Bernes refused to stay on the grassy floor, the stillness of the two next to him sent fear into his bones. He got onto his knees, growling through the searing pain in his side, and bent over Edith who was on his left.
"Mr, I don't think you should be getting up. Sir! The ambulance will be here soon."
Everything about Edith was still, except for her eyelids which fluttered fleetingly. Or had he just imagined it? Now she was statue-like. Bernes placed trembling hands over her chest, closing his eyes, willing and praying himself to feel a heartbeat. And there was nothing. Her chest wouldn't even rise for breath. He moved his fingers under her scratched nose, there was no intake of air. He put his ear close, there was no sound. No movement.
Before her knew what he was doing, he tilted up her head upwards, and placed the heel of his hand in the centre of her chest.
...
And then there was colour. Hospital lights screamed down at his pupils, Bernes was lying perched up by a firm bed. He tried sitting up further, realising this was a bad idea, he groaned, his head felt like a rock. "Sir, you need to lay back down."
Moaning, he dropped his head back on what seemed to be a pillow of foam. "So I'm not dead, then."
"No, you're not. But you have a broken rib, and I've only just relocated your kneecap," answered the voice, it was firm yet concerned, and was accompanied with the figure of a short woman who reminded him of Mrs Patmore.
"Well, thanks for doing that while I was out - Lady Edith! A-and Mr Crawley - I - where are they?"
"All in good time. Lay back down!" She came round to his side of the bed with the deafening click of heels and peered closely at him, making checks, sticking fingers near his eyes and then attending to her clipboard.
"Where are they, please?"
"Private quarters."
"But - oh. And," Bernes brushed his left side. "I don't feel it anymore - agh - I can hardly feel anything. It's nauseating."
"That'd be the morphine. You're extremely fortunate, young man, I'll have you know. Not many come out of what you've just been through without losing limbs, memory or life. You do have a severe concussion though, but you've come round which is a very good sign."
"So that's why I ache like-"
"Please try to rest, now that you're awake I'll need to conduct more examinations in a few minutes. Then you'll get to eat if all is permitting, Lord knows you look like you need it," the nurse clicked over to the other side of the bed and then disappeared behind a screen.
...
"You've broken your arm, shattered your humerus, M'lady. I'm sorry, it needs to stay in that cast, don't try to move it if you will," Dr Clarkson ordered warmly, shaking his head.
"S-sorry, but I -I think I'm going to vomit again," Edith grated into a bowl for the third time. Her complexion was a pallid rainbow of bruises, etiolated with sleep deprivation and hunger, grazes arranged themselves around her forehead and chin. There was a bloodied scratch tearing down her nostril to the side of her lip; and she could feel it all. "Oooomh," she sobbed. The blood had finally stopped running down her nose. She was now in a warm hospital gown, her feet wrapped in cotton, they were sore under the layers of ointment and bandage.
"How's your vision now?" Dr Clarkson had finally stopped making her follow the end of his pen with her eyes, and his little torch was now safely in his pocket.
"Oh, I don't know," Edith blinked.
"And there's still a tingling in the back of your neck, from the whiplash?"
"Yes... Please, just tell me where you took Matthew. And where's Bernes?"
"I'm sorry, but your questions will be answered soon."
"But, but Matthew looked really bad Dr Clarkson. You would tell me..."
"Look, you and Mr Bernes were very fortunate to have been thrown out of the vehicle instead of taking as much impact, is what I'm told, and so far, you're both conscious which is very positive, seeing as that was only an hour ago. I was told you were resuscitated by that young man... and I think he might have just saved you from fatality, which is remarkable considering his state. "
The realisation threw Edith under another current of emotion. She had experienced enough emotion to last herself the rest of her life, which it looked like she had. "Oh, oh," there were more tears parading down her battered cheeks. "... And Matthew?"
"He's not so conscious, M'lady," the doctor sighed reluctantly.
"No, no, no - not... well not dead though, of course?"
"He seems to have suffered an extreme concussion, resulting in what looks like a coma, M'lady. Nothing is certain yet, nobody is to know what damage has been done or what hasn't, or when he will wake, for that matter."
"OH!" Edith cried out, collapsing into her lap.
"For now we can only attend to his bone fractures, dislocations and bleeding."
Edith was unresponsive.
"I'm very sorry, M'lady. Your family are on their way. They will be here before the police."
