I think not, Annabel. An audible crack sounded in the kitchen and Mark slumped backwards, unconscious. “These are the sort of things that aren’t supposed to happen. “Then I will do what I can,” Anna promised. She put a hand to the lad’s cold cheek and choked on a sob. She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens. In mid-bite, she heard a car door slam that was recognizable. I promise not to do it again. Before Wood had time to inquire into the cause of this sound, his attention was diverted by a man, who rushed past the entry with the swiftness of desperation.
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