Nan knelt down beside him. She pulled out a handkerchief and pushed his tousled hair back from his face. There was an ugly gash in his forehead. Dr. Prescott felt his pulse. It was faint. Together, they raised him to the seat.
They called for the coachman. There was no answer. They exchanged significant glances. “Do you suppose he was hurt, too?” Grace could hardly speak she was so frightened.
Laura made a move to get out, but as she did so old James Blake stirred. “Dinna go out there,” he murmured as he slowly opened his eyes. He looked around. His eyes found Nan and he reached out and touched her. “I dinna ken what it’s all aboot,” he said weakly and seemed about to drop off again. He caught himself.
He raised his hand and tried to push the door open. It was stuck. He knocked at it weakly with his fist. Then he kicked at it and it flew open.
“Hey, up there,” he called to the coachman.
There was no answer. He got out, slowly and painfully. Nan followed and took his arm. He patted hers reassuringly.
“Better take care, lass,” he murmured, half stumbling, half walking around to the front of the coach. Nan shook herself impatiently as an eerie feeling came over her. Nevertheless, it was comforting to hear someone descend from the coach at her back.
“Be careful, Nan.” Dr. Prescott’s voice came through the darkness.
“Can I help you?” It was Laura’s tone, low and confident.
“We’re all right,” Nan called back. She stood now, next to James Blake looking up at the coachman’s seat. It was empty!