Before he left, Elizabeth knew Benbett would tenderly place the sticky buns on a beautiful Meissen plate, covered to keep them warm, and put it into Dr. Benton-Johns’s hands.
He nodded to the earl and countess but addressed Rome. “Since you are in law enforcement, I will assume Lady Elizabeth’s gunshot wound has been reported to the authorities?”
“Yes, and she’s given them a statement.”
“Then I need take no further action. Benbett, I daresay it’s time for another cup of tea for our young lady, perhaps with a touch of his lordship’s fine Oporto brandy. Now, if you don’t feel tip-top in a couple of days, go to hospital. You will wish to consult with a cosmetic surgeon in any case to reduce the chance of scarring. Now I’m off. Mrs. Hudson is in labor as we speak. Thank you all for this unexpectedly exciting day, more for me, I daresay, than for you.” He left the drawing room, with Benbett at his side, carrying the sticky buns.
Elizabeth was soon sipping hot tea, this time laced with brandy, and chewing on a sticky bun of her own, wondering which of her mother’s Hermès scarves would hide the bandage on her neck. She closed her eyes a moment against the voices talking around her. She had so many questions for Khaled, the undercover agent, and for Mr. Eiserly. Most of all, she wanted to face down Adara Said, maybe put her hands around her neck and shake her a bit.
She heard Rome say, “I don’t think the rental company is going to like what happened to their Vauxhall Corsa.”
Her father said in his firm, crisp voice, “After they hear the news about the shootout, they’ll be talking about it endlessly.”
Millicent said, “Speaking of wounded vehicles, my poor Bentley Flying Spur will be repaired by Tuesday. Perhaps we should buy a more stately Bentley, like a Mulsanne. What do you think, Sebastian?”
Elizabeth stared at her father when he laughed. So handsome he was, even more so now he no longer looked scared and angry. He stroked his chin. “Or perhaps a Porsche, Milly—you could outrun all those unsavory malcontents.”
Elizabeth slowly sat up, bringing everyone’s attention back to her. “Rome, I want to go to St. George’s after all. Not about my neck—I want to see Adara Said. I imagine John Eiserly and Khaled Aziz might be there. I’m hoping they at last know who is behind all this misery.”
Rome wanted to order her not to move a finger, maybe take a nap, but he understood. He looked at that stubborn jaw, the determination. “All right, we’ll go. Sir, ma’am, please don’t worry, she gives me one frown and I’ll bring her right home.”
It obviously wasn’t all right with her parents, but Millicent helped her daughter rise and pulled her against her for a hug. “I know neither your father nor I can dissuade you. But my dearest daughter, if you ever scare me like this again, I will deny you your favorite lemon biscuits until Christmas.”
Elizabeth laughed. “May I borrow a scarf, Mother? Cover the bandage so a doctor doesn’t grab me?”
The earl ran a fingertip over her eyebrows, kissed her cheek. “We love you very much, Elizabeth. I hope you’ll have more luck with Mr. Eiserly than I. He said Adara Said isn’t saying anything.”
In a few minutes Millicent was adjusting a lovely Hermèsscarf around her daughter’s neck to cover the bandage while Rome was in his bedroom reloading two magazines. He wasn’t taking any chances.
The earl gave Rome the key fob to his Range Rover. Elizabeth and her parents stood near the front door, Benbett beside them, while Rome fetched the Range Rover from the garage. Elizabeth kissed her parents and slid into the car. Rome said to her, “If anything hinky happens, this time I’m going to get the neck wound, all right?”
“I think you’d look dashing in an Hermès scarf.”
He put the Range Rover in gear and headed to the road. “I think it’s about time we got this done.”
Chapter Sixty-Four
St. George’s Hospital
St. George’s Road, London
Wednesday
MI5 officer Theodore Bryer rose from his chair outside Adara Said’s hospital room when he saw Mr. Eiserly, flanked by Lady Elizabeth Palmer and a tall dark-haired man he’d never seen before, coming his way.
He stepped forward, eyebrow raised. “Sir. Lady Elizabeth. You’re the American FBI agent?”
“Yes. Rome Foxe.” The two men shook hands.
“Lady Elizabeth, may I say I’m pleased you’re all right. Sir, there are photos and videos of the aftermath of the attack all over the internet. The hospital switchboard is overwhelmed with questions from the media.”
Eiserly nodded. “I’d be astonished if it weren’t.”
“Sir, the nurses are talking, too. Ms. Said is refusing to see her parents, and her father has already complained to the media, claiming his child was fired upon by hoodlums and threatening to call the Home Secretary.”
Eiserly only nodded. He said to Rome and Elizabeth, “Officer Bryer placed a voice-activated recorder under Ms. Said’s bed before she was brought in after a series of tests. We’ll be able to hear and record whatever is said. It’s quite legal, hospital isconsidered a public place. She doesn’t know yet, but I’ve agreed to allow her imam brother up to see her before she’s taken to surgery to repair her left leg. Perhaps we’ll learn whether he was working with her. Is she lucid, Officer Bryer?”
“They’ve given her morphine for her pain, and the nurse told me she’s awake.”
