'He wanted herbs, too. Better look in the kitchen garden and hope the cook doesn't wallop us.'

We walked round to the back of the house.

Simonson stopped by a pot of basil. 'What kind of herb do you think he wants?'

'I don't know. Mint? Lavender?'

I spotted the lavender. 'Let me have your penknife will you? The stalks on this lavender look quite tough.'

'I'll do it. Though given his royal blood, I should think laurel will be needed.'

When I heard the sound, I thought for a second that Dr Simonson had p.r.i.c.ked his finger again, or his gammy leg had given way. But the groan, like that of a hurt animal, did not come from him. We both heard it at once and looked at each other.

'Over there!' Dr Simonson pointed to clumps of overgrown herbs close to the wall.

We hurried towards the sound.

I was closer, and saw him first. There, below a window, lay Isaac, half-hidden in the greenery, helpless, groaning, a vague expression on his face, his mouth drawn to one side, his lower lip on that side hanging down and dribbling spittle. The smell of mint grew stronger as I knelt beside him. Without looking through the window, I realised this was where Isaac had peered through at the prince's body. How long he had lain here, I did not know. 'It's all right, Isaac. The doctor is here.' I loosened the top b.u.t.tons of his shirt.

Simonson had set down his walking stick. He limped towards me at a brisk pace. He crouched down beside Isaac. 'Now old chap, don't worry. We have you.' He rolled Isaac onto his side, at the same calling to me. 'My bag in the motor. Iodide potash.'

As I hurried away, he was saying, 'Can you speak to me? Tell me your name.'

I ran to the car and picked up the doctor's bag. Iodide potash. He would need to take it in water, or milk. One of the maids was spreading a wall hanging over a bush. I called to her to bring a gla.s.s of water to the kitchen garden, double quick, and to have someone bring a blanket.

By the time I got back, the maid was hurrying towards us, spilling water from the gla.s.s as she ran.

I took the container from the doctor's bag. 'How many grains?'

'A dozen.'

I dropped the grains into the water.

'Now hold steady.' He held Isaac by the shoulders. 'Try and sip what Mrs Shackleton is going to give you.'

I put the gla.s.s to Isaac's lips and tilted it. More went down the poor man's chin and jacket than into his mouth. His eyes stared into mine, as if his glance could tell me what his tongue could not.

'Isaac, don't try to speak. I'll tell Joel you are in good hands.'

But he did try to speak. It came out as gibberish.

'Stay with him, Mrs Shackleton. He knows who you are.'

Someone brought a blanket. I tucked it around Isaac as best I could, then sat beside him, keeping him steady, holding his hand as the two of us crushed mint.

After what seemed an age, Dr Simonson returned with two orderlies in navy blue ambulance uniforms. Slowly and carefully, they manoeuvred Isaac onto a stretcher.

'Where are you taking him?'

'These men came to take the prince to Skipton Hospital. But they can come back for him. I'm sending the old chap to Beamsley Hospital, and hoping they'll take him in. They only have nine beds.'

We followed the men through the garden.

'What is the matter with Isaac?' I knew but wanted to hear him give me the proper words.

'He's had a stroke. That weakness you see is hemiplegia.'

'Paralysis of one side of the body.'

'Yes.'

'Will you be able to do anything for him?' I had seen the effect of trauma on the brain during my war service, and knew how difficult it could be to treat.

'It is possible there could be some improvement, over weeks and months. It depends on the amount of iodine that can be absorbed by the system.' He picked up the abandoned trug of flowers and handed it to me with a small smile. 'Look, I'm going to follow along behind and see him safely in.'

At the ambulance I tried to rea.s.sure Isaac. 'I'll tell Joel where you are. Try not to worry.'

I watched the ambulance set off. For a few yards, the doctor drove behind the slow-moving vehicle. I guessed that he would grow impatient, and overtake.

Ijahar, no doubt having grown tired of waiting for a floral delivery, was suddenly at my side, head bowed, thanking me, taking the basket of flowers from my hand, hurrying away. By the time I turned to look at him, he was disappearing back into the Hall. The poor fellow did not want me to take too good a look at his swollen eye. I might play the nurse and keep him from his master.

I found Joel swilling the stable yard, sweeping the wet cobbles with a stiff brush.

'Are you on your own, Joel?'

He leaned on the brush. 'Aye. Dad's at the Hall.'

'It's about your dad I've come. I'm sorry to say he was taken poorly in the grounds of the Hall.'

The blood drained from Joel's face.

'Dr Simonson is taking care of him.'

'Where is he?'

'He is on his way to Beamsley Hospital...'

Joel let go of the brush which fell to the ground. 'Hospital?'

'... to be kept an eye on for a day or two.'

'I mun go to him.'

'Not today. Let him settle. Perhaps tomorrow...'

In his haste to be off, he tripped over the brush as he ran, falling flat on the cobbles.'

'Joel, wait!'

He picked himself up and began to run, out of the yard, past the car, along the road.

Perhaps I should have run after him, called to him, or offered to take him to the hospital. But I could hear James's voice telling me to make sure Lydia Metcalfe was out of the way. Had she yet heard that her lover was dead?

Twelve.

Mr Sergeant quick-marched across the hotel lobby.

'Seeing you enter those doors is like watching the cavalry ride over the hill. Come this way, Mrs Shackleton. I must speak with you privately.'

He drew me into a small office beyond the reception area and closed the door.

'Have you seen his highness's valet?'

'Yes. He is standing guard over the prince's body. He had me and the doctor picking flowers.'

'Yes, yes, he would. He will want to cover the body with blooms. The man is determined to do everything properly for his master. He has been back and forth running at the double.'

Sergeant showed every sign of continuing without taking a breath, so I squeezed in my words quickly. 'It is a good thing Dr Simonson and I were in the garden. We found Isaac there. He has suffered a stroke.'

'The poor man!'

'When I told Joel that his father has been taken to Beamsley Hospital, he just hared off. I hope he will be all right.'

'Oh he will. Joel will find his way to Beamsley. Poor Isaac. I am not surprised he has been taken ill, after everything that has happened.' Sergeant let out a sighing breath. 'I thought being a hotel manager would be a relief after all the battles and strife. I feel as if I'm back on the front line.'

'Has something else happened?'

'Did you notice Ijahar has a black eye?'

'Now that you mention it, I did notice his eye was bloodshot and half closed.'

'She smacked him in the eye.'

'Who?'

'Lydia Metcalfe.'

'So she has heard about Narayan's death? I told him to be quiet about it.'

'He came back from the Hall, looking for what he wanted in their trunks and in the prince's room. Miss Metcalfe heard the door banging. She came out just in time to hear Ijahar asking me if there were cedar trees on the estate for the cremation.'

'How awful. Is that how she found out?'

'Yes. She just slugged him.'

'But what a thing for him to ask. I can hardly believe he is talking about cremation. Does the man think he can light a fire and burn a body?'

'He wasn't thinking clearly. Next thing, Lydia Metcalfe is all over the hotel, telling anyone who will listen that the duke himself had her man done away with so that he could grab the Gattiawan treasure.'

'Where is she now?'

'In her room. She has quieted down but I can't have her staying here.'

'It is all right. I have already been asked to persuade her to go to her people.'

'Thank heaven for that.'

'I'm told they farm nearby.'

'Yes, near Halton East.'

'Then I'll see what I can do.'

'She was asking for you. And the Indian family will be distraught enough without having Lydia Metcalfe in the vicinity.' He shook his head sadly. 'The prince was such a vital and valiant man, Mrs Shackleton. Not many men who are ladies' men are also men's men, but he was.'

'Mr Sergeant, would you please have the Rolls brought to the front of the hotel?' A brilliant thought struck me. If Lydia could be driven to her relations in style, she may agree to go willingly.

'I will.' He grimaced. 'She is not an easy person to deal with. Do you want me to come up with you?'

'No. It will be better if I speak to her alone. Have a pot of tea and toasted teacakes sent up.'

I would like something, even if she did not.

'Huh! It will take more than currant teacakes to bring her to some semblance of civility.'

Lydia Metcalfe lay on the bed. One leg anch.o.r.ed her to the floor. I wondered whether the room might be spinning round her. The empty gin bottle lay on the bedside cabinet.

'Miss Metcalfe, are you awake?'

A groan.

'Lydia, it's Kate Shackleton. We spoke earlier.'

'Haven't lost my marbles since this morning. I know who you are.'

'And I know that you have heard the news about Narayan. I am so sorry that you heard in such an unfortunate way.'

She began to cry. 'That creeping miserable toad wants to burn him. He's already burned his clothes.'

'What do you mean?'