I laughed right along with Brooks, although I didn't feel much like laughing. I felt like beating the dust out of some of the divan pillows for fun and giggles while pretending it was myself.  Maybe I would. I was both ashamed and terribly put out by my own actions. I'd need time to work through this new perspective before I approached James again.

I simply hoped he wouldn't come in that night. I didn't know what I would do if he did. 

The sounds of crashing and banging coming from the kitchen continued and I assumed Daniels, our kitchen manager, would probably be washing one of the night assistant's heads for knocking things around fairly soon.

I started to give some witty retort, but was cut off by the sound of a screamed order. 

"Douse them! Douse all the flames! NOW!" 

Both Brooks and I stared at each other wide-eyed. 

All I could think when I bolted into the corridor was where the gas lines in the house ran and how many men were theoretically near a source of danger if flames reached the gas drums. 

A fire was the worst thing that could happen at Cloud Hill. Not only because of the damage it would do, but large fires were a common trigger. The impact of being near a large blaze might cause hysteria among some of the men, and then who knew what would happen.  

As I sprinted down the main corridor and swerved left into the next one, I could hear the voice, louder now, shouting more orders.  

"Fetch Murphy, Dumfries and Hammond!!" That was clearly Daniels, whose voice rose above the cacophony of continuously smashing pots and God knew what else.  

I skidded and caught myself against the kitchen doorway a good several yards before Brooks. For a moment, I stood shocked as I took in the scene. 

Pots, cutlery, chunks of food, pans, the herb rack, containers of spices all thrown higgledy-piggledy and in the middle of the chaos stood Montgomery, blindly hurling anything he could get his hands on and bellowing like a steer.    

Montgomery. I hadn't seen him in months. 

He lived alone in one of the gamekeeper's huts, helping with tending and monitoring the wooded areas of Cloud Hill. Towards the end of the war, a German flamethrower had badly burnt most of the left side of his body -- including his face. The medics had done their best, but  he still looked like something out of a horror tale, one eyelid strangely melted into the rest of the rough skin that even now somehow resembled raw meat. His hair was long and looked like it had been trimmed with a knife. It probably had been. 

Daniels was in one corner, a large stew pot held in front of himself like a shield. Lewis had taken cover behind the eight-hob stove and Patterson was squeezed into a corner holding a iron hook in one hand and a meat cleaver in the other, looking for all the world like he was ready to take on an entire battalion of enemy soldiers.

"Steady on, man!" Daniels screamed, deflecting a flying ladle with his stew-pot shield. "The fire's been put out! It's out! Gone! You're safe!" 

A terracotta pot exploded into shards as it slammed into the wall near Patterson, sending onions flying in every direction like crazed, brown tennis balls. 

I hastily ran through all the possibilities for disarming him in my mind. He was reacting far too violently to be approached directly; we'd have to do something else. 

At that moment, the hulking shapes of several men appeared in the kitchen garden doorway. For a few moments we all looked at each other, attempting to agree upon a feasible strategy through eye-contact. 

Daniels chose for us. He picked up a wooden spoon and threw it, screaming "Montgomery!"

Montgomery reacted instinctually, putting all of his concentration on barraging Daniels. That turned him almost entirely away from the doors, moving the rest of us out of his line of sight. 

Without pausing to think, I rushed forward like a rugby player.  Dodging and jumping scattered kitchen implements, I tackled Montgomery around the waist, knocking us both to the ground. I hadn't managed to clamp either of Montgomery's arms when I'd grabbed him, and it was only moments before I got an elbow rammed into my neck.  

In what seemed like a long several seconds, indeed, I felt myself being peeled off Montgomery and left to stare at the backs of nightshirts raining down on the struggling, bellowing man.  Suddenly, I was lifted up. 

"Olivia!" It was Brooks half-carrying me, half-dragging me out of the fray, kicking aside debris as he went. I felt an extra pair of hands hauling me up by the waist and realized it was Patterson trying to get me back on my own two feet.   

"It was the gas flames on the stove!" Daniels shouted. "That triggered him!"   

"They're out! We done doused 'em all!" Lewis cried, his voice shaking, both hands clapped on his head as he peered over the side of the stove, too terrified to come out. 

Once I'd got my balance, I put out my hand towards him. "Lewis, calm, calm. The danger's over. You did the right thing. Everything is normal now. It's all normal. Everything is back to normal." 

My throat hurt and it was a bit difficult to speak. 

"That's right, lad. Good work. You, too, Patterson. It'll take more than that to shake us," said Brooks, in a valiant attempt to sound fatherly. 

"Aye, Sir," replied Patterson, who was breathing just as heavily as the rest of us. 

More forms appeared in the kitchen garden doorway. I wondered how far the din had travelled out over the back lawns. Had they heard it all the way down at the Infirmary? They must have. The ones who were awake, at any rate. 

The three summoned men had managed to lift Montgomery, two holding his legs and one with his arms wrapped around Montgomery's chest.  The poor man was crying and moaning terribly now, the noise echoing off the tiles and amplifying it as they rushed him towards the garden.  

"Make way! Make way, damn you!" 

The shadowy forms shot back from the doorway as if scalded, and the emergency rescue squad disappeared with their charge out into the night. 

"He'll need a quiet room and minders when they've finished with him," I said to Brooks after a few moments.  Turning to Daniels who was still armed with his stew pot and staring in disbelief at the mess his kitchen had become, I said, "Daniels! We'll need some of the special quieting tea, if you please?" 

The 'special quieting tea' was poppy seed extract, opium, in other words. But only he and a handful of others knew that. The rest of the men thought it was simply terribly strong Chamomile.   

Daniels nodded, but stayed firmly rooted to the spot. 

He was a good man, and a fine cook, but the war had left him with such a burning hatred of officers that he steadfastly refused to take orders from anyone ever again. You asked Daniels to do something, you never told him. I decided to leave him to his post. 

The figures were still bunched around the doorway, but looking away into the darkness now. Intermittently, bawls and cries could be heard, but they grew less and less frequent. 

"How about Edward's salon?" Brooks asked. "That's small enough, and the divan is comfortable." 

"Perfect," I said, rubbing my throat. 

 "Are you all right, Miss?" Patterson asked, concern furrowing his brow.

"Yes, I'm fine," I said, gulping a bit.

"Fine, but bleeding it would appear." He pointed to my elbow where my sleeve had a rip and the skin underneath was scraped. I hadn't noticed.  

I smiled and patted him reassuringly on the shoulder. "Nothing a spot of tea won't mend. Let's see to it that enough gets brewed up, all right? Montgomery won't be the only bashed pumpkin to come in tonight even if he'll be the loudest. It looks like Lewis might also need a cuppa." I gestured with my eyes towards the still cowering man. 

"Yes, Miss. Right away." But Patterson didn't move either. 

I went upstairs to tend to my elbow and Brooks shuffled off to prepare Edward's salon, shaking his head and mumbling as he went.

There were fewer guests in the course of that night than I'd expected, but news of Montgomery's dramatic episode travelled quickly. By the next morning, every man-jack of them had heard about it. 

James included.