Her breath was coming in gasps. What was I doing here? Why was I not running for help? I was here because I was aware that there was no help for her. She was dying. She knew it and I knew it, and her only desire now was to extract a promise from me before it was too late.
“Lucinda…Lucinda…” Her voice was a whisper now.
I bent over. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I will take Edouard with me when I go to England. I know that when my mother hears what has happened, she will want to care for him.”
I saw a smile spread across her face. It was one of peace.
“But, Marguerite,” I went on, “you are going to get well. They will come and take you to a hospital.”
She smiled. She was still holding my hand in hers.
“I will go now,” I said. “I will take Edouard with me. A soldier is coming to take us across France to England. I promise Edouard shall go with us. Trust me, Marguerite.”
She opened her eyes and looked straight into mine. “I trust you,” she said. “You will keep your word and I will die content.”
Her grip on my hand slackened. She was finding it more and more difficult to breathe. Then…I knew that she was dead.
I rose. I took the perambulator and went across the gardens to the house.
As I came into the hall I saw Madame Rochère with Mademoiselle Artois, Miss Carruthers and some of the servants. There was a shocked silence as I wheeled in the perambulator.
I looked straight at Madame Rochère and said, ‘The Plantains’ cottage is destroyed. Monsieur and Madame Plantain have both been killed. The baby was in his perambulator in the garden. He is unharmed. So I brought him here. I shall look after him.”
It was the first time I had spoken to Madame Rochère with authority. I was determined. I had made a solemn promise to a dead woman, and I intended to keep it.
Madame Rochère looked shocked—as indeed they all did—and I was amazed that she showed surprise neither at my announcement nor at the sight of the baby.
“Help is coming,” she said. “Those poor people. So soon…We will arrange something for the child.”
“I am looking after him,” I said. “He knows me. He will miss Madame Plantain. He must be with me.”
She took no notice and walked past me, so I lifted Edouard up and took him to my dormitory.
I was glad I had it to myself. The others had gone, Caroline with them. She had taken the train to the French border with the other English girls on the previous day.
Miss Carruthers came in.
“Do you know how to care for a child?” she asked. “I think it would be best to hand him over to Madame Printemps. She will know what to do.”
Madame Printemps worked in the kitchens, a plump, middle-aged woman who had had eight children.
“He knows me,” I said. “He will be frightened by strangers. I have promised to look after him.”
I realized that taking that solemn oath had had an effect on me. I spoke with a resolution that made some impression on those who heard it. Previously I should have been told not to be foolish, and to hand over the baby to Madame Printemps without delay.
But perhaps they were all suffering from the shock of the bombardment by air. Perhaps they were thinking, It was the Plantains today, who will it be tomorrow?
However, no attempt was made to take Edouard from me. I put him to bed and lay down beside him.
“Edouard,” I said, “you are going to be my baby from now on. There is nothing to fear. My mother will help me look after you. She knows a great deal about babies. She will understand when I tell her I have made a solemn promise to Madame Plantain so that she could die happy.”
Then I lay very still, weeping for Marguerite Plantain who had cared so much for this child. Edouard stared at me gravely and put out a finger to touch a tear. I took his hand and kissed it, and I said, “Edouard, we shall be together. You will be safe with me.”
While I lay there Annabelinda came in. She stared at us.
“I’ve heard,” she said. “I think you must be mad.”
“What do you mean?”
“Bringing in a baby like that.”
“He had no one to look after him,” I said. “The Plantains are both dead…killed by that cruel bomb. I have promised Madame Plantain to take him to England.”
“Take him to England! It won’t be allowed.”
“It will be.”
“What about Madame Rochère? Do you think she will let you do such a thing?”
“She will have to, because I have made up my mind. It’s not for her to say.”
“What about this Major Merrivale?”
“If he takes me, he will take the baby.”
“I can’t understand you, Lucinda. You seem to have lost your senses. Do you realize what an awkward position we are in?”
“I do indeed,” I heard myself say. “Perhaps I understand a lot more than you realize.”
“What do you mean?”
“I am taking the baby with me. I am going to look after him. Someone has to. His parents didn’t want to bother with him.”
“I know it’s sad,” she said. “But he’s Belgian. Someone here can look after him. He belongs here. We have enough to do. We’ve got to get home before it gets worse.”
“He does not belong here,” I said slowly and deliberately, and I was amazed at the strength of my anger toward her, sitting there smugly, caring only for herself. I could not stop myself. I forgot my promise to Jean Pascal. I forgot everything but my concern for the child and my anger against Annabelinda. “He does belong here, with us,” I went on. “With us…with you. You want him left behind, because to you he is an encumbrance…just as he was when he was born. Edouard is your son, Annabelinda, the child who was put out with the Plantains so as to be rid of him, so that you might not have an impediment in your life.”
She had turned pale, and then the color rushed into her face. “What…what are you saying?” she whispered.
I could not understand myself. I was overwrought. I had been more deeply shocked by my experience than I realized. I could not control myself. It was too late to try now, and I was not sure in that moment that I wanted to.
I went on. “I have grown fond of Edouard. I used to go to the cottage to see him. He knows me. I found out about…everything…by chance. I know that you were not ill and that you had to go away because you were going to have a child…Carl’s child. Your grandfather and the Princesse arranged it. They paid the Plantains to take Edouard so that no one would know of your…indiscretion…and you could make some grand marriage when the time came and live happily ever after, just as though Edouard did not exist. But he does exist. And you can’t move people around just because they may be a nuisance to you. Edouard is your son. He will be alone in the world. I daresay your grandfather would find someone else to take him in and would pay them well for doing so. Oh yes, he would do all that. But Edouard is a person now. He has lost the one he loved…who was a mother to him. He only has me now and I am going to look after him.”
She was staring at me incredulously. “You—you can’t rush into this…” she stammered. “People just can’t pick up children.”
“I can and I’m going to. He is going to England with me.”
“And what…when we get there?”
I felt a twinge of pity for her. She was frightened, and I had rarely seen Annabelinda in that state. I relented a little. I had broken a promise and I was ashamed of myself in a way, and yet, I asked myself, why should I be silent now? Why should she not know who Edouard was? Why should she not shoulder her responsibilities? This helpless child, lying on the bed, looking from one to the other of us, was hers.