her, held her as she struggled.
Godefroi shouted, “If Alois thinks to send us a message, one shall be returned.” He wheeled, glaring at me. “You! Take this girl to my wife; she will not speak of this to anyone if she loves her father.”
“No!” Margaretta tried to claw Maugris’s face as he dragged her forward.
Pushing her at me, he said, “For your sake and hers, obey him, Bayard. This cannot be ignored.”
A girl when she will not be held, even so slight and young, is never easy to manage. In the end I picked Margaretta up and slung her across my shoulder.
“Maugris!” Godefroi had his sword at the reeve’s throat as the man tried to stand.
“Go.” Maugris pushed me through the door and closed it in my face.
The wood muffled my brother’s voice, but it did not disguise the screams of Edmund Swinson.
10
I ’VE BEEN thinking.”
Staring out the window at the sprawl of London, Jesse is in the patients’ day room. She jumps when Rory strolls up behind her.
“Sorry. May I?” He points at one of the chairs, smiles nicely.
“You won’t like it.”
“Uncomfortable?”
Jesse nods with feeling.
Rory drags an austere 1950s armchair to where she’s sitting. “That’s the National Health Service for you: no pampering. At least it’s free.”
“A free prolapsed chair. Don’t tell. Everyone will want one.” Jesse’s staring at the springs; they bulge out as he sits. She makes an effort. “So, thinking. Excellent. What about?”
“Rehab. Yours. The where and when.”
Jesse takes a deep breath. “Dr. Brandon, please don’t think I’m not grateful for the extra time you give me, but I need to move on. I was going to tell you a bit later today.” The early-morning bustle outside the Smithfield Market is suddenly fascinating.
He murmurs, “Rory. Please.” He shifts in his seat. “Do you mind if I ask you something?”
“Depends what it is.” Said pleasantly, but Jesse’s wary.
“What’s more urgent than getting better?”
“I’ll take it easy. Doctor’s orders.” Not much of a joke.
Rory sits back. He’s happy to wait.
“You must be busy. Don’t let me hold you up.” Jesse tries not to squirm. Take the hint. Go!
He glances at his watch. “You’re not. Plenty of time.
She looks away. The noise she makes might be a sniff. “Look, I found out only recently that I’m adopted. I’m in England to find my birth parents. If I can.” Jesse feels her eyes filling. She blinks rapidly, tries not to sniff the tears away.
A pause. Rory leans forward. He’s offering his handkerchief. When she takes it, he says gently, “Do you have somewhere to start?”
Jesse blows her nose. “I know I was born in Jedburgh. That’s where I want to go. As soon as I can.” Should she give him back the handkerchief?
“Keep it.”
Jesse nods. She feels like a pane of cracked glass.
“I’ve got a suggestion—something for you to consider. Especially since you were born in Jedburgh.” Rory hesitates. “What if I told you . . .” A pause. He starts again. “Do you remember the girl in the café?”
“Café?” Jesse’s puzzled.
“Alicia. The waitress. At St. Bartholomew the Great.”
Jesse frowns. She says uncertainly, “That day’s all a bit of a bus-smash in my head, but she was kind when she didn’t have to be. She found you too, didn’t she? And the rest”—Jesse waves her hand, a vague sweep—“is history.”
Rory says abruptly, “She and I know each other. Quite well, actually; I got her the job in the café. And the odd thing is . . .”
The pause stretches. That gets Jesse’s attention. “What’s odd?”
“The castle.” He mimes sketching.
“My castle?”
He nods. “It’s always been owned by Alicia’s family. They built it.”
Jesse’s almost too startled to speak. “A waitress owns a castle?”
“She does now. Her parents died not long back. The thing is, I think you should see it. See Hundredfield, I mean. That’s what it’s
Godefroi shouted, “If Alois thinks to send us a message, one shall be returned.” He wheeled, glaring at me. “You! Take this girl to my wife; she will not speak of this to anyone if she loves her father.”
“No!” Margaretta tried to claw Maugris’s face as he dragged her forward.
Pushing her at me, he said, “For your sake and hers, obey him, Bayard. This cannot be ignored.”
A girl when she will not be held, even so slight and young, is never easy to manage. In the end I picked Margaretta up and slung her across my shoulder.
“Maugris!” Godefroi had his sword at the reeve’s throat as the man tried to stand.
“Go.” Maugris pushed me through the door and closed it in my face.
The wood muffled my brother’s voice, but it did not disguise the screams of Edmund Swinson.
10
I ’VE BEEN thinking.”
Staring out the window at the sprawl of London, Jesse is in the patients’ day room. She jumps when Rory strolls up behind her.
“Sorry. May I?” He points at one of the chairs, smiles nicely.
“You won’t like it.”
“Uncomfortable?”
Jesse nods with feeling.
Rory drags an austere 1950s armchair to where she’s sitting. “That’s the National Health Service for you: no pampering. At least it’s free.”
“A free prolapsed chair. Don’t tell. Everyone will want one.” Jesse’s staring at the springs; they bulge out as he sits. She makes an effort. “So, thinking. Excellent. What about?”
“Rehab. Yours. The where and when.”
Jesse takes a deep breath. “Dr. Brandon, please don’t think I’m not grateful for the extra time you give me, but I need to move on. I was going to tell you a bit later today.” The early-morning bustle outside the Smithfield Market is suddenly fascinating.
He murmurs, “Rory. Please.” He shifts in his seat. “Do you mind if I ask you something?”
“Depends what it is.” Said pleasantly, but Jesse’s wary.
“What’s more urgent than getting better?”
“I’ll take it easy. Doctor’s orders.” Not much of a joke.
Rory sits back. He’s happy to wait.
“You must be busy. Don’t let me hold you up.” Jesse tries not to squirm. Take the hint. Go!
He glances at his watch. “You’re not. Plenty of time.
She looks away. The noise she makes might be a sniff. “Look, I found out only recently that I’m adopted. I’m in England to find my birth parents. If I can.” Jesse feels her eyes filling. She blinks rapidly, tries not to sniff the tears away.
A pause. Rory leans forward. He’s offering his handkerchief. When she takes it, he says gently, “Do you have somewhere to start?”
Jesse blows her nose. “I know I was born in Jedburgh. That’s where I want to go. As soon as I can.” Should she give him back the handkerchief?
“Keep it.”
Jesse nods. She feels like a pane of cracked glass.
“I’ve got a suggestion—something for you to consider. Especially since you were born in Jedburgh.” Rory hesitates. “What if I told you . . .” A pause. He starts again. “Do you remember the girl in the café?”
“Café?” Jesse’s puzzled.
“Alicia. The waitress. At St. Bartholomew the Great.”
Jesse frowns. She says uncertainly, “That day’s all a bit of a bus-smash in my head, but she was kind when she didn’t have to be. She found you too, didn’t she? And the rest”—Jesse waves her hand, a vague sweep—“is history.”
Rory says abruptly, “She and I know each other. Quite well, actually; I got her the job in the café. And the odd thing is . . .”
The pause stretches. That gets Jesse’s attention. “What’s odd?”
“The castle.” He mimes sketching.
“My castle?”
He nods. “It’s always been owned by Alicia’s family. They built it.”
Jesse’s almost too startled to speak. “A waitress owns a castle?”
“She does now. Her parents died not long back. The thing is, I think you should see it. See Hundredfield, I mean. That’s what it’s
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