“Not Snowdrop again.” Rounding on Kate, Maud demanded, “What are we meant to do about the store? Unless you mean us to yoke ourselves to the truck like oxen and pull it all the way.”
“No,” said Kate reluctantly. The store had been a smashing success, thanks in no small part to Maud. “You and Liza are working wonders with the store. We may have to hold more store hours here in the chateau, though. Anyone near enough to walk can come to us.”
Maud folded her arms across her chest, narrowing her eyes at Kate. “Shouldn’t Dr. Stringfellow be making these decisions? She is our director. Or had you forgotten?”
The others had stopped talking. They were all watching, with varying degrees of interest and discomfort.
“Dr. Stringfellow is seeing patients,” said Kate neutrally.
“It’s absurd having a doctor as director of the Unit,” said Maud, addressing herself to the circle of women. “We need someone proper to manage us. Like Mrs. Barrett in Paris.”
Kate didn’t miss the way Alice began fiddling with the brooch on her coat. So that was it, then. Another coup. A coup against Dr. Stringfellow—which meant a coup against Kate, since Kate was the one actually running things. Kate had no illusions about the matter: she was the one Maud wanted out.
Kate didn’t intend to oblige her. She might not have asked for this job, but now that she had it—she wasn’t prepared to relinquish it.
“Mrs. Barrett,” said Kate reasonably, “is in Paris. Where her husband is. I doubt she’d be interested in relocating to Grécourt—even if we wanted her, which we don’t.”
“She sets a wonderful table,” put in Alice unhelpfully. “She had the most wonderful dinner for Smith girls in Paris. And it wasn’t a cakeless day.”
“Mmm, cake,” said Liza wistfully. “I do miss cake.”
“Oh, look,” said Maud, before Liza could wax rhapsodic about chestnut cream and almond paste. “Here comes our director.”
Dr. Stringfellow ignored her, nodding briefly at Alice and then looking past her, at the bags in the White truck. “Welcome back. You brought our medical supplies?”
Alice picked at a clump of mud on one boot with the toe of the other. “I did try.”
“When you say try . . .” Dr. Stringfellow made a visible effort to retain her patience. “Do you mean to tell me that our supplies are still in Bordeaux?”
“Well, no. Mrs. Barrett made inquiries on our behalf—and it seems that our medical supplies were distributed.”
“Distributed?” Dr. Stringfellow’s eyebrows were practically vertical. “Distributed to whom?”
“She’s not quite sure. Hospitals most likely?” Avoiding Dr. Stringfellow’s eyes, Alice added hastily, “You know the Red Cross is pooling all donations and giving them out as they’re needed, so it probably made sense at the time, since we weren’t there.”
“Those weren’t donations,” Julia said, as though speaking to a toddler, all short words and simple sentence construction. “Those were our supplies, bought and paid for.”
“Well, yes, but . . .”
“It’s not her fault,” said Kate, stepping in on Alice’s behalf. Even if Alice was possibly plotting against her. “It wasn’t her mistake.”
Julia’s blue eyes were practically black. “No, it was ours for not collecting them at the first opportunity. Instead of collecting trucks, we ought to have made sure of our medical supplies.”
“Without the trucks, we wouldn’t be here,” pointed out Kate.
Julia looked at Kate, her lips a thin line. “We’ll have to go to Amiens and beg. There’s only so much we can do with bicarbonate of soda and prayer.”
“I’m surprised you don’t just go light a candle,” said Maud, who had never forgiven Julia for making her participate in a Catholic mass.
“Yes, to the patron saint of small annoyances.” Julia turned to Kate. “When can we go to Amiens? Or does our essence allowance not stretch to medical necessities?”
“I’ll drive you to Amiens tomorrow.” Never mind that she would rather do anything but. Kate raised her voice, trying to pretend that she was in control, that she wasn’t failing miserably in her role as assistant director. “Shall we go in to dinner? We would have brought out the fatted calf for you, Alice, but Emmie refused to let us slaughter any of her cows.”
“Some idiot’s blocking our drive,” said Julia.