I smiled. “
Daisy stared. “What was that you said, Miss?”
“It’s French-” I could have bitten my tongue. But I was tired, it had been over twenty-four hours since I’d slept, and I’d driven miles.
Daisy’s eyes grew wide. “This isn’t the little girl that was spoken of in the drawing room before the Lieutenant was killed?” She studied the small, tear-streaked face. “My good lord, she does look like Miss Juliana, in that portrait.”
“How did you hear about her?” I asked sharply. “You weren’t in the drawing room that night.”
“No, Miss, but the lad who brings our order from the greengrocer’s is brother to the cook at Dr. Tilton’s house, and she overheard them talking about the child. They said it was Mr. Roger’s. Is that true?”
“You’ll have to ask him,” I said. “Will you make up a little porridge, or a pudding?”
“Yes, Miss, and there’s an extra potato left in the pot. I can make up a little soup with the broth from the chicken.”
“Yes, that will do well.” I held out my arms to Sophie, and after a moment she came to them, wary and uncertain. “I’ll take her to my room for now. And I’d rather you didn’t say anything until after-”
The door to the kitchen swung open, and Lydia came in. “Was there someone at the door-” She too broke off in midsentence.
“Bess! Where on earth have you been? “And then she saw Sophie, whose face had crumpled at the sight of the newcomer, and I remembered that the nuns had said that there were few visitors who saw the children.
“Is that-oh, Bess, where did you find her? How?” She came around to the other side of the table. “Dear God,” she whispered as she saw Sophie clearly. “She’s Roger’s daughter. She must be.”
“I don’t know whose child she is,” I said quickly. “And she’s here only for a very short time. The nuns in France-”
“I don’t care about the nuns,” Lydia said, and dropped to her knees before Sophie. “Can she understand us?”
“She speaks only French,” I said.
To my surprise, Lydia began to speak to Sophie in French that was far better than mine. I hadn’t known she’d studied the language, much less spoke it so well.
For a moment Sophie leaned back against me, staring at Lydia. But the accent was familiar enough that after a moment Sophie began to reply. Tentative at first, and then more readily.
Lydia asked her name and where she was from, how old she was-the sort of questions an adult usually puts to a child.
I said, “Where did you learn to speak French?”
She answered, never taking her eyes from Sophie, “When I was fourteen, we had a French mistress at our school. I won a prize for the best accent.”
“She’s very tired,” I told Lydia. “I was just about to take her to my room. She isn’t used to so many strangers at once.”
“No, I want her in my room. There’s Davis’s cat, she’ll like Bluebell, and I can get to know her.” She got up from her knees and flung her arms around me. “Bess, you’re wonderful. I’m so grateful. You can’t know how grateful.”
“She isn’t yours,” I insisted. “She must go back to France as soon as I can return her to the convent. The nuns will be frantic, there was a fire-”
Lydia’s face hardened. “She’s not going anywhere. She’s mine. I won’t let her be taken back to France.”
I said wearily, “You don’t have any choice, Lydia. She’s not yours. Nor is she mine. There are laws, papers, arrangements to be made.”
“Then we’ll make them. Why should she live out a life of drudgery in a convent? Look at her, she’s the image of Juliana. Roger is her father, he can tell the French authorities that he’s adopting her. Or whatever they call it in France.”
“He doesn’t know she’s here. He may not want to keep her.”
“Yes, he will. She’s his flesh and blood. And I’m his wife.”
There was no reasoning with her. Before I could say anything else, make any stronger arguments, she had lifted Sophie into her arms, asking the child if she wanted to see the cat.
Sophie’s tired face brightened, and she nodded.
“See?” Lydia said to me over her shoulder. “She’s happy with me.”
“She’s hungry, Lydia. I’ve asked Daisy to make her a light supper after the family has dined.”
“That’s a lovely idea. Daisy, ask Molly to bring a tray to my room.” She corrected herself. “The room I’m using. And some bedding, please. Pillows, a quilt or two.”
“We’ll see to it,” Daisy promised her. “But isn’t she the dearest little thing?”
And Lydia was out the door, calling over her shoulder, “Bess, please, will you tell the family I have a headache? I won’t be dining tonight.”
And she was gone.
I didn’t know how I was to get through the dinner ahead. I debated going after Lydia and taking Sophie away from her. But that would only serve to frighten Sophie and make her cry.
“I must hurry and change,” I said and left the room before Daisy or the cook, Mrs. Long, could ask any more questions.
I bathed my face and hands, changed out of the uniform I had worn for nearly two days straight, and put on the only evening dress I had with me, a dark blue one that was more practical than it was stylish.
When I came down to the drawing room ten minutes later, everyone turned to stare as I crossed the threshold.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Ellis. When I went to Hartfield to take the call, I was asked to proceed at once to Dover. There was no one I could ask to carry a message to you.”
“Why Dover?” Roger Ellis asked, suspicion darkening his eyes.
“There was a problem with one of my patients. Daisy said you’d been worried, and I apologize for that as well.” I looked from Mrs. Ellis to Margaret and then to Gran. “As Captain Ellis can tell you, duty is not a matter of choice.”
“We were quite concerned, especially after the situation in Hartfield. We were afraid something had happened to you.” She went to the table by the window. “There’s a little sherry left of our trove. You look as if you could use something to lift your spirits. Was it very bad in Dover?”
I took the sherry gratefully, feeling its burn as I swallowed it. “I drove straight there with a Major on his way to join his regiment, and I returned, without sleep. Yes, Dover was quite trying.” While I still held the floor, I asked, “But what were the police doing in Hartfield? I had to leave before I could discover what their interest was in Bluebell Cottage. The constables were holding everyone back. Tonight, when I encountered Inspector Rother on the road, he told me that they were searching for another body. But he refused to tell me any more than that.”
“A body?” Mrs. Ellis turned to her son. “You didn’t say anything about a body.”
“It was mostly over by the time I got there,” he replied. “I told you, I asked Mr. Smyth what was going on, and he said he wasn’t at liberty to tell me.” He turned to me. “Just where did you run into Rother?”
“There’s a track coming in from the left that meets the main track running past Vixen Hill. A mile or two from where your lane turns to the right. He was coming from that direction.”
Roger said, “There’s the ruin of a windmill that way. Not much else.”
“And you’re sure he said a body?” Margaret asked, a frown between her eyes.
“Yes, I’m sure. I was asking him about the excitement in Hartfield. And that’s when he told me. I think he was too angry with me for leaving to say any more than he had. My-punishment-for disappearing.”
“He’s incompetent,” Gran said. “I’d complain to the Chief Constable if I thought it would do any good.”
“It can’t be easy for him,” Margaret pointed out. “He hounds us because he doesn’t know where else to turn and George was our houseguest.”
Before I could make Lydia’s excuses, Daisy came to the door to announce dinner. Mrs. Ellis said, “We’re waiting for Lydia. She hasn’t come down.”
Daisy flicked a glance in my direction then said, “She has a headache, ma’am, and doesn’t feel up to having dinner.”
