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He was looking at her like she was a kind of nasty insect, one he didn’t particularly want to deal with.
She flinched, and crept closer to Grand-mère.
The woman said something in English, addressing Elodie, who did not understand a word. She stared. ‘Pardon?’
The woman’s eyes widened. ‘Did you not understand me?’ she asked in French.
‘No, I’m sorry – I do not know English.’
‘This is your father’s wife, Lady Clairmont,’ said Grand-mère, introducing her.
This shocked the woman, who said scathingly, ‘She can’t speak English? Why, she’s been raised as a perfect heathen, though why I am surprised is beyond me.’
Her father frowned at Lady Clairmont. ‘Well, it could have been avoided if you had only allowed—’
‘Charles,’ said Lady Clairmont in a chilling voice. ‘Not now.’
He looked away and swore under his breath. Then he looked at Elodie and started to make things worse. ‘The mind boggles at the lack of sense your mother displayed – why was she so insistent that I take you in if she couldn’t even be bothered to ensure that you would have a chance of thriving. Same old Brigitte, eh? About as much sense as a pea…’
Elodie’s eyes flashed. ‘Do not speak like that about my mother,’ she warned.
‘He can say whatever he pleases about some common—’ began Lady Clairmont, who was cut off by Marguerite, whose cheerful brown eyes had turned to stone.
‘Careful, madame, that is my daughter you’re talking about and this is my house. Can I ask you to keep a civil tongue?’
Lord Clairmont’s eyes flashed. ‘We should keep a civil tongue. By God, that’s rich – when she came in here squawking like some fishwife.’
‘That’s different – she was not rude.’
‘Rude? How dare you?’
But this was too much for Elodie. She’d been looking forward to meeting her father for years… and this was him? This small, pompous person who had come to Grand-mère’s home and shouted at her. Whose first glance at his own daughter wasn’t one full of kindness or love… but disappointment? How dare Grand-mère? How dare he! She didn’t care who he was or what title he had – it meant nothing whatsoever to her, she felt spitting mad, and all she saw was red, as everything she’d been through over the past months bubbled up inside and she flew at him in a rage, and kicked his shin.
They all turned towards her in shock.
‘Elodie,’ breathed Grand-mère in surprise.
Lord Clairmont puffed himself up like a bear and looked ready to throttle her.
Ducking below his outstretched arms, she tore off out of the house. Blood rushing in her ears, as she ran as far and as fast as her legs allowed.
Inside Marguerite was trying and failing to calm down the Clairmonts.
‘Let’s just take a breath.’
‘Are you quite insane?’ snapped Lady Clairmont. ‘Those manners of hers are shocking – the eyes might be Clairmont, but that is French blood – she’s wild.’
Marguerite gritted her teeth, praying for strength.
‘She will cool down, don’t worry.’
But she didn’t.
By ten that evening, even Lord Clairmont was starting to look a little worried. Marguerite had called on her neighbours, including Monsieur Blanchet and Jacques, beginning to truly worry when he said she wasn’t there.
‘You’re sure you don’t know where she is?’ she asked the boy. ‘I know she’s your friend, but this is serious.’
‘I am,’ he said, his dark eyes anxious. ‘I wish I was hiding her.’
