“You’re a baroness. You don’t have to care what the little people say.”
She stifled a teary laugh, and I was glad to put her in better humor. “Emily, you aren’t sacrificing your child’s happiness to run off with a lover. Every courageous thing you do will bring Anna pride one day.”
The baby gave a wail of irritation, and Emily lifted her up, whispering, “I’m sorry, darling, I’m so sorry.”
Her regret was not, I knew, for awakening the child.
She’d made the decision to go, and so had I.
FORTY-FOUR
BEATRICE
The Chateau at Motte-aux-bois
Hazebrouck, France
Spring 1917
My trip on behalf of the embassy had been, until now, uneventful. On my way north, only occasional patches of trees and winding canals relieved the eye of the dreary and flat muddy plains. At least the Spanish-influenced houses and neat little farms were picturesque, and under normal conditions must have given the impression of quiet peace, but this had been a battlefield for centuries.
Never more so than now.
The LaGranges’ ancestral home was now a military headquarters of the British Army, and the drive of the baron’s chateau was crowded with every sort of conveyance, from carts to wagons to motorcars and ambulances. British Tommies engaged in a fierce football game in the field against some Australian soldiers and a few from India. And the grand manor house bustled with more than twenty British officers, to say nothing of orderlies and hunting dogs, all of them banished from the kitchens by the fastidious cook.
Yet, in a sea of khaki uniforms, the very first soldier fate flung in my path was a blue-clad Frenchman with whom I’d once drunk enough tea to swamp a battleship. And here I was again with a baby in my arms.
“What brings you here?” Max wanted to know.
“I’m here to deliver my friend’s infant to her grandmother. I should rather ask what brings you here.”
The captain was droll. “Did I neglect to mention I’m a liaison officer between French and British commanders?”
He was remarkably sarcastic for a man who had penned me a letter saying, Our short weeks of happiness saved my life. Of course, I had not answered that letter, and perhaps he resented it.
“Meet Anna de LaGrange.” I made the child wave her pink pudgy hand. “I learned just this morning that her parents have come ashore safely in America, from whence I imagine you’ve recently returned.” Gratitude warmed me. “I should thank you for seeing my children in New York—for reassuring them.”
“It was nothing.” Furlaud smiled down at his boots. “They’re wonderful boys. You raised them well.”
“I like to think so, but it nearly broke me to leave them in tears, and you put them at ease . . .”
Just then, Emily’s mother-in-law swooped in to take up her grandchild. “I hope this little one will be able to sleep tonight,” she said. “The Brits keep the place lit up like a casino. Bombs rarely hit their targets, so it actually serves as some protection, though our neighbors are not so fortunate.”
“Goodness.” And to think I brought a child here.
The honorable old lady gave a courageous shrug. “When one thinks of the cost of a zeppelin or bomb, it seems a poor investment for the Boche, but he continues his evil ways.”
I realized how well Emily must fit in with this stouthearted family. Meanwhile, my task was to charm the British generals, though I daresay pretty little Anna outshone me in this. The gruff General Godley professed himself smitten, promising to marry her when she grew up. I regained my footing only when one of the officers recounted having seen me on Broadway and offered to play the piano if I’d sing after supper.
Emily’s mother-in-law scoffed. “It’s not right to ask Mrs. Chanler to sing for her supper like a cabaret girl.”
Thankfully, I never found it beneath my dignity to perform. I sang that night, I made the officers laugh, and before the clock struck midnight, I had them in the palm of my hand. I observed their temperaments, opinions about the progress of the war and the morale of the soldiers, not to mention attitudes toward Americans in general. And by breakfast, General Godley—who had a reputation for being a cold-tempered, rigid, and officious general—agreed to break the rules and take me closer to the front at Ypres, or what remained of it . . .
“How did you convince him?” Max wanted to know.
The French captain had come upon me where I labored over a typewriter, and I looked up to reply, “Oh, I praised Godley’s heroism and asked if he might be willing to donate his uniform to my new museum at Chavaniac.”