Albert left for France on Monday morning, with orders to drag Lotti back to England if he had to, but to do it discreetly. As the train pulled out of the station, he thought how curious it was that through all his conversation with Hubert Netherbury, not once had the man shown any concern about his niece’s safety, only outrage at her behavior. Well, the girl had certainly made a fool of her uncle—running away, nicking diamonds, not to mention getting him to pay for Ben’s education, and the strange business with Malachy Campbell’s dog …

As for Ben, stringing Albert along for weeks about his brother …

He remembered the day he had told Lotti and Ben they had to go to school—even then, they had been defying the rules. They were a force to be reckoned with, those kids, no doubt about it.

But then, so was Albert Skinner.

PART IV

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Ben’s heart was in his mouth, and Lotti’s too, as he brought the Sparrowhawk alongside the convent’s rickety jetty. It was a lovely place, the river slow and lazy and fringed with trees, with dragonflies skittering over the surface and house martins flying low to drink. But it was also the place where the search for Sam on the water ended, and the search on land began.

They had not realized, until they stepped ashore, how safe the little narrowboat made them feel.

“The dogs should stay,” said Clara. “We don’t know if they’re welcome.”

“The captain said they were good women,” protested Lotti.

“That doesn’t mean they like dogs.”

No boat, no dogs … Ben and Lotti suddenly felt very exposed, but they walked side by side with quick determined steps along a path which led from the jetty to a faded door in a high wall. It opened with a creak when Ben pushed it, and the travelers stepped inside.

They found themselves walking in long grass in an overgrown orchard. On their left, a row of apple trees showed advanced signs of blight, and when the house came into view they saw that several of its shutters were broken, and that unchecked ivy grew thickly on the walls. And yet despite this, there was a solidity to both house and orchard, as if the breeze rustling through the trees and the ivy were whispering, times have been hard, but we are still here …

“It will be all right,” Lotti whispered to Ben. “I have a good feeling.”

A bench had been placed by the back door, which was open, and from inside the house came the sound of a woman singing. Clara stepped forward, calling out a greeting in French. Immediately the singing stopped. An elderly nun came to the door, wiping her hands on the apron she wore over her gray habit, and introduced herself as Sister Monique.

“And you are the English travelers!” she said, with a smile.