"Certainly, Miss Carrie," said Alfred, but she hung up before he could manage any more. "I can only assume from your tone of voice that you've found a new and creative way to injure yourself," he added to no one. Alfred had been dusting when he received Carrie's call, which generally took up a large amount of time, given the size of Wayne Manor. Young Master Dick would help when he too wasn't otherwise occupied wounding himself.
Alfred picked a car with a soft, plush interior out of pity for Carrie's likely condition, and bad shocks out of exasperation at Carrie's likely condition. He drove as fast as he could, avoiding the speed limit with practiced ease. It wasn't long before he arrived and found the girl lying back, suspiciously relaxed, and out of costume. He hurried to her side and looked her over. Her eyes followed him, so she was awake; perhaps she didn't feel up to speaking. Kneeling down, he helped her to her feet and pressed a clean handkerchief to her forehead. "One should make every attempt to keep one's blood inside the body, Miss Carrie," he reminded her gently.