Amabel still spent her days in her parlour, and though Rupert had told her that poor Kitty had died in childbirth, she had simply given him a sweet smile and said, ‘How very sad. Poor Justin!’

Rupert moved himself and his office back into Pilgrim’s Oak itself. The Dower House, with its memories of Kitty’s short tenure, was too sad a place to live and he knew that Fran would welcome his company back in the main house. Their mother was far beyond running a household, and Fran continued with the task as she had since Justin’s accident. It was to her that Mrs Crowley came for orders every day.

Rupert threw himself into the running of the estate. The two estates would never be joined as Sir James and Sir Philip had planned, and it was unlikely Sir James would now fund any of the improvements Rupert had been planning. He would have to do what he could on his own, and he was beginning to consider offering some of the tenant farmers the freehold of their land.

If Papa knew I were disposing of land, he thought ruefully, he’d be spinning in his grave.

It was one evening in late March when he was searching his desk drawers for a tenancy agreement that he found Annette’s letter. It was several weeks old now. With everything that had happened, he had almost forgotten about it. He had certainly never replied. He read it again, and again wondered what had happened to the lost letters. Had someone intercepted them? It was just possible, he supposed, but again he came up against the problem of who would do such a thing. Surely no one at Pilgrim’s Oak. He didn’t want to believe that; he couldn’t believe it. Someone at Belair? But why? Monsieur and Madame St Clair had already accepted him as a suitor for their daughter. He read Annette’s letter through again. Was it too late to reply to it now? She had kept her promise to write to him about Hélène, and though such a long time had passed, she deserved an answer. Before he could change his mind, he sat down at the desk and picked up his pen.

He was about to send the letter to her at Gavrineau. After all, that was where Hélène would be living now, and where she was, Annette would be too. But something made him hesitate. If his letters had gone missing before, the same might happen again. When he had finished writing the letter, he decided to address the envelope to Pierre at Belair.

Pierre could be trusted to pass it on to Annette somehow, Rupert thought as he walked to the village to post the letter. He would rely on Pierre as he had relied on Annette, for he knew that both of them had Hélène’s interests at heart.

Chapter 44

Hélène was sewing a pocket into the seam of a skirt. As she completed the task she snipped off the thread and smoothed the fabric to be sure that the pocket itself lay flat along the seam, ready for pressing. Hélène had been taught to sew as a child, but Annette had had to teach her how to iron the pocket and the seams when it had been stitched in place. Now she was proficient; she could have the sewing ready and pressed for return by the next day. Today she had been given five skirts and was supposed to be fitting two pockets into each. The sewing was simple and she found her mind wandered as she plied her needle. She was alone in the apartment and would be most of the day. Annette had already left for the St Eustache market, where she had been given work on one of Jeannot’s stalls. Despite the job being menial, sometimes including the plucking of a freshly killed chicken for a customer, she had been pleased to accept Jeannot’s offer of work – it gave her the freedom to come and go as she chose.