“I think your father will have someone take us home,” Long said. He couldn't afford any more doctors, and in any case there was little to do but strap the shoulder and keep it still. He just wished the man would hurry; the sun had gone and his clothes were soaked. He stifled a shiver, then grunted at the effects the motion had on his grating bones; the child saw, and frowned.

“Are you cold?” she asked, and without waiting for an answer, stood and pulled herself over the front seat, balancing over the seat with her feet dangling free while she stretched down, then slid back clutching the corner of the plaid travelling-rug the man had wrapped around his wife. Ignoring Long's protests, she arranged it over him, tucking the thick, soft wool around his knees in a child's imitation of adult nurturing. “There,” she said, admiring her handiwork, and then looked up at an approaching figure.

It was the stern woman from before, come to snatch her employer's child from the wicked Orientals. She yanked the car door open and, without sparing the Longs a glance, pointed one finger at the ground by her feet.

“Come out here.” Her command brooked no argument, but to Tom's astonishment, the infant's chin came up and her eyes narrowed.

“Papa said to take care of them.”

The woman's eyes flashed and she reached over Long's knees for the child. “Your father didn't intend for you to sit in a dark motor with a pair of heathen—”

“Miss MacPherson!” The male voice from behind her gave the woman pause; with a glance at the wide-eyed faces of Tom and his father, she stood back from the car door.

“The child—” was as far as she got.

“We'll be fine, Miss MacPherson. Perhaps you could go and heat some water for the doctor, and see if Philips needs any more warm bricks for my wife's feet. Thank you.”

The woman hesitated on the brink of insubordination, then thought the better of it and stalked away. The blond man laid one arm across the roof of the car and leant inside, his unruly hair falling forward onto his high brow.

“Sorry about her,” he said. “She becomes a bit mother-hennish. Let's get you in and comfortable. The doctor will be here in a minute.”

Long tried to protest, but the man already had his hands on Long's legs to swing them to the ground. He seemed to sense which motions would be difficult for a man with a bad shoulder, and his supporting hand was there to help. In moments, the man was propping his damp, sand-clotted Chinese guest on an immense leather sofa before a fire and giving succinct orders to the servants who appeared.