Time for Silence (12 page)

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.

Yet I felt he was mine. She would never give him the love and care he needed.

Then I relented. She was having that effect on me which she always had. She was wayward Annabelinda and whatever she did could not alter my affection for her.

I was calmer now. The storm was passing. I must try to do all I could to mend the damage I had done by breaking my promise.

“Listen, Annabelinda,” I said. “I know what happened, because I found out. I know your grandfather and the
Princesse
took you away. You went to a clinic in Bergerac; the child was born there. Madame Rochère was in the secret. She wanted no scandals at the school, and she was a strong ally of your grandfather. She knew that Madame Plantain had just lost a child, and it seemed an opportunity too good to miss. There must have been some misgiving about putting Edouard so near the school. However, it all seemed remote enough, and you would be there only for another two years. It appeared to be a satisfactory solution. I suppose it would have been. I discovered so much because I had been visiting the Plantains. Anyway, I was in on the secret. That wouldn’t have mattered. I would have said nothing. Then the war came and changed everything. So I have planned what I shall do. I shall take Edouard home with me. My mother will help me.”

“You will tell her…”

“I shall just say that his foster-parents were killed. I had visited them and was fond of him and could not leave him behind. I know it will be all right. He will be like a brother to me and to Charles. I know I can rely on my parents.”

“Don’t tell them, Lucinda. Promise you won’t tell.”

“I won’t promise. But I will only tell them if it is necessary to do so.”

“But…no one must know. It would be awful!”

“I shall tell no one. I know I burst out with it…but that was to you.”

“I didn’t know he was my baby.”

“I was aware of that. The arrangement with the Plantains was between them and your grandfather’s solicitors.”

“Oh, Lucinda, it’s terrible! And I thought it was all over. What terrible bad luck.”

I could not help smiling at her. Her secret was disclosed because there was a war. I thought of Jacques Plantain lying dead in the remains of his home, and Madame Plantain’s last thoughts for the welfare of the child she loved. And this, to Annabelinda, was her bad luck.

Well, she was Annabelinda. She would see every event as it affected her. Perhaps we all did. Perhaps I should not think too badly of Annabelinda.

I said to her, “What is done is done. We just have to go on from here. Edouard will have a good home with my parents. You know my mother. She will welcome him. I will make her understand that I had to bring him.”

“And so no one need know,” said Annabelinda. “He will be just a child who lost his parents in an air raid in Belgium. And you brought him home with you because you could not leave a child.”

“It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “Lucinda. If it ever came out…”

“It need not,” I assured her.

“You have always been my best friend. We are fond of each other, in spite of…”

“Yes, Annabelinda, that’s true. I want to help you. You behaved very foolishly over that young man.”

“I know.”

“But it is over now. We have to forget. We shall take the baby home with us. I am sure everything will go smoothly. My parents will raise no objections. I only have to let them see how important Edouard is to me. It will all seem quite plausible because it is wartime. It is going to be all right, Annabelinda.”

She threw herself into my arms and hugged me. The baby crowed with pleasure, as though he found the scene very amusing.

I went to him and picked him up. “Look, Annabelinda,” I said. “Isn’t he a little darling?”

They regarded each other speculatively.

“Sit down,” I said. She did and I put him on her lap. He studied her with curiosity. Then he began to whimper suddenly; he turned away from her and held out his arms to me.

I
T WAS MID-MORNING OF
the next day when Major Merrivale arrived at
La Pinière
.

From the moment I saw him my spirits rose; and that was the effect he had on everyone. There was about him a certain rare quality that changed the atmosphere merely by his presence. He had an air of extreme confidence; his manner implied that all was well with his world and he was going to make it so for others.

In the first place he was tall—a little over six feet. He had brown eyes that sparkled with merriment. His features were not set in a classical mold, but they were well formed and he had a kindly expression. But it was his apparent conviction that all was well with him, and would be with all those around him, that was just what we needed at that time.

Madame Rochère was clearly extremely relieved, for she had become very worried about our continued stay at
La Pinière
, as she did not know from one hour to the next how close the Germans were to the school. And that our rescuer should be a man of overwhelming charm who inspired such confidence was a blessing indeed.

He drove up in an army car—a large vehicle—and came striding into the hall.

“I’m Merrivale,” he announced. “I believe you are expecting me.”

We all went very quickly to the hall, for we had been on the alert for his arrival for some time.

“Yes, yes, we have been waiting for you,” Madame Rochère said. “The girls are ready to leave whenever you wish. I expect you would like a little refreshment before you leave. It shall be prepared at once. I will have the girls brought here.”

There was no need. Having heard the arrival, we were already there.

“I’m Lucinda Greenham and this is Annabelinda Denver,” I said.

He took my hand and smiled at me. I felt a deep pleasure. There was something so completely confident about him that one felt there was now nothing to fear. We should soon be home.

“I’m sorry for the delay,” he said. “There was congestion all along the route. People are realizing that the enemy is on the way.”

Annabelinda was smiling at him and he took her hand as he had mine.

“I’m glad I’m here at last. We’ll have you out of this place very soon. When can you leave?”

“Madame Printemps will serve a light luncheon,” said Madame Rochère. “Then you can get away. Most of the servants have gone. They are afraid the Germans will come here. They are trying to get over the border.”

He nodded. “That’s the general idea,” he said.

Miss Carruthers came into the hall.

“Oh, Miss Carruthers, this is Major Merrivale,” I said.

“Ah, yes,” she replied. “How do you do? You have come to take the girls home. I wondered if…” she began, and hesitated. “Well, I have to get home, too. I didn’t feel I could leave while these two were here…and, of course, I wasn’t sure how to get to the coast myself.”

“You mean you want to come along with us,” said the major, with a smile. “But of course. There’s plenty of room.”

Miss Carruthers’s face expressed her joy and relief. I could see that he had the same effect on her as he had on the rest of us.

“Now,” put in Madame Rochère. “You girls have everything ready. Déjeuner will be served now…and then you can leave. Come along into the dining room and we can start.”

We followed her there. I walked beside the major and said, “I must tell you, there is a baby.”

He turned and looked at me. He had a way of raising his eyebrows that was very attractive and somehow made one feel that it would be easy to make him understand.

“A baby?” he said.

“The cottages near the school were destroyed by a Zeppelin. The people there—a husband and wife—were killed. They left a baby. I knew them. I used to visit them. I brought the baby here.”

“And you want to take the child along with you?”