“No, no. I shall never be all right. Do not go…not yet. Edouard, what will become of him? They sent him away. They paid money…but money’s not love. Poor child. Poor little baby. Who will love him? Who will care for him? Not those who sent him away…farmed him out…”

“He made you happy, Marguerite,” I said.

“Oh, yes…happy. My little baby. But what will become of him? There is only one I wish him to be with.”

I could only say, “All will be well. They will come soon. I must bring them here.”

She shook her head. “You, Lucinda. You love him and he loves you. He knows so little of the world. He knows you are safe…you, me and Jacques. Only one of us will do. He would be frightened without any of us. He is so little. It must be you.”

I thought her mind was wandering; then I realized how earnest she was. She clutched my hand. I looked into her eyes. They were imploring, begging.

“Miss Lucinda, you must do this. It is my dying wish. Promise me that I may die happy.”

“Marguerite…”

“Take him with you. Take him away. You will go home to England. You will be safe there. Take my baby with you. Please…please take him. You must. What will become of him if you do not?”

“We must find those who brought him to you.”

“I do not know them.”

“There is the solicitor, you said.”

“I have never seen him. The money comes. I have no address. I do not know where it comes from. They do not care for him. They do not love him. They gave him away. They pay to keep him out of the way. To them he is nothing…something to be forgotten. How could they ever love him? Lucinda, it is my dying wish. Promise me. I trust you. You have a good mother and a good father. You have spoken of them and I hear the love in your voice when you do so. They are good people. Tell them how a dying woman begged of you. Your mother will understand. But take my baby. You take him. Take little Edouard—please. Let me—die happy.”

Her breath was coming in gasps. What was I doing here? Why was I not running for help? I was here because I was aware that there was no help for her. She was dying. She knew it and I knew it, and her only desire now was to extract a promise from me before it was too late.

“Lucinda…Lucinda…” Her voice was a whisper now.

I bent over. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I will take Edouard with me when I go to England. I know that when my mother hears what has happened, she will want to care for him.”

I saw a smile spread across her face. It was one of peace.

“But, Marguerite,” I went on, “you are going to get well. They will come and take you to a hospital.”

She smiled. She was still holding my hand in hers.

“I will go now,” I said. “I will take Edouard with me. A soldier is coming to take us across France to England. I promise Edouard shall go with us. Trust me, Marguerite.”

She opened her eyes and looked straight into mine. “I trust you,” she said. “You will keep your word and I will die content.”

Her grip on my hand slackened. She was finding it more and more difficult to breathe. Then…I knew that she was dead.

I rose. I took the perambulator and went across the gardens to the house.

As I came into the hall I saw Madame Rochère with Mademoiselle Artois, Miss Carruthers and some of the servants. There was a shocked silence as I wheeled in the perambulator.

I looked straight at Madame Rochère and said, ‘The Plantains’ cottage is destroyed. Monsieur and Madame Plantain have both been killed. The baby was in his perambulator in the garden. He is unharmed. So I brought him here. I shall look after him.”

It was the first time I had spoken to Madame Rochère with authority. I was determined. I had made a solemn promise to a dead woman, and I intended to keep it.

Madame Rochère looked shocked—as indeed they all did—and I was amazed that she showed surprise neither at my announcement nor at the sight of the baby.

“Help is coming,” she said. “Those poor people. So soon…We will arrange something for the child.”

“I am looking after him,” I said. “He knows me. He will miss Madame Plantain. He must be with me.”

She took no notice and walked past me, so I lifted Edouard up and took him to my dormitory.

I was glad I had it to myself. The others had gone, Caroline with them. She had taken the train to the French border with the other English girls on the previous day.

Miss Carruthers came in.

“Do you know how to care for a child?” she asked. “I think it would be best to hand him over to Madame Printemps. She will know what to do.”

Madame Printemps worked in the kitchens, a plump, middle-aged woman who had had eight children.

“He knows me,” I said. “He will be frightened by strangers. I have promised to look after him.”

I realized that taking that solemn oath had had an effect on me. I spoke with a resolution that made some impression on those who heard it. Previously I should have been told not to be foolish, and to hand over the baby to Madame Printemps without delay.

But perhaps they were all suffering from the shock of the bombardment by air. Perhaps they were thinking, It was the Plantains today, who will it be tomorrow?

However, no attempt was made to take Edouard from me. I put him to bed and lay down beside him.

“Edouard,” I said, “you are going to be my baby from now on. There is nothing to fear. My mother will help me look after you. She knows a great deal about babies. She will understand when I tell her I have made a solemn promise to Madame Plantain so that she could die happy.”

Then I lay very still, weeping for Marguerite Plantain who had cared so much for this child. Edouard stared at me gravely and put out a finger to touch a tear. I took his hand and kissed it, and I said, “Edouard, we shall be together. You will be safe with me.”

While I lay there Annabelinda came in. She stared at us.

“I’ve heard,” she said. “I think you must be mad.”

“What do you mean?”

“Bringing in a baby like that.”

“He had no one to look after him,” I said. “The Plantains are both dead…killed by that cruel bomb. I have promised Madame Plantain to take him to England.”

“Take him to England! It won’t be allowed.”

“It will be.”

“What about Madame Rochère? Do you think she will let you do such a thing?”

“She will have to, because I have made up my mind. It’s not for her to say.”

“What about this Major Merrivale?”

“If he takes me, he will take the baby.”

“I can’t understand you, Lucinda. You seem to have lost your senses. Do you realize what an awkward position we are in?”

“I do indeed,” I heard myself say. “Perhaps I understand a lot more than you realize.”

“What do you mean?”

“I am taking the baby with me. I am going to look after him. Someone has to. His parents didn’t want to bother with him.”

“I know it’s sad,” she said. “But he’s Belgian. Someone here can look after him. He belongs here. We have enough to do. We’ve got to get home before it gets worse.”

“He does not belong here,” I said slowly and deliberately, and I was amazed at the strength of my anger toward her, sitting there smugly, caring only for herself. I could not stop myself. I forgot my promise to Jean Pascal. I forgot everything but my concern for the child and my anger against Annabelinda. “He does belong here, with us,” I went on. “With us…with you. You want him left behind, because to you he is an encumbrance…just as he was when he was born. Edouard is your son, Annabelinda, the child who was put out with the Plantains so as to be rid of him, so that you might not have an impediment in your life.”

She had turned pale, and then the color rushed into her face. “What…what are you saying?” she whispered.

I could not understand myself. I was overwrought. I had been more deeply shocked by my experience than I realized. I could not control myself. It was too late to try now, and I was not sure in that moment that I wanted to.