A Bitter Truth

orphanage or another like it.”

“And why is he not seeking this child himself?”

“I have reason to believe that he is. But France is wide, and one child is hard to find.”

“And you do not know how this child is called?”

“If I did,” I said, “it would make my task easier. But I do know what she looks like, and if I see her, it’s possible that I will recognize her.”

He considered me for a moment. “There was someone here also searching for a small child. I was not in Calais, you understand, and my housekeeper told this Englishman, an officer, that we could not help him. She was suspicious, you see. She did not think he was”-he looked for the right word-“ ‘ so frantic as a father should be, if his child was missing. ’ ”

“Does she remember when this Englishman came-and what he looked like?”

“It was three weeks ago. I know, because I was in Lille at the time.”

Then it wasn’t George Hughes, trying to discover where the nuns at the convent on the Ypres road had gone. It had to be Roger Ellis.

… so frantic as a father should be, if his child was missing.

“Why then was he searching for the little girl?” I asked, curious.

“I have no idea.” He smiled. “She is afraid, Madame Buvet, that he would take the child to England and rear her as a heretic.”

“Is that so terrible, if she is loved and given a proper home?”

“In the mind of my housekeeper, better an orphan than a heretic.”

“But you have helped me.”

“You are a nursing sister. I believe that you are concerned for the welfare of this little girl.”

“And if the English officer comes again?”

“I shall judge him for myself. And then I shall decide what is best to do.”

I thanked him again, and went out to the motorcar. Three private soldiers from a Yorkshire regiment had lifted the bonnet, and when I appeared, they quickly lowered it again. “Sister,” they said, almost in unison, coming smartly to attention. “May we turn the crank for you?” one of them asked.

I could see then why Major Fielding had feared for the safety of his transport. I was pleased to find that the motor did turn over and nothing appeared to be missing as I drove on.

It was not far to Rouen, as a French crow might fly. But given the heavy traffic of military vehicles and the condition of the roads, I didn’t arrive in the city until well after midnight. For a mercy the town was quiet. The Base Hospital in the old race course was brightly lit, but the motor ambulance convoys, lorries, and omnibuses bringing in the wounded were thin on the ground with the lull in the fighting. Even the trains that brought in many of the wounded were idle. The raw recruits had already marched up from the River Seine and found their billets for the night. No one had the energy to fill the bistros and the corner wine shops at this hour.

This English Base Hospital for the wounded was manned by American doctors and nurses, filling in the decimated ranks of English medical men. Indeed, the shortage had become acute. I’d sent patients to them from the advanced dressing stations and knew that they did good work. But I never quite understood why the permanent buildings at the course had been turned into offices and the wounded were housed in tents.

Ever mindful of the fact that I must return to meet Major Fielding in one more day’s time, I knocked at the door of a house on Rue des Champignons that an elderly gendarme had directed me to in the maze of half-timbered housing in an older quarter near the river.

The sleepy nun acting as porter opened the small peephole in the door and peered out at me. “What do you want of us at this hour, Mademoiselle?” she asked in French heavily accented by the Breton tongue.

“I’m an English nursing sister,” I said, for that she could see for herself. “I’ve come to ask if you have children here, orphans. We treated several children some time ago, and I wish to be certain that they are no longer in need of care.”

“You are from the Base Hospital? But we have no children here, Sister. There is no space for the little ones. We have only the aged and the dying.”

Disappointed, I asked, “But did you have children at one time? There was a very young nun who brought them to me. I’m sorry I don’t remember her name.”

“We have no young nuns here. You must be mistaken. But we did have thirteen children at one time.”

“And where are they now?”

“Here in Rouen.” And she gave me the direction of another house, this one on the Rue St. Jean.

I thanked her and drove on. In the dark, it was very difficult to find this particular house. It was south of the cathedral, and as I crossed the Place in front of it, I looked up at the great west front, the lacey stonework and niches so heavily shadowed in the starlight that they were almost sinister, the faces of the saints dark and unreadable. Above my head, the three great towers were stark against the night sky, the iron tower at the center almost lost in the blackness of the night.

The house I was looking for was on a back street in a quarter that a century ago had been prosperous, the buildings huddled cheek by jowl with their neighbors, as if for comfort and support. Still, it was large enough to accommodate several nuns and their charges.

I knocked on the door, but no one answered my summons, and so I sat in the motorcar until a murky dawn began to break. By that time I was so cold and stiff I could hardly get out and walk to the door.

An elderly nun answered my summons, although she had taken her time about it. And I saw why, when the door swung open, for beneath her woolen robes, one foot was encased in a heavy boot with a thick sole, designed to make the left leg the same length as the right.

She asked my business, and I again used the ploy that I had come to see if the children that had been treated at the English aid station were in need of further care.

To my utter relief, she invited me into the foyer. It was a blessed reprieve from the morning cold outside, although still hardly what I would consider warm.

“We have fifteen orphans here,” she was saying. “None of them to my knowledge treated by the English.”

She made it sound as if they would have been treated by the devil and his cohorts, but I smiled and asked if I could see the other children, since I was here.

“Yes, it is hard to find medicines for the little ones. Do you have medicines? Come with me.”

She led me through a labyrinth of rooms to a large kitchen, where a small fire had been built on a hearth large enough to roast an ox. A kettle of what appeared to be something like porridge was bubbling on the hob, and I could feel my mouth water.

At a long table sat the children, who fell silent and looked up from their bowls to stare at me with wide dark eyes, wary and uncertain. I was sure that strangers seldom brought good tidings to this house. Another nun, older than the first, was also staring at me, pausing as she stirred the contents of the black iron pot.

My heart plummeted when I realized that the youngest of the fifteen was nearly five. And I had never seen any of them before.

“Are there by any chance younger children here?” I asked the nun.

“Younger?” she asked sharply, straightening up.

“Yes. In particular a little girl of perhaps two years of age. Very fair, very sweet smile.”

“There is a little boy upstairs, badly burned from falling into the fire. But no little girl.”

“Then I will see the little boy, if you like.”

“He has been treated by the local doctor,” the nun said, returning to her pot. I could see that she didn’t care for my coming here. I wondered what her experience of the war had been, for I could see that she had a long scar, healed but still raw and red, down one side of her face.

“Then he’s in good hands,” I assured her. “Do you know where I might find this little girl? Is there another orphanage in Rouen?”

I was prepared to hear that there was not. It was the first nun who answered me, after a quick glance at her companion.

“Three streets away, in Rue St. Catherine, there is another house, not of our order. But they have some nine children there, I believe. Mostly infants younger than these.”

“Thank you,” I said, then asked, “Is there anything I can do for you?”