“That I can’t tell you. But put the hankie aside and take this cotton wool instead. Let’s see if the flow is diminishing.”
Belinda cautiously obeyed. The cotton wool showed seepage rather than the previous flood of blood.
With the doctor’s arrival, most of the gawkers had scattered to find something else to gawk at. The donkey man had rounded up his animals and was tethering them. Edgar, having presented the winner of the race with his five bob, came over with anxious queries.
Reassured, he said, “Given the alternative attraction, the lad had to make do without public acclaim. You’ll be a nine days’ wonder, Belinda.”
“I do’t want to be a wonder,” Bel said crossly, starting to sit up.
Dr. Hopcroft pushed her down. “Flat on your back for quarter of an hour,” he ordered.
“But it’s trickling down my throat! It tastes disgusting.”
“I’ve set my stopwatch for fifteen minutes, Bel.” Derek held up his watch for her to see.
“Not a minute longer!”
The doctor smiled down at her. “That should do it. Stuff a bit of cotton wool up each nostril. That will absorb some. And when you get up, if it starts bleeding seriously again, back down on your back at once.”
Bel sighed. “I hope my nose won’t be swollen.”
“Cold compresses, and send for me if it starts bleeding freely again.”
“Have I lost a lot of blood?”
“Good gracious, no! You could spare a pint or two yet. I’m off.” He strode away towards the fortune-teller’s tent.
Ben examined Belinda’s nose gravely. “It looks all right. Apart from the blood.”
“I’ll send someone with water and cloths to clean you up a bit,” said Edgar. “I have to go and present some more prizes. Good heavens, look, there’s a Scarlet Tiger!”
They all looked round nervously, before reminding themselves who was speaking, and spotting the bright-coloured butterfly.
“I don’t have my net with me,” Edgar lamented. “What’s it doing in this crowd? It should be by the water.”
“It was attracted by your blood, Bel,” said Derek. “It looks as if it dipped its wings in it.”
“Does not!”
Attention was diverted by the arrival of the donkey man. Scowling, he demanded, “What did the young miss do to my Bonnie to make her behave so?”
Alec said sharply, “My daughter did nothing. You shouldn’t be letting kids ride on such a dangerous animal.”
“Ho, dangerous is it? I’d have you know Bonnie’s never done aught like it in her life before! Gentle as a lamb and calm as a dove, saving she don’t like flashing lights. I don’t never take her out at night, but ’tis broad daylight here and now. No one using ’lectric torches or them motor lamps, stands to reason.”
Derek suggested, “Maybe some village brat in the crowd hit her with a peashooter.”
“A pea wouldn’t bother her none,” the man said contemptuously. He narrowed his eyes. “Mind, I’m not saying a stone from a catapult wouldn’t make her shy.”
Ben raised a tentative voice. “About flashing lights. That’s what happened to me. A light flashed in my eyes, and I put up my hand to block it.”
“And that’s when Bel pulled ahead,” Daisy recalled.
“I bet the same light flashed in the donkey’s eyes,” said Derek. “Don’t you think so, Uncle Alec?”
“Could be.” He turned back to the donkey man. “Well, we’ll say no more about the beast’s manners.”
“I’m not doing no more races. Talked me into it, they did. Rides for little kids, that’s what my donkeys do. And a good day to you, sir.” He stalked back towards his patient beasts.
The district nurse bustled up in her witchy costume, bearing a flask of water and a roll of lint. “His lordship sent me, Mrs. Fletcher. Well, now, Miss Belinda, looks like your poor nose copped it good and proper. Let’s get you cleaned up a bit. I never saw an accident like this in your future, I must admit.”
Daisy and Alec and the boys stepped back to let her get at her patient.
An accident? Daisy was beginning to wonder. “Alec, don’t you think it’s rather too much of a coincidence—”
He gave her slight shake of the head, his lips compressed. She abandoned the subject for the present.
A couple of minutes of scrubbing and one loud “Ow!” from Belinda left her face more or less normal, apart from the lint sticking out of her nose. Her yellow frock was a disaster, fit only for the rubbish bin. Admittedly, even before the nosebleed, after her various pastimes of the afternoon, culminating in riding the donkey, it hadn’t been fit for much but the rag bag.