She went in, leaving the door open, and Joe skulked in some discomfort outside by the jamb. Judging by the noise, they were all still in there, quarrelling about stolen stockings and yelling at each other to be quiet in several languages. Dorcas ignored the cat calls and suggestions that she go straight back into the crèche and, cleverly, Joe thought, directed her question to the sensible Jane Makepeace.
‘Miss Makepeace, can you help me?’ he heard Dorcas say.
‘Not really a good time, darling. I’m a bit behind … Look, pass me that stocking from the radiator, will you?
‘I’m looking for Estelle. She’s disappeared,’ Dorcas persisted.
And Jane replied, ‘Well, this here’s her bed next to mine and, you see, she’s not in it or on it or in the vicinity of it. Can’t say I’ve seen her lately. Sorry, I’m not much help.’
‘No, you aren’t, are you?’ Cecily’s voice. ‘Dorcas has been moved up to the top table now-I think we should give her credit for a little grown-up understanding, don’t you? Listen, my dear-the truth is, Estelle doesn’t often sleep in her own bed. She wasn’t here last night either. She’s most probably spent the afternoon with one of the chaps and she’ll spend the night with him. If he has a room of his own. If he hasn’t they’ll find one somewhere without too much trouble. You could try her boyfriend Nathan-he’s got a room to himself in the north tower where he messes about with his chemistry set.’
A lazy Russian voice drawled: ‘Or, failing that, my darling, you could always ask your father.’
The response was a blend of titters and shocked protests.
‘You’d do better,’ Cecily went on, ‘to check your uncle-if that’s what he is. Oh, come on now! We all saw it! She was knocked sideways the moment he came in. Alley cat! She was on the prowl before he’d sat down to lunch! And I noticed-we all did-that she left the dining room on his arm last night. Wearing that little blue Worth number. She doesn’t put that on for cocoa in the dorm with us! And none of the men have the sense to resist her. No, that’s what I’d do-nip across the corridor and see what the Law’s got in its long arms.’
‘Cecily, you have a mind like a sewer!’ Jane Makepeace again. ‘Remind me to pass you the name of a good alienist in London. I really think you need the psychiatric equivalent of a flue-brush passed between your ears … or a good dose of liver salts. Why are you always so beastly to the girl? She means well.’
‘I can’t stand to breathe the same air as that tart!’ Cecily’s voice was vicious and uncontrolled. ‘She’s unhealthy! Goodness knows what we might catch from her!’
The room went silent, signalling that she’d gone too far.
The silence was broken by Dorcas. Stiff but polite, she spoke to the room: ‘A child is missing. Commander Sandilands is in the kitchens at this moment interviewing the cook about the disappearance of her son. But thank you all for your help and advice. You’ve told me more than you know.’
‘The cook’s son? Well, why didn’t you say?’ Jane Makepeace exclaimed. ‘I can tell you where they both were … oh, between tea and the children’s supper time, if that’s any use?’
‘Please, I’d very much like to hear.’
‘I’d gone down to take a look at Frederick dashing away at his fresco outside in the gallery. I heard Estelle call out and looked up. She was over by the gateway and she’d clearly just caught one of the children-the smallest one-by the hand. Rounding them up for their evening meal, I thought. In so far as I gave it any thought. It was just the usual routine. So it must have been just before six. You only have scurrilous things to say about Estelle, Cecily, but she does more than her bit with those little ones. Do any of us even know their names? I don’t. So I can’t name the boy she was with. Clogs. Green shirt. She was bending over, talking to him. Sensible girl, I thought. Checking up. If I had to speculate, I’d say the child was going home to the village. They do sometimes. Or perhaps he’d been sent home. Had he been naughty?’
‘Did you see Estelle going out over the drawbridge?’
‘No. But I expect she did. Well, where else would she go? When I looked up again, they’d disappeared. Good girl, I thought-she’s gone down to the village with him. She was wearing that short red dress she had on at breakfast time and I don’t see it hanging up. Oh, come to think of it-there was something strange about her … she was carrying that little brown attaché case of hers. No room in that for more than a change of knickers and a toothbrush so she wasn’t going away for good. So, she’s probably stayed on down there in town. There are places to stay, I think. They say the inn’s pretty good.’
‘Ah! Some village Romeo in the offing, do you suppose?’ ventured someone.
‘Just getting away from the rest of us for a bit,’ suggested Jane. ‘It’s rather like being back at school living here. We all want to break out occasionally. Estelle is the one of us who has the courage to do it. I should take yourself off watch, Dorcas dear, and go to bed. Look-if she turns up again at dinner, I’ll tell her to pop her head round the door and say goodnight, shall I?’
Murmuring her thanks, Dorcas excused herself and came out. She closed the door gently and Joe supported her slight form, quivering with rage, back into the safety of the children’s dormitory.
Joe snapped awake in the dark hours, alert and listening. He went to his window and set about opening the shutters, surprised by the sudden force of the wind that almost snatched the iron locking bar from his hand. He stuck his head out and listened for a moment to the Mistral booming down the valley. With this northerly wind scouring the buildings, ancient woodwork would be creaking, unearthly howls would sound down narrow chimneys. He found the words of a prayer he’d not spoken since childhood were on his lips:
In deepest dark no fear I show
For Thou, O Lord, art here below.
I feel as safe as in the light,
Thy hand in mine throughout the night.
He crept silently into the corridor and went to stand by the door of the children’s room, listening. Reassured by the silence, he went back to his bed, imagining Orlando’s scathing comments if he’d been caught out in this show of sentimental vigilance.
Chapter Fifteen
Wednesday morning dawned bright and clear. The wind had abated as suddenly as it had arisen, leaving a cool, combed and invigorated countryside behind it.
An equally cool, combed and invigorated Commissaire Jacquemin called for his coffee pot to be refilled and detained with a gesture the landlord of the Hôtel de la Poste who was personally waiting on his distinguished guest. ‘Ferro-tell the Lieutenant over there …’ He nodded at the young man breakfasting by himself at the far end of the room, ‘… to join me at my table, would you? And bring another cup.’
The officer and the additional crockery arrived at Jacquemin’s table at the same time. ‘Ah! Coffee, Martineau? Sleep well? Good, good. Of course, being a native, you must be used to this confounded wind. Now tell me-the motor car-did you manage to get to the bottom of the problem with the … transmission, I think you said? We weren’t handed the cream of the collection for our little jaunt, I think? I want to arrive at the château snorting impressively not jangling like a bag of nails.’
‘Yes. All in order, sir,’ said the young man crisply. His broad brow, intense eyes and tight mouth gave the impression that here was a man incapable of saying or thinking anything but ‘yes’. ‘Snorting like a bull! There’s a mechanic right here in the village who seems to know his business. He sorted it out in no time. All’s ready for our assault on the Devil’s Château.’ He grinned dismissively.
‘Ah, yes! This name … I don’t like to walk unprepared into strange scenes even of the comic opera type I suspect we’re about to experience. A little local guidance is called for, I think.’ He summoned the landlord again and invited him to seat himself. ‘Monsieur Ferro, you know where we’re headed this morning. Tell me-how did the Château de Silmont of venerable name ever acquire the sobriquet of du Diable?’