Rosalind sliced an orange and dropped it into the mixture of rum and brandy, adding a generous amount of sugar and lemon rind. ‘Don’t say that, Alex. If you go to the Crimea that means Bertie will be there, too. I can’t bear the thought of losing either of you.’

‘Rosie—’ Alex started to say something but was interrupted by a loud crashing on the door knocker. ‘Our guests are eager,’ he said, laughing.

‘Agathe will let them in.’ Rosalind was about to lift the kettle from the trivet in front of the fire to add hot water to the punch when Agathe burst into the room.

‘Madame, a nun from the hospital is at the door. She says you must come quickly.’

Chapter Eight

Rosalind reached the front door to find Sister Dominique standing outside, shivering with cold.

‘Sister Dominique – my husband …’

‘He opened his eyes, Madame. He is conscious.’

‘Has he spoken?’

‘No, Madame. But Sister Mary-Grace sent me to fetch you. The doctor is with your husband now.’

‘I’ll come right away.’ Rosalind spun round at the sound of footsteps and saw Hester hurrying towards her. ‘Piers is conscious. I’m going to the hospital.’

Hester snatched a cloak off the hallstand and thrust it into Rosalind’s hands. ‘Put that on. We don’t want you to catch your death of cold.’

‘Thank you, Hester.’ Rosalind wrapped it around her shoulders as she hurried after Sister Dominique, who was already halfway up the path, moving swiftly and silently like a dark shadow. Rosalind could hardly breathe as she entered the sickroom for the second time that day. Sister Mary-Grace was standing at the foot of the bed with the doctor.

‘Madame Blanchard,’ Sister Mary-Grace said with one of her rare smiles. She turned back to the doctor, speaking in rapid French and he responded with a nod.

‘How is he?’ Rosalind demanded anxiously. Piers looked disappointingly the same as when she had left him.

‘Madame, you will forgive my English. It is not good, but your husband shows signs of recovery from the head injury.’ The doctor, whose lined face was pale and wan with dark shadows underlining his weary eyes, gave her a vague smile. ‘His lung infection is no worse, which is a good sign.’

‘Thank you, Doctor,’ Rosalind said earnestly. ‘Does that mean he will be able to come home soon?’

‘It is in the hands of God, Madame. But there is hope now.’

‘I can’t thank you and the sisters enough.’

‘It is what we do, Madame.’ The doctor turned to Sister Mary-Grace, speaking to her in a low voice. He listened to her response before picking up his medical bag and hurrying from the room.

‘May I stay with him for a while?’ Rosalind asked urgently.

Sister Dominque translated the question, receiving a nod from Sister Mary-Grace, who made haste to follow the doctor.