realise I had to run for help.
As I turned to go he called out. He wouldn’t let me leave, and wanted me to stay and help him stand. It took a minute or two, but as soon as he could get up he leaned against me for support and we hobbled back out into the rain. He was swaying and the blood was dripping and dissolving in the puddles as we made our way along the path. I remember sayingover and over how sorry I was and he kept wincing and gasping that it would all be all right. Such painfully slow progress. He felt more of the pain and I felt more of the slowness, but eventually we got to the house. By now he was a strange, pale-grey colour and I was so panicked that I’d started to cry. He closed his eyes as he slumped down on the first couch in the smaller sitting room and I ran up to the Professor’s office yelling for help all the way.
Soon everyone was around, bending over Stephen, getting me to breathe and calm down, shouting to get a doctor, running for towels and something to stop the bleeding from Stephen’s head.
I couldn’t even see at that point as my glasses had fallen off at some stage, and I was crying so hard I couldn’t explain what had happened. I just remember them saying, ‘He’s fine’ to me over and over, and saying, ‘She’s fine’ to Stephen who obviously never knew me to be capable of having such a complete nervous breakdown and was probably concerned that if I lost any more of the plot I might end up knocking down a chandelier or two and levelling The Grange.
I am writing this from bed since the doctor insisted I rest too, but thought that a cold from the wetclothes was my only danger (I managed to sneak back to the library to fetch this while everyone else was having dinner). Someone went and found my glasses when I was with the doctor, so at least I can see to write.
Stephen had a mild concussion, bruising to his chest, and a head wound that needed four stitches. He is asleep in the room next door and probably won’t be waking up until he’s twenty and I am long gone from here. Everyone keeps saying it wasn’t my fault, but it was, and now he won’t be in the film anymore and we’ll never find out about the break-ins or the necklace. It feels like the curse of the necklace is coming true piece by piece.
This is way beyond the kind of thing that three biscuits and a cup of tea could solve. I usually only ruin dinner, or my chances with Nick, or a joke, or maybe my own reputation as a normal person. This time I have gone and ruined EVERYTHING.
DAY TWENTY-TWO
I woke really late this morning feeling a bit wobbly, and I couldn’t face Stephen. I was thinking about moving home, but Professor Brown said that my moving out would make his son feel far worse than a bang on the head would ever do. I told Ro and Paul about what we’d been up to and their take on it was that if Stephen had been there alone the shelf might have fallen anyway, so it was lucky I was there to help. The logic in that is slightly twisted in my favour, but it was lovely of them to want me to feel happier.
Paul said that Stephen slept through the night and Ro visited him after breakfast. Apparently he wants to see me, but I can’t face him, so I’m going to write him a note and send it in when Miss Higgins brings his lunch.
TWO HOURS LATER
My note to Stephen read:
Dear Mr Brown ,
I can only suppose that neither my glasses nor my rude manners were good enough weapons of destruction over the past few days hence my having to resort to the old ‘shelf trick’. No doubt I will manage to finish you off completely if I actually ever make you a cup of tea instead of just fetching one. ‘Sorry’ doesn’t cover it. Please let me give you my brother Paul by way of compensation. Really, keep him.
Yours generously,
Miss Lemony Smith .
I also got the reference books from the library, the one with all the plans of The Grange and the others he had piled there, and asked Miss Higgins to deliver those to