that’s done,” Jane announced efficiently. “Let’s get you to bed. Up with you.”
I stared at her, confused, seeing as I was in bed.
And I was never sleeping again in my life.
“Come, dear.” She held a hand to me. “We’re moving you to the Hawthorn Suite.”
“What?” Portia asked.
