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Liza looked thoughtfully toward the stables. “If it gets cold enough . . .”

“No,” said Maud.

“We can keep warm by walking,” interposed Kate. It was time to relay the rest of the bad news. “We’ll have to walk anyway. We’ve run through most of our allowance of essence. We’re going to have to start rationing it.”

“Can’t we get more?” asked Miss Mills, looking outraged. “Surely, given the importance of the services we’re providing . . .”

“I tried,” said Kate shortly. She’d written the French military authorities, the French civil authorities, the Red Cross, and the AFFW, all of whom had told her the same thing. “They can’t conjure essence out of thin air. There’s only so much to be had. We’ll just have to be careful with what we have.”

“Mrs. R—” began Emmie, and then stopped. But Kate knew what she had been thinking. That Mrs. Rutherford would have found a way. “That nice French officer who stopped by the other day offered to bring us a pony and trap. I could use that to get to Courcelles and Canizy.”

“All that way by yourself?” It was far enough by car; by trap, on the rutted roads, it would be hours. “It’s so far, Emmie.”

“We could go in pairs,” Emmie argued. She’d adopted Courcelles as her own since Margaret left, and had clashed with Kate more than once when Kate had vetoed extra trips on the grounds of saving their gas ration.

Kate wasn’t convinced. “But how would a pony carry two of us? And supplies?”

“We’re not that heavy,” insisted Emmie.

“For a pony?”

“I had a pony once,” said Liza. “Her name was Snowdrop.”

“Not Snowdrop again.” Rounding on Kate, Maud demanded, “What are we meant to do about the store? Unless you mean us to yoke ourselves to the truck like oxen and pull it all the way.”

“No,” said Kate reluctantly. The store had been a smashing success, thanks in no small part to Maud. “You and Liza are working wonders with the store. We may have to hold more store hours here in the château, though. Anyone near enough to walk can come to us.”

Maud folded her arms across her chest, narrowing her eyes at Kate. “Shouldn’t Dr. Stringfellow be making these decisions? She is our director. Or had you forgotten?”

The others had stopped talking. They were all watching, with varying degrees of interest and discomfort.

“Dr. Stringfellow is seeing patients,” said Kate neutrally.

“It’s absurd having a doctor as director of the Unit,” said Maud, addressing herself to the circle of women. “We need someone proper to manage us. Like Mrs. Barrett in Paris.”

Kate didn’t miss the way Alice began fiddling with the brooch on her coat. So that was it, then. Another coup. A coup against Dr. Stringfellow—which meant a coup against Kate, since Kate was the one actually running things. Kate had no illusions about the matter: she was the one Maud wanted out.

Kate didn’t intend to oblige her. She might not have asked for this job, but now that she had it—she wasn’t prepared to relinquish it.

“Mrs. Barrett,” said Kate reasonably, “is in Paris. Where her husband is. I doubt she’d be interested in relocating to Grécourt—even if we wanted her, which we don’t.”

“She sets a wonderful table,” put in Alice unhelpfully. “She had the most wonderful dinner for Smith girls in Paris. And it wasn’t a cakeless day.”

“Mmm, cake,” said Liza wistfully. “I do miss cake.”

“Oh, look,” said Maud, before Liza could wax rhapsodic about chestnut cream and almond paste. “Here comes our director.”

Dr. Stringfellow ignored her, nodding briefly at Alice and then looking past her, at the bags in the White truck. “Welcome back. You brought our medical supplies?”

Alice picked at a clump of mud on one boot with the toe of the other. “I did try.”

“When you say try . . .” Dr. Stringfellow made a visible effort to retain her patience. “Do you mean to tell me that our supplies are still in Bordeaux?”

“Well, no. Mrs. Barrett made inquiries on our behalf—and it seems that our medical supplies were distributed.”

“Distributed?” Dr. Stringfellow’s eyebrows were practically vertical. “Distributed to whom?”

“She’s not quite sure. Hospitals most likely?” Avoiding Dr. Stringfellow’s eyes, Alice added hastily, “You know the Red Cross is pooling all donations and giving them out as they’re needed, so it probably made sense at the time, since we weren’t there.”