“He’s gone to the terraces,” said Simmons quickly to the other man, and followed him.
Launce ran and thrust his hand into the old man’s. “I must go too,” he said piteously.
Simmons wrapped a shawl round him and they went out into the gardens.
The wind and the sand were almost more than sight and breath could bear. Launce felt that the life must be blown out of his body. Another old man, Bassey, the shepherd, staggered up to them, caught his other arm, and the three struggled to the lower terrace where nearly all the household were gathered. Uncle Will was standing at the head of the stone steps; the others stayed apart from him. Only their eyes never left him, except to look along the lost and blinded road for Geoffrey and Lucia.
Sheltered by the other, Launce could catch breath and think. He longed to go to his uncle, but dared not. He was so sorry for Uncle Will, so fond of him. But oh, the others, the others—
“D’ye think he’ll bring her back?” shouted one of the grooms. He shouted, but it came as a whisper.
“There’ll be naught else to do—”
“Nay, I didn’t mean that. Will he get her through?”
“If Master Geoffrey had the mind, Simmons, he’d get her through hell.”
The cook broke in angrily. “Bad luck to you, and Master Launce at your very gaiters, and he but a child.”