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The maid gave her a knowing look.
Mari shooed the children out of the room. “Why don’t you go and make some chalk drawings on the flagstones while I dress.”
“It might rain later,” said Michel. “Our drawings would be washed away.”
“Then you can paint water colors. Harriet will find easels and paints.”
“My pleasure, miss,” said Harriet.
“I want to see charming seascapes,” Mari told the children. “So charming that your father will want to hang them in his salon. Quickly now, before it rains.”
The children made no more objections, trailing after the maid.
Adele turned back. “When we return to London, do you think we’ll have a letter from Amina?”
“I wouldn’t be at all surprised. She should have had time to return your letter by now.”
Adele’s shoulders lifted. “I do hope so,” she said, as she followed Michel and the maid down the corridor.
Mari and the children arrived back in London three days later. They’d been delayed on the roads by heavy rains, so they arrived in the morning, instead of late the night before.
Today was the day she would meet with Mr. Shadwell. She only had a few hours to prepare.
The gate at Number Seventeen, Grosvenor Square, still said that it scorned to change. Mari didn’t know why she thought it should have changed. She was the one who had changed.
She was different now. She had a new awareness of her body. Head to toes and all the places in between that Edgar had kissed, caressed, and coaxed to song. Though it wasn’t only a physical change. She was not the same woman who had walked through this gate after her disastrous meeting with Mrs. Trilby.
Instead of having to don confidence and courage like a mask, she understood that strength already lived inside her. It had always been there, but she’d been afraid to own it, or to utilize it, for fear of retribution.
Whatever was revealed at the meeting with the lawyer today, and whatever happened with Edgar, nothing could take away that strength now.
“Good morning, Miss Perkins. Good morning, children. How was the seashore?” asked Mrs. Fairfield, meeting them in the entrance hall.
“It was wonderful!” said Adele. “We ate oysters and rolled down sand dunes.”
“Not at the same time, I hope,” said the housekeeper.
“We flew a kite, and we still have sand between our toes,” said Michel proudly. “And we made sand castles. Mine was the best.”
Mrs. Fairfield laughed. “My, my, my. What a jolly holiday. I’ll have to go with you next time. I do love sand between my toes.”
“You do?” asked Michel with an incredulous expression, as if he’d never thought about housekeepers leaving their houses.
“Indeed I do. And my sand castles are award winning. They even have china closets.”
“Bof,” exclaimed Michel. “China closets.”
“Now then, children,” said Mrs. Fairfield, bending toward them. “You’ll never guess who’s here to see you!”
“Father?” asked Adele. “But this is his house.”
“Not your father, he’s at his foundry, no, it’s someone you’ve been longing to see. You sent a letter to her and instead of writing back she came in person.”
Adele and Michel stared at each other, eyes wide. “Amina!” they cried in unison.
“Take us to her, Mrs. Fairfield,” urged Adele.
Mrs. Fairfield chuckled indulgently. “She’s in the parlor. Come along and we’ll go to her.”
