“Well, you’ve had quite an adventure, Mrs Rookwood! But George will probably be put in the cells when he comes back for aiding and abetting you.”
“He didn’t,” she said, speaking more naturally. “I did it all on my own, but he was awfully glad to see me when I turned up.”
“Where did you leave them, Sergeant?”
“About thirty miles from Sigala, sir. Major Kinsella knew the way back was safe as he had just come along it and found it perfectly clear. But we had to ride hard.”
“Yes; you must all be fagged out. Mrs Rookwood, the best thing you can do is to get to bed at once. But finding a bed for you is another matter.”
He turned round in a half-appealing way to the group of women who had been standing behind him, but at the very suspicion of being asked to do anything for such a person as Mrs Rookwood almost every skirt disappeared like magic. In the twinkling of an eye there was no one to be seen but the spiteful Dutch woman and me, the tabooed of all tabooees.
“Miss Saurin”—he began in a persuasive voice.
“Of course,” I said, smiling at his distress, “I shall be delighted to do anything I can for Mrs Rookwood if she will let me. I’m afraid all the cosiest corners are gone, though,” I said to her, “and nothing but desks and mail-bags left to sleep on. But you’re welcome to share all we’ve got—and I’m sure Mrs Marriott will say so too.”
At this casual information she for some occult reason burst into tears, and stood there sobbing with her hands over her face. Poor Colonel Blow stared at her in dismay.
“She’s tired,” I said, “and hungry, too, I expect. Come along, Mrs Rookwood. I’ll serve you up one of my famous French suppers before you go to bed. Colonel, will you have the kit from her horse sent in, please?”