Read The Truant Spirit for Free Online

case, are Tante and Marthe? The girl isn’t French.”
    “No. Tante is aunt by marriage, I imagine. She apparently had expectations through the niece that couldn’t be realised, so wants to marry her off.”
    “Expectations?' Is the girl an heiress, then?” Bunny’s voice was dry. Sabina’s clothes had presented no evidence that thought had been spent on her wardrobe, neither had she given the impression of someone used to money.
    Brock buttered a piece of toast with careful deliberation.
    “She owns a house which is unfortunately entailed—a useless asset when it boils down to hard cash,” he said, and she looked at him inquiringly.
    “It still doesn’t make much sense—unless, of course, the aunt has someone up her sleeve who wants the house enough to take the girl with it.”
    “She has. Sabina is the owner of Penruthan. Strange, isn’t it?”
    “Penruthan...” Bunny sat up very straight and stiff in her chair, her round eyes suddenly shrewd. “But that means ... Brock! You wouldn’t encourage—you wouldn’t permit—”
    His bitter smile was cynical.
    “Marriage with an elderly roue with a weak digestion? My advice hasn’t been asked, rather naturally, my dear, and I, a stranger, am scarcely in the position to offer any, am I?”
    “In a very good position, I should have said,” Bunny retorted, but she looked disturbed. “How long have you known of this— this curious arrangement, Brock?”
    “Since last night.”
    “Only last night! Then—”
    “What else were you thinking?” He was mocking her. “Should I have said immediately: ‘My poor child, the son of Rene Bergerac is not for you. Tell your aunt to make other arrangements?”
    “It’s preposterous!” Bunny exclaimed.
    “But typically French,” Brock reminded her gently. Her small mouth set in stubborn lines.
    “You should tell her the truth.”
    “Come now, Bunny, that might be embarrassing for all concerned. One needs a little more confirmation—on both sides.”
    “Then we must send her back where she belongs as soon as she is fit to travel. The affair is distasteful and—awkward. Unless—”
    “Unless what?”
    “There’s another side,” she answered lamely. It was not quite what had been in her mind, but she knew Brock of old when he chose to sit on the fence and intervene only when it suited him.
    “There’s always another side,” he said, knowing exactly what she was thinking. “And as for sending the child back to where she belongs, it may interest you to know that her aunt has already gone to the Chateau Berger to bring matters to a head.”
    “And you believe that?”
    “I’ve no reason to doubt it. But one can get corroboration from the good Marthe, who, incidentally, must be in quite a state by now, not knowing where her charge is. You had better get the London address and wire her, Bunny. I, for my part, will try to trace the missing luggage.”
    Bunny rose at once and went upstairs. She was angry with Brock for becoming involved in an affair so outrageously foreign, and with Sabina for crossing his path at such a moment. It was possible, of course, that the girl had invented the whole thing, either to make an impression or for uglier reasons of her own, but when she stood beside the bed and looked down at the small, pointed face with its delicate bones, Bunny found it difficult to preserve her suspicions. The child was painfully thin in the bright light of morning and when she opened her eyes they held apology and acute embarrassment.
    “I’m so sorry to be such a nuisance,” she said. “I think I could get up and get dressed now, though. I haven’t been sick for a long time.”
    “Not until the doctor has seen you. He’ll be here this morning,” Bunny replied, but without sympathy.
    Sabina was conscious of a new resentment behind the woman’s precise manner.
    “I had better go back to London and Marthe,” she said with an air of defeat.
    “Without a return ticket or any