“Who?” said Mary.
“Carey and—and poor young Patch. And Mrs. Harter is hurt, too, but she’s conscious.”
Claire came down and Mary turned to her.
The General leaned forward out of his seat.
“Don’t let the women come. It’s ghastly. Patch was killed on the spot. The spare wheel came down on his head—broke his neck. They’re taking them to the cottage hospital—all but Harter. He’s down there—he somehow escaped. Old Carey is jammed between the car and the parapet—dead, they think, but they can’t get him out. Can you send down one or two of the men?”
Claire had already rung the bell violently, and we heard the servants coming hurriedly. General Kendal helped his wife out of the car. She was white-faced and shaking. We knew afterwards that the girls had been told to walk home from the scene of the accident, but that poor Mrs. Kendal had valiantly refused to let her husband come back to us by himself.
“Let me leave her here. I’ll take the men back with me,” said the General.
The two men who were ready first sprang into the car, and when I got in myself I found Claire already there.
“Get out, Claire,” I said abruptly. “It’s not fit for you, and you couldn’t help them.”
“I am coming,” said Claire tensely.