Mrs. Ogilvie corrected him, “A sea-captain, till lately. Yet remove him from his wooden world, and truthfully he knows no more of travelling than does a child of six. ’Twas a relief,” she said, “to get him off my hands.”
“He left this morning?”
“Yes. He is in a prodigious hurry to be at Dunkirk,” she told the men, “by Saturday. I wish to God he may be so soon wanted.”
Anna’s gaze had narrowed thoughtfully upon the men, suspicious of their questions, and she might have pointed out to Mrs. Ogilvie that Englishmen were never to be trusted, and that telling information to them was not over wise, but she knew well that it was not her place to speak till she was spoken to, and no one seemed inclined to even notice her, much less deign to speak to her. And so she watched, and held tight to the parcel of her things that she had carried out of Ypres, and waited.
Father Graeme soon returned. “I wonder, Mrs. Ogilvie,” he said, “if you would join myself and Anna in our meal.”
She looked at Anna then, and smiled in her bright way, and said, “Of course,” and taking leave of the two Englishmen crossed over with the monk and Anna to a table set in the far corner of the room.
Once out of earshot of the others, Father Graeme told her, low, “I wish to ask a favor of you, if I may.”
“You’ve but to ask. You know that I could not deny you anything,” she teased him to begin with, but in glancing at his face again she cast aside the light demeanor and grew thoughtful. “What is it you need?”
“It is a favor I can only ask of one I trust,” he said. “My father wrote that he would meet us here, but either he has not yet come, or else he is mistaken in our meeting-place. I need you to stay here and guard the child, while I go to make sure my father is not waiting for us at my house.”
The woman’s eyes touched Anna’s face. “Does she need guarding?”
“Aye, she does. ’Tis why my father makes this journey, for he is intensely fond of Anna.”
Mrs. Ogilvie remarked, “Your father’s good regard is not an easy thing to win.” She seemed impressed, the fine arch of her eyebrows growing more pronounced as her regard of Anna grew more keen. “Good morrow, child. How are you?”
Anna’s head still ached, and she was hungry, but she knew that it was not polite to make complaints. “I am quite well, I thank you, madam.”
Mrs. Ogilvie contained a smile. “Such lovely manners, Father Graeme.”
“Aye, she was but lately with the Irish Dames at Ypres.”
“The Abbess Butler?”
Father Graeme gave a nod. “And she would be there still, had I not received a summons from my father to go fetch her hence without delay, and bring her out of danger.”
“Danger? What could…？” Breaking off, she fixed the smile again upon her face and sat back as the landlord came to bring them bread, a jug of wine, and broth that smelt of cabbages and onions. Mrs. Ogilvie was generous with her thanks, and waited till he’d gone again before she leaned in, speaking quietly herself. “What danger could there be at Ypres for such a child?”
Quietly the monk said, “This is Anna Moray, only daughter of my cousin John. My father took great pains to hide her safely, but there was an…indiscretion at the convent. When my father learnt, by secret channels, that the agents of the Prince of Hanover had set a plan in place to seize the child, he sent to me at once.”
Across the table, Mrs. Ogilvie agreed that Colonel Graeme had done wisely. “But where will she go from here?”
“I’ve not been told,” the monk admitted, “but my father never moves without a plan.” He’d only eaten several bites of bread, and chased them down with a small tumblerful of wine, but now he added, “And he always minds a schedule once he’s set it, which is why I am surprised that he did not arrive ahead of us, and why I do suspect he may be waiting in some other place.”
He looked to Mrs. Ogilvie, who nodded and assured him, “I shall stay with her, till you return.”
He thanked her, and with one hand gave a lightly reassuring stroke of Anna’s bent head as he promised her, “I’ll not be long.”
She kept her head down.
“So,” said Mrs. Ogilvie.
Remembering the nuns’ instruction that it was polite to give her full attention to an adult who was speaking, Anna clutched the little parcel of belongings on her lap with both her hands and raised her chin.
“It has been a good while since I have dined with a young lady.” Mrs. Ogilvie was smiling. While she scooped a spoonful of the broth her light gaze took in Anna’s features, and again the eyebrows arched. “I must confess I am astonished I did not mark the resemblance before now. You are the image of your father. Has anybody told you this?”