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‘Jacques,’ snapped his father.
‘No,’ he said, wincing, ‘I just mean then I’d know she was safe.’
Marguerite touched the boy’s head, and nodded. She could well understand that.
They combed the fields, and the buildings all around Marguerite’s farm, until they found her hiding, unbeknownst to anyone, with the pigs in Jacques’ father’s barn. She was lying fast asleep next to Couchon.
Her father was mortified.
‘Like I said, a perfect heathen.’
Lady Clairmont didn’t say a word, she just nodded, brows raised.
Marguerite looked at them both. ‘Look, perhaps it’s best then if she stays with me.’
‘So that you can continue to raise her like this?’ he snapped.
‘I quite agree,’ said Lady Clairmont. ‘Something has to be done.’ Then she looked at Marguerite and said coldly, ‘We will collect her in the morning. Please ensure she is ready.’
‘But—’ cried Marguerite, looking at Lord Clairmont askance. ‘No, please, Charles, you promised – you said next year perhaps.’
‘It is Lord Clairmont, Madame Renaux, and I promised you that I would let her stay with you while she recovered. When I arrived I did not see a grief-stricken child. What I have found is one who cannot speak English, who has the manners of a gutter-rat. So unless you want to guarantee that she never comes to see you again I suggest that you ensure that she is dressed and ready and in a more amenable temper when we leave tomorrow morning.’
