‘He will get better,’ Rosalind said firmly. ‘We’ll get him to a hospital in London, if all else fails, but I want to speak to his doctors. Father Laurent was helpful, but he’s a priest, not a medical man.’

‘We’ll find a way to take him home as soon as they say he can be moved.’ Hester stood up and stretched. ‘I’ve sat around for long enough. I’m going to find one of those holy ladies and ask them where we can get some food. I don’t know about you, Rosie, but I’m starving.’

Alex chuckled and his eyes gleamed with golden lights, crinkling into laughter lines at the corners. ‘You’ll be lucky to get a bowl of thin soup and a chunk of bread for luncheon. The nuns share their food with us, but we get better rations in the army.’

‘Ah, here comes the angelic young woman,’ Hester said cheerfully. ‘She understands English but I have difficulty knowing what she is saying to me. Can you help, Rosie?’

‘Leave it to me.’ Alex questioned the young nun in rapid French and listened carefully to her response. He smiled and nodded. ‘Sister Dominique says that a guide has come to take you both to the château. I’d give anything to be able to leave here now and go with you.’

Rosalind leaned over the bed and kissed him on the cheek. ‘We will get you out of here very soon. That’s a promise.’

Alex grasped her hand. ‘I trust you implicitly, Rosie. I know you’ll do what’s best for all of us, and money is not a problem. Pay them whatever they ask for their château, although I don’t hold out much hope it’s as grand as that word implies. It could be a tumbledown old barn of a place with no glass in the windows and a leaking roof, for all we know.’

‘I’ll come back this evening, if they’ll let me,’ Rosalind said earnestly. ‘I’ll tell you the worst then.’

The Château Gris perched on the edge of a precipitous cliff like a bird of ill omen. The Gothic Revival building had taken its name from the grey stone used in its construction, with four small turrets pointing up into a pewter sky. Despite the fact that it was mid-afternoon the light was fading fast, creating cavernous shadows beneath the gnarled trees and overgrown shrubs in the front garden. Father Laurent led the way along a twisting path slashing at overhanging branches with his furled umbrella. Rosalind followed him at a distance, hoping desperately that the interior of the château was more welcoming. A single glance at Hester’s tense expression was enough to convince her that they were sharing a sense of foreboding.