Charles Todd - A Bitter Truth

This time he stopped by the drinks table, lifted the brandy decanter, and poured a goodly amount into a glass. But then he set it aside untasted.

“As soon as I’m back in France, I’m going to find her. See if I don’t, by God. I must have been out of my mind to think Roger-” He swore under his breath, picked up the glass, and downed it in one long swallow. “She even smiles the way Juliana did. It was such a shock I stood there unable to say a word. And then they were gone, the nuns hurrying the children away. I caught up with them then, asked what the little girl’s name was. I think they must have believed I had some ulterior motive, that I meant her a harm. The older nun glared at me and told me it was none of my affair. Damn it, I don’t see how he could walk away from his own flesh and blood. But he has.”

“But what if Captain Ellis is telling the truth? You can’t be certain the child is his, just because she reminds you of Juliana. Can you? A fleeting resemblance that touched a chord of memory when you were already tired, under great stress-”

“No, I’m not mad, and I’m not mistaken. Ellis got very drunk one night, talking wildly about someone dying. He’d got a letter, he said, and he’d burned it because he didn’t want to know what was in it. Now he was frantic to read it, and it was gone. I asked him how he knew someone was dying if he hadn’t read the letter, and he told me it was enclosed in another letter. The next morning he was gone. I don’t know how he wangled leave, or even if he did. Three days later he was back, haggard, unshaven, looking as if he hadn’t slept. He asked if I had any money, and I gave him what I had. He left again, and by the time he returned that evening, I’d already lied twice to cover for him. I asked if everything was all right, and he nearly took my head off. A day or so later he told me that if anything happened to him that I was to see that money went regularly to a small convent south of Ypres. He said he was paying for perpetual prayers for someone’s soul.”

He broke off, and for a moment I thought he was going to the decanter again, but he only walked to the door, and as I’d done, opened it quickly and peered out. Satisfied, he closed it again and went on, as if he couldn’t stop himself.

“I was curious, and months later when I found myself within a few miles of the convent, I went there. It was in ruins, and the nuns had moved to a house farther south. Some three months after that, when I was sent to Calais to expedite supplies coming through, I managed to trace the nuns. That’s when I discovered that they actually had an orphanage. I hung about for an hour or more, and the nuns appeared with a crocodile of children. All ages, some of them wounded, others in a state of shock, moving like their own shadows, and a handful of very little ones holding hands. The middle one was a girl in a dress too large for her. Hardly more than a year old, at a guess, and just barely walking well. I noticed her because she kept tripping over her hems, which were dragging on the ground. One of the nuns stopped and hitched the dress up with a ribbon or something. And the child looked up and smiled at me over the nun’s shoulder. I stood there, my mouth literally hanging open. The nuns marched the children several times around the house they were using as their convent, and then led them back inside. I tell you, the likeness was uncanny. Not a faulty memory or wishful thinking. It was real. I went straight to the door before they could shut it to ask about the child, but my French wasn’t all that good, and I think the nuns believed I wanted to take a child away for my own purposes, and they sent me smartly about my business.”

“Did you ask Roger Ellis about her? Did you go back?”

“I said nothing to him then. Well, a man generally doesn’t ask another man if he’s got a bastard child. I stood up with him at his wedding to Lydia, for God’s sake. But I kept an ear open for news of the convent, all the same, and went back a second time. And I saw her again. I hadn’t been mistaken, the likeness was even more pronounced. The third time, I was determined to speak to the nuns, to ask who she was. I’d taken care to work on my French, and I thought I could persuade them that I knew the child’s father. Only this time, the house was empty. I went around the village, frantically asking what had become of them. The old priest told me they’d moved south of Angers. His housekeeper was sure that some of the nuns and a number of the children had been taken in by a convent near Caen. The next time I saw Roger, I asked him what he knew about the house. And he said he’d never heard of them. I reminded him of the perpetual prayers. He told me then that he’d lied to me about them, that it was a gambling debt he was anxious to pay. But that was a lie as well. I’ve never known Roger Ellis to gamble. I went on searching, but France was in chaos, and one small group of orphans was impossible to track down. And then the bottom fell out of my world. Malcolm was killed, I was wounded and sent back to England, unable to learn anything at all. It was enough to turn anyone’s mind.”

Lieutenant Hughes lifted the decanter again, and I said quietly, “Perhaps you’ve had enough for one night.”

He nodded, putting it back where he’d found it. Raising his head to meet my gaze, he said, “I told Ellis outright that I knew why he’d been sending money to the nuns. He told me then that the mother had died after childbirth, and the child’s father had asked him to see that the child was cared for. I called him a liar to his face, and he told me I could believe what I damned well pleased. But I was haunted by what I’d seen, and I wouldn’t let it go. I kept asking, and he refused to answer me, except to say I’d been delirious. And all this while, even from England, I’ve done everything I could to find the nuns. But they might as well have vanished.”

The little ormolu clock on the mantelpiece chimed two, the silvery notes loud in the quiet room.

“Good God, I’ve kept you up all night,” he said contritely.

“Can you rest now?” I asked.

“Yes. For the first time I know what to do. Thank you for listening. You won’t-you won’t share what I’ve said with Lydia, will you? Or anyone else? It would be unkind. And God knows, I’ve done enough damage already.” He shrugged, annoyance mingled with embarrassment. “I must have drunk more than I knew, to confess like this.”

“I see no reason to hurt them. If Roger wishes them to hear the truth, it’s best coming from him, don’t you think?”

“Thank you. Good night, then, Sister.”

After he had gone, I made myself as comfortable as I could, regretting having to sleep in my pale green dress, but there was nothing I could do about it. With a sigh, I pulled a large silk cushion from one of the other chairs and wrapped my arms around it to keep me warm. And after some little time, I was finally able to sleep, although it was a fitful rest at best.

I awoke the next morning to a hubbub somewhere in the house. Smoothing my hair with my hands, I put the silk cushion and the lap rug back where I’d found them, then went to the door. The shouting seemed to be coming from the hall. I hurried in that direction, not knowing what I would find. But the urgency told me that something was wrong.

Lydia stood in the middle of the room in her traveling dress, the same coat she’d worn when first I’d encountered her in London. Her face was set, and at her feet was a large valise. A smaller one was clutched tightly in her hand.

It was Roger Ellis who was doing the shouting, telling her that he wouldn’t allow her to go away again. His mother was trying to pour oil on troubled waters, and Gran, standing to one side, was saying, “Lower your voices! What will Margaret and Eleanor think?” as if they were all that mattered. But everyone was ignoring her, their eyes on Lydia’s face.