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Henri climbed out onto the gravel. He took off his helmet and goggles and moved swiftly to open the door for Elsie. ‘That was better than walking, was it not?’
    She allowed him to help her out of the car, enjoying the sensation of being treated like a lady. ‘Thank you so much, Monsieur Bellaire. It was very kind of you to go out of your way like this.’
    â€˜I will wait for you.’
    â€˜Oh, no, really I couldn’t expect you to do that.’
    â€˜How will you get home?’
    â€˜I don’t know. I expect there’ll be a bus.’
    He frowned. ‘You will be returning to Darcy Hall?’
    â€˜Yes, of course.’
    â€˜Then I will wait for you.’
    She could see that to argue was useless, and her desire to see her mother overrode all other considerations. She hurried into the hospital, leaving Henri to follow or not as he pleased.
    A nurse showed her to the side ward and asked her to wait in the corridor. Elsie caught a glimpse of the bed and the movement of nurses fluttering about the room like grey and white doves, but the door closed again, shutting her out. She was tempted to barge in and demand to see her mother, but just as she felt she could bear it no longer the door opened and Dr Hancock emerged.
    â€˜Elsie, my dear, I am so sorry.’

Chapter Three
    HENRI HAD WAITED for her and he offered to drive her back to Darcy Hall. ‘You should not be alone at a time like this, chérie,’ he said gently.
    Dazed and too shocked even to cry, Elsie shook her head. ‘I don’t belong there. I should go home.’
    â€˜I’m sure they will look after you,’ Henri insisted. ‘Unless you have someone close who could be with you tonight.’
    â€˜I’ve no family in England.’
    He shot her a curious glance. ‘Does that mean you have relations in France? I only assume that because your French is flawless.’
    â€˜My mother’s family are French, but they cut her off when she married Pa.’
    â€˜I’m sorry. That must have been a matter of great sorrow for her, but if you will allow me to take you to Darcy Hall I’m certain that Marianne will see that you are looked after.’
    â€˜No. Thank you, Monsieur Bellaire, but I want to go home.’
    â€˜It’s Henri,’ he said softly. ‘I am your friend, Elsie. I think you should not be alone tonight.’
    â€˜I grew up in Tan Cottage. It’s where I live,’ she said simply. ‘Please take me home.’
    He left her at the door and she did not invite him in. She was not ashamed of the tiny one up, one down cottage, but she wanted to be alone. Her mother’s sudden death from a haemorrhage had come as a body blow. Even though she had been warned that the end might be imminent, deep down Elsie had clung to the hope that it might not be so. Now it was final. She had seen her mother’s dead body and kissed her marble-like cheek as if she were saying goodnight, but it was a long and never-ending darkness that had taken her mother from her.
    She slumped down on a wooden chair at the kitchen table and it was only then that she realised she was still clutching the bag of biscuits and the jar of Bovril. She put them down and sat staring at them as if they were the last tangible link with the mother she had just lost. The sun went down and shadows gathered around her until she was in almost complete darkness, and at last tears came. She buried her head in her arms and sobbed.
    She awakened to sunshine and birdsong, and for a moment she could not think why she was slumped over the kitchen table and not in her bed. She raised her head and the realisation that she was completely alone hit her with such force that it took her breath away. She rose unsteadily to her feet and moved stiffly to the back door. Outside the air was redolent with the scents of late summer. The fragrance of honeysuckle and the white roses that her mother had loved mingled