I think of you all the time, my darling, and wish you were here at my side, but since that can’t be just now, believe me when I tell you how much I love and miss you. A letter from you would cheer me greatly, for I too am struggling to come to terms with Justin’s death. I could not have wanted a better brother.

I will write again soon. Though from the look of things I shan’t be able to return to you as soon as I would wish, I remain now and always, Your Rupert.

Hélène read the letter through several times, dwelling with pleasure on his endearments and promised love. The letter contained nothing to which her parents might take exception, and Hélène decided if Maman spoke of it again to offer her the chance to read it for herself. For, thought Hélène, once her mother had satisfied herself that Rupert’s letters were entirely proper, she would not concern herself with them again, when perhaps their content might have altered.

It was later that she heard from Annette about Madame Sauze’s unexpected departure for Paris.

‘We stayed in her sister’s apartment before we came here,’ Annette explained. ‘Aunt Agathe lived with her when Father Thomas threw her out, and she took me there when I left.’

‘Do you think she’ll leave us,’ asked Hélène, ‘and go back to live in Paris?’

‘Doubt it,’ replied Annette. ‘She loves working here. It’s the sort of job she’s always dreamed of.’

‘Didn’t she like working for the priests?’

‘Oh, she was happy enough when Father Lenoir was alive, but when he died everything changed,’ answered Annette. ‘With Father Thomas… well, I told you about Father Thomas. But I’m sure she doesn’t want to go back to the city.’

Annette was right. When Agathe had left for Paris the previous day, she had had every intention of returning to Belair as soon as possible. She spent the night in the Avenue Ste Anne, where she had been welcomed by Madame Vernier, the housekeeper who, with the aid of a housemaid, looked after the house when the family were in the country. Agathe passed an anxious night, but the following morning she presented herself a little nervously at Monsieur Colet’s office.

The lawyer rose to greet her with an outstretched hand, invited her to sit down and offered her coffee. She took a seat on the chair opposite his desk but declined the refreshment, surprised that it had been offered. She looked across at him expectantly. He was a dapper little man who looked surprisingly small behind his large desk. He was younger than Agathe had expected, too, no more than thirty-five, with a fine head of hair coming to a widow’s peak on his forehead and beetling black brows from beneath which a pair of shrewd brown eyes assessed her. Agathe raised her chin a little and he smiled.

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, madame,’ he said, ‘despite the sad circumstances that bring you here. May I offer you my condolences on the loss of your sister.’