The Larimer children stared at Mélanie with solemn eyes. These were children who had been through losing their father and, no doubt, countless family friends. The death of a parent wasn't to them the unimaginable eventuality it was to most children. Even to Colin and Jessica, for all the risks their parents regularly ran.
"If Mama dies, we'll have to go live with our Aunt Dimity," said Benjamin, aged eight. "She doesn't like children making noise in the house, and she hates dogs."
Timothy, six, kicked one foot against the leg of his chair. His feet didn't quite reach the floor. "Maybe we could live with Aunt Violet. She has a pony."
"She has four children of her own," Benjamin said. "She won't want us."
"She likes us."
"It's not about that, silly. She doesn't have enough bedrooms, and it would be too expensive."
"No one," Mélanie said, "is convinced that your mother is going to die."
"But she might, mightn't she?" Catherine, eleven, moved to stand behind her brothers and met Mélanie's gaze over their heads.
"It's possible," Mélanie said. "Dr. Blackwell is very good at taking care of people. He's going to do everything he can to ensure that she recovers."
"Can we stay here?" Benjamin asked. "For now, at least? We need to be here if—when she wakes up."
Mélanie had been thinking about that. Children, in her experience, felt better close to their parents, even when the parents were ill. The guards Malcolm had engaged could be counted on to protect the house, and the children might be safer here than elsewhere, if whoever had attacked Annabel tried to make them pawns. "I think so," she said. "I'll have a word with your governess."
"We won't get in the way," Catherine said, arms round her brothers. "And we can help look after her."
"I'm sure you won't, and I'm sure you will," Mélanie said. "Your mother is fortunate to have such wonderful children. She has a lot of reasons to recover as soon as she possibly can."
"That doesn't mean she will," Benjamin said.
Mélanie met his direct blue gaze. The constant dilemma with children. Wanting to be honest without crushing hope. "No, but she's a strong woman. That will help."
The governess, Miss Bentley, a young woman in her late twenties with a direct gaze and a kind smile, had hung back while Mélanie talked to the children, but now she hurried forwards to comfort them. Mélanie got to her feet. In the home they knew, with Miss Bentley and the rest of the staff, the children would be in as good hands as possible.
A hand plucked at her arm. It was Jeanie, the second of the maids, who had been at the park with Miss Bentley and children. "Excuse me, ma'am." She hesitated.
"Yes?" Mélanie gave an encouraging smile. "Is there something you'd like to tell me? Perhaps we could go into the next room?"
Jeanie gave a quick, jerky nod. She looked to be a few years younger than Bridget, with light brown hair and a shy smile. In the adjoining room, she paused, fingers twisting in her skirt. "Bridget said you were asking about people Mrs. Larimer knew, which of course you would, and how there was no one unusual."
"And you know of someone unusual?"
"No. That is, I don't know that one would call it unusual, but it was certainly—unexpected. It was Thursday last. Miss Bentley's afternoon off. I went to the park with Mrs. Larimer and the children. The children were sailing a new toy boat in the Serpentine and I was close to make sure none of them tumbled in—Master Timmy's come home dripping wet more than once. Usually Mrs. Larimer's right in the midst of things, but she sat down on a bench with her book. At one point I looked back and I saw a gentleman walking towards her. She got to her feet and went to meet him, and they stood in the shade of one of the trees. As though they were trying to hide in sight as it were."
A common trick of spies. "Go on," Mélanie said. "Had you seen him before?"
"No, I'm quite sure not." Jeanie met Mélanie's gaze, less shy now. "I watched a bit—I didn't want to pry, but I wanted to make sure she was all right, and I confess I couldn't help but be a bit curious."
"Of course. Anyone would have been."
"I don't know about that. My mum says I'm always poking my nose in where I shouldn't and it'll get me in trouble in service, but you can't help caring about people you spend so much time with, can you, ma'am? That is—"
"I know precisely what you mean."
"In any case, I don't think this man was—I'd swear there wasn't anything you could call romantic between him and Mrs. Larimer. They were standing quite close together, but not in that way, if you know what I mean."
"I understand," Mélanie said. "There could be many other reasons for a man and woman to meet."
Jeanie's straight dark brows drew together. "Yes, well, whyever Mrs. Larimer and this man were meeting, it didn't seem like a happy meeting."
"They quarreled?"
"No, they didn't seem to, not precisely. They looked very serious, but not as though they were disagreeing. I saw the gentleman put his hand on her arm, as though to comfort her, but she shook him off. Then she walked towards the Serpentine and called out to the children. The gentleman stood watching her for several moments. Then I glanced at Mrs. Larimer. When I looked back for him, he'd disappeared."
"What did he look like?" Mélanie asked.
Jeanie's brows knotted more tightly. "Tall. Not old but not very young either. Brown hair, I think, though it was hard to see with his hat and his standing in the shadows mostly. When the light fell across his face I could see his eyes were very blue. His shoulders were a bit hunched, perhaps because he was so tall. He had a nice smile, but there was something that made it seem he was laughing at the world. Oh, and he kept one arm a bit close to his side. As though perhaps it pained him. I've seen men do that who were injured in the war."
"So have I," Mélanie said. But she struggled to keep her voice even.
Because Jeanie had just given a very accurate description of Harry Davenport.
Malcolm pulled the watch Mélanie had given him for their second Christmas together from his coat pocket. His interview with Carfax had taken less than a quarter hour. Mel would almost certainly still be at Annabel Larimer's. He needed to make more inquiries, but he wanted to talk with his wife first. And see if the Larimer children had returned.
When he reached the Larimer house and let himself in, it was clear the latter had occurred. A hoop, a red scarf, and a small blue coat that had not been there before rested on a chair in the hall, a little haphazardly, as though they had been tossed there. Malcolm went quickly up the stairs. He met Mélanie coming down the first-floor passage.
"Darling. Thank goodness." She took his hands and drew him into an embrasure by the stairhead. "I don't think Annabel was working for Carfax."
"She wasn't, according to Carfax. I'm not entirely sure I believe him."
"I do," Mélanie said. "Because it seems she was working for Harry."