‘Can one help at all?’ asked Cornelius Cardew.

‘I don’t think so, sir. I’m going for the doctor.’

Cornelius hesitantly approached the group round the prostrate Tom Harker. He heard Tom speak in a loud trembling voice.

‘If my time’s come I’ll go, but I don’t want to be a blind man.’

‘Of course not, Tom. Don’t worry. Doctor West will be here soon.’

Sir Randolph looked up at the men standing round, and caught sight of Gilbert Hartlip. His glance rested on his face, his expression bleak; then he very slightly shook his head. Gilbert’s expression of aloof though solemn calm did not change.

Sir Randolph raised himself onto one knee and looked round for Glass.

‘Tell the men what’s happened, will you, and ask them to go home. Then you’d better tell everyone else to do the same. There’s no point in their waiting around. We don’t want a crowd. Tell them everything’s under control and the best thing they can do is go home. Get a message to Patten to bring the car for Lady Nettleby. And then he’d better bring it down again in case Doctor West wants the use of it. And get a few men to make a litter, will you, something to carry him on if necessary?’

Galvanized by the need for action, Glass hurried about to relay these instructions. Walter Weir produced a flask from his pocket and silently handed it to Sir Randolph, who still kneeling said, ‘Take a drink of this, Tom,’ and held it to Tom’s lips. Tom turned away his head so that the brownish liquid ran down his cheek and mingled with the red blood.

‘Never in my life the worse for drink. No man can say that against me. I have never in my life been the worse for drink.’

‘Of course you haven’t, Tom, we all know that. This is medicinal.’

Tom turned his head back and allowed Sir Randolph to hold the flask to his lips.

‘We’ll get you home as soon as possible.’ Sir Randolph stood up. ‘Or hospital.’ He had suddenly remembered Tom’s home, and that it was more like a badger’s than a man’s, and that the old witch his mother had been dead a few years now. ‘Whatever Doctor West thinks.’

‘My own bed would be a better place for me to die in. I’m not partial to hospitals.’

‘We’re not going to let you die yet,’ said Sir Randolph, but his face remained serious.

He stood beside Tom as if guarding him, looking over the field in the direction from which Doctor West might be expected to come. Gilbert Hartlip, giving as if fastidiously a wide berth to Tom’s feet, came round to Sir Randolph and approaching him on the side furthest from Tom said quietly, ‘Awful thing to happen.’

‘Yes.’

‘It was a woodcock. I’d no chance of getting it unless I’d swung fast. Of course I’d no idea the man was so close.’

Sir Randolph did not speak.