Joanna Bourne: The Forbidden Rose

“Perhaps one.” If there was time. If Justine walked along beside them for a while.

“She likes you,” Justine said abruptly. “She is very smart, you know. She can already read a little. And I have spoken to her in English since she was very small. She speaks it somewhat. Also some German, though my own accent is not good.”

“She’s a lovely child.”

“She is, isn’t she?” She had never seen Justine tentative or unsure. She was now. “She has never been sick. Not once, since she was little. No matter where we lived or what we had to eat, she was . . . oh, strong and happy and uncomplaining and so good.”

“I could tell that. She climbed into the loft the first day I was there, feeling so ill. I was comforted by her.”

Justine stroked her sister’s hair and then lifted her up. Held her out to be taken. “She sings beautifully. No one has ever taught her, but she does it anyway.”

Séverine smelled sweetly of lavender and fresh starch and raspberry jam. This is a gentle moment to take away with me, holding this child.

Justine folded her empty arms. “You were right. A whorehouse is no home for a child. France is no place for her. A war is coming.”

“I fear you are correct.”

Justine’s eyes were resolute. “I told you I would ask a favor of you. In return for,” she became lightly derisive as she flashed her eyes toward Guillaume, “this one’s life. I have spared it several times and helped you save it once. You recall?”

She said, “Yes. Of course.”

Guillaume said nothing. He watched Justine.

“That is what I ask in return for the debt. You will take Séverine as your own. You will take her away from France and keep her in safety. You will watch over her. You, yourself.”

Yes! And then, No. It cannot be right to do this. She fitted Séverine to her. The child was heavy and solid. Precisely right.

“She will be no trouble on the road.” Justine spoke quickly. “She has learned to be quiet. She will go with you willingly when I tell her she must. She knows to say nothing at all and to answer to any name she is given. You can leave her to wait for you in any place, and she will wait. Wait a day or more, if necessary. She—”

Guillaume said, “You’re giving your sister to us?”

“I give her to Marguerite,” Justine said tartly. “Though I suppose that means I give her to you as well.”

“It does indeed. If we take Séverine—”

“You must.” Impatient now, Justine reached for the brown leather bag at the side of these stairs. “You may call her something else.” A shadow of a smile. “Something English.”

“She has a name. I’m not going to take it from her.” Guillaume rasped fingernails on his chin. “This is what you want for taking Maggie to safety when she was sick and needed you?”

Justine bowed her head, once, sharply. Perhaps she didn’t trust herself to speak.

“Maggie. What do you say?”

“Yes.” The child needs me. They both do. I would save them both if I could. “Oh, yes.”

“Then we do it.” Deliberately, Guillaume put his hand on the child’s head. “Séverine is mine. I’ll treat her no differently than a child of my blood, born in wedlock. I’ll set her welfare before my own life.” He looked directly at Justine. “I’ll love her as a father. You have my word.”

Justine’s lips worked. Perhaps it was only now becoming real for her.

“If you come in a few years and want to take her back, expect a fight. I don’t part with my daughter easily.” He took his hand away. “Is that what you want?”

Justine’s eyes were bright and sad and . . . hard. Full of tears and determination. “Yes.”

This should not be. “How can I take your sister and leave you behind? Do you think I wouldn’t welcome you? Come with us.”

“Maggie . . . no. She can’t.” Guillaume touched her arm. “She’s Secret Police.”

“What?”

“Best explanation.”

“But . . . But . . .” It did not make sense. “She is Owl. She’s of La Flèche. She is—”

“She’s one more reason Jean-Paul has to close down that whole damned leaky organization. It’s served its purpose. I told him that.”

Secret Police? Justine’s face, by its blankness, said Guillaume was right.

Guillaume said softly, “Maggie, when she gives the child to me, it means no one will ever use Séverine against her. No one on either side will ever touch her. That’s what we’re doing for her.”

Justine nodded. Her face did not look young at all.

There is unending cruelty in the world. I will not let it destroy this little one. “Séverine is my daughter, flesh of my flesh. As if I had carried her within my own body. I swear it.”

She felt the words resonate inside the child she held. Séverine would remember this someday.

Quickly, Justine turned away to add a valise to the others on the donkey’s back. “I have packed clothing for her. Things she will need.” She studied valises and bags resolutely. “Her . . . doll.”

“Some people,” Hawker said, “wouldn’t leave this to the last minute.” He rearranged this and that on Dulce and rolled a blanket to make a riding nest to fit a small child. “She’s going to make them conspicuous.”

“What is more inconspicuous than a child? Would anyone suspect a family traveling across the countryside with a small child? No and no. Everyone should take an infant or two with them upon their missions. She is a better companion than you, in fact, because she has been trained to keep her mouth closed and follow orders, which you have not.”

“I follow orders. It’s that hair of hers. Might as well attach a red flag. That has to . . . Here.” Hawker unwound a leather thong from one of the bags and held it in his teeth and went to Séverine. Skillfully, he plaited a thick braid and tied it with leather. “That’s better.” He frowned at the effect. “She’s dressed too well. You should dirty her up. Put some mud on her.”

“I am pleased to know she will not be in your hands, Citoyen Hawker.” Justine’s touch was light on the child’s back. One touch, very quick. “I have already said my good-bye to her. She will be a good child. She cannot—” The pause came while she was turned away from them. “She cannot eat strawberries. They make her turn red with blotches.”

“I will not feed her strawberries.” She tried to fit all the other things that needed to be said inside the words.

Justine had already taken the first steps away when Guillaume said, “One last thing.”

She turned back. “What?”

“What is her true name? All her name. The name of your parents?” When there was no immediate answer, he said, “Don’t plan to tell her later. You know what’s coming in France. You may not live.”

No answer.

“It’ll stay with the five of us. You. Me. Hawker. Maggie. The child herself, if she remembers.” He waited. “Don’t leave her wondering for her whole life.”

Justine’s voice was hollow as an echo. “Her parents were the Comte and Comtesse de Cabrillac. They died in the courtyard of the Abbaye Prison two years ago. She doesn’t remember seeing it. So far as I know, no one of our family on either side remains.”

“Only you.”

“Only me. Tell her, someday, that I did not abandon her. When she’s old enough, tell her I will wade the rivers of hell to come to her if she should ever have need.” That quickly, she was gone, walking down the street with the careful, unobtrusive stride of the experienced agent, her head high.

“Well, damn,” Hawker said.

Guillaume took his hat off to watch her go. “I made the promise for you, Hawk. That information doesn’t go beyond your lips. Not to anyone.”