“Your father doesn’t need blood,” one of them replied. “Of course, if we do surgery—”
“No, you don’t understand,” Stella cried. “Their blood can save him!”
“Let me talk to her,” Matthew said. “She’s in shock.” He took Stella by the elbow and steered her away from the doctors and into their father’s room.
“I can’t save Edward,” Matthew said. “I’m sorry, Stella. It doesn’t work that way.”
“Why not?” Stella demanded. She turned on Phoebe. “You do it, then. Or are you too selfish to share your good fortune with the rest of us?”
One of Edward’s machines made a high-pitched sound, then another. Medical personnel flooded into the room, reading machines, having urgent conversations, and checking Edward’s vitals. Marcus drew Phoebe into the corner, where she would not be in the way.
“Let the doctors do their work,” Marcus said when she protested.
“Is he . . .” Phoebe stopped, unable to say the words.
Padma let Matthew lead her slightly away from the bed. She trembled, and he put his hand on her shoulder, lending her what little comfort she could. Padma turned in to his arms, her shoulders shaking with grief.
“If you let him die, I’ll never forgive you, Phoebe,” Stella said, her voice filled with fury. “Never. His death will be your fault.”
But Edward did not die. The doctors were able to save him with a long and arduous surgery, though the damage to his heart was significant and his prognosis was still guarded. Though it took some convincing, we managed to get the Taylors to leave the hospital once Edward was out of recovery and into the cardiac ICU. We took them back to Freyja’s, rather than to their hotel, so that they could all be together. Matthew had advised a mild sedative for Padma, who had not slept in days.
Freyja put Padma and Stella in a suite that overlooked the gardens. Miriam sent Phoebe up to her own rooms to rest. She’d taken one look at her daughter, given Marcus a good sniff, and informed Phoebe that this was neither a request nor open to further discussion. Phoebe, exhausted by all that had happened, put up a minor protest but was in the end persuaded by Fran?oise.
Charles fussed over Marcus, but he refused blood and wine. Matthew took both.
“It’s always the same,” Matthew said. “Every warmblood thinks that a second chance at life is the answer to their prayers.”
“Of course it’s not,” Miriam said. “It’s just another opportunity to do everything wrong all over again.”
“I learned that the hard way—in New Orleans.” Marcus stood by the empty fireplace, staring at the door through which Phoebe had left.
“What happens now?” Miriam asked Matthew. “There’s no point in pretending we’ve stuck to the rules. Marcus might as well stay.”
“Phoebe’s not staying here,” Marcus said flatly. “I want her at home. Away from Stella. Edward is stable. The doctors will tell us if there’s any change.”
“Pickering Place is too small,” Freyja said. “And there’s nowhere to hunt—not even a garden—unless you are willing to have Phoebe roam Piccadilly Circus.”
“Marcus is thinking of Sept-Tours, Freyja.” Matthew took out his phone. “I’ll call Maman. If that’s all right with you, Miriam?”
Miriam considered her options. I was used to her quick reactions. This thoughtful side of Miriam was unexpected—and welcome.
“If Phoebe wants to go with you, I won’t oppose it,” she said at last.
* * *
—
WE TRAVELED DOWN TO SEPT-TOURS that night, hoping that the darkness would make the journey more bearable for Phoebe. She and Marcus sat together in the backseat, her head on his shoulder, their hands knotted together. Fran?oise sat next to them like a Victorian chaperone, though she spent most of her time looking out the window rather than at her charges.
Ysabeau was waiting for us, as we knew she would be. She had heard the car’s approach, the sound of the engine and the crunch of tires on gravel the only early warning system she needed.
She helped Phoebe out of the car.
“You must be tired,” Ysabeau said, kissing her on both cheeks. “We will sit quietly together, and listen to the birds as they wake. I always find that very restful, in times like these. Fran?oise will draw you a bath first.”
Marcus came around the car with a small case of Phoebe’s clothes. “I’ll get you settled.”