‘Yes, Mrs Stellion. Ellen told me to bring Coco back and to go and help. But there’s worse news. Mrs Thwaite has slipped on the wet floor and I think she may have broken her arm.’

Mrs Stellion stood up, putting a cooling hand to her forehead in her accustomed manner. ‘Oh, but this is terrible. I must go to her.’

‘Uncle Tom, Mum and Nell are there seeing to her,’ said Gina, settling Coco in his basket.

‘If her arm is broken she will need to go to hospital at once,’ said Mrs Stellion. ‘I must find out.’ She made for the door.

Gina thought quickly. ‘Don’t go and slip on the floor too,’ she said. ‘Let the others bring Mrs Thwaite safely out into the dry and then you’ll be able to see how bad she is. I couldn’t bear it if you were hurt too.’

‘Dear child …’ Mrs Stellion touched her hand to Gina’s cheek in a motherly way. ‘Get your waterproofs and wellies on, Gina, and then at least you’ll be quite safe. I’ll go and see what I can do and I promise not to get my feet wet.’

They left the room together, shutting Coco in, and then parted ways in the hall, Gina to fetch her coat and boots and Mrs Stellion to tend to her ailing housekeeper.

She found Mrs Thwaite lying wetly on the corridor carpet, holding her arm and moaning in pain.

‘Do you think you could stand, Mrs Thwaite?’ she asked. ‘Come and lie down on the sofa in my husband’s study.’ She moved the vacuum cleaner out of the way and opened the door. Then Tom and Dora helped the housekeeper to her feet, careful to avoid touching her arm, and manoeuvred her into the room.

‘Such a stupid thing to do,’ wept Mrs Thwaite, her bedraggled hair dripping down her soaking back and the hem of her skirt clinging and heavy with rainwater. ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Stellion. I was only trying to help.’

‘Sit down and let’s look at that arm,’ Mrs Stellion said.

‘No, don’t touch it!’ screeched the housekeeper.

‘I think it must be broken and you must go to hospital,’ said Mrs Stellion. ‘I shall go and telephone for an ambulance.’

‘No need,’ said a voice from the corridor. George Stellion appeared, still wearing his motoring gloves. ‘I shall drive Mrs Thwaite to the hospital myself. It will be quicker.’

‘Oh, George, thank goodness you’ve come.’

‘I can see what’s happened, Edith. Come along, Mrs Thwaite, let me help you to the car,’ he said. He assisted the groaning woman through the house and out of the front door. His enormous shiny car was parked at the foot of the steps.

‘Lean on me, Mrs Thwaite,’ he offered, holding an umbrella over her.