315 MONICA FAIRVIEW Gatley was lying in a muddy patch by the wayside. There was blood on his head, and he was unnaturally still. She stood, staring helplessly at him. "Is he--?" The coachman and the groom were leaning over him. They looked up when they heard her. "No need to worry, Miss Darcy," said the coachman. "He's alive. Though he's had a right knock on the head. Head wounds always look worse than they really are though." Georgiana, weak with relief, drew closer. She crouched down next to him. Slowly, she ran her hand across his cheek. He was so unlike himself, so unmoving and pale. Clarissa crouched next to her, and put her arm around her shoulder. "If you don't mind, we'll carry him and lay him in the carriage," said the coachman. His words brought to her the awareness that she ought to be in control of the situation. She stood up decisively. He was alive, and he needed help. That was the important thing now. "Yes, yes," she said. "We should get him home as quickly as possible." "If you don't mind, Miss Darcy, it might be better not to rattle him too much." "Of course not," said Georgiana, pursing her lips together in thought.
