We were halfway back to Greenbriers when the Rolls Royce Silver Ghost came bursting forth out of the mist that concealed the road. The vehicle skidded to a halt, and Lady Genie flung open the passenger door, not waiting for the chauffeur to come around and open it for her.
I stared at her stupidly. She wore a dressing gown, her hair hung down her back in a single long, pale braid, and she was carrying a hunting rifle that looked all business.
And coming up the road hard behind her seemed to be all the men of the household, mounted on horses or riding in carts.
“Good God, what are you wearing?” And then her lips parted in shock as the early dawn revealed her son’s bruised face and blood-soaked hair. “Thomas!” Her attitude became brisk. “Get him into the Rolls, Roddy. I’ll have Ware drive
