Fitz nodded. ‘What is it?’
‘After the war, when it is safe to do so, please bring her back to France. Try to find her family. She deserves to be reunited with them.’
‘I promise,’ said Fitz solemnly. ‘You have my word.’
The doctor studied her for a moment. ‘Yes, I believe I do,’ he said finally.
By the following morning, after another disturbed and restless night, Yvette’s fever had broken, much to everyone’s relief. The doctor had been back to check on her and was pleased to find her sitting up comfortably in bed. Still very weak, but awake. Fitz spent the next two days barely moving from Yvette’s side, as she tended to her every need. Thoughts of going home to England were never far from her mind, but her priority was Yvette’s health.
New Year’s Eve came and went. Fitz was barely been aware of the days going by, as she fretted over Yvette. On the third morning, she had gone downstairs to help Jeanne with the breakfast and was pleased, if not surprised, to see Yvette at the foot of the stairs.
‘You’re up,’ she said, going over to her and hugging the nine-year-old. ‘But look, you’ve nothing on your feet. You’ll make yourself ill again.’
‘I’m hungry,’ said Yvette.
‘That is a good sign,’ said Jeanne. ‘We don’t have much, but I’m making porridge and just for today, you can have breakfast in bed. Now go back upstairs.’
‘Go on, shoo,’ said Fitz, good naturedly. She watched Yvette scuttle back up the stairs. ‘It’s amazing how quickly children recover,’ she said going back to the stove where she was stirring the porridge in a pot.
‘I know,’ agreed Jeanne. ‘One minute she was at death’s door and now, look at her, skipping up the stairs.’
‘I’m so relieved she’s recovered,’ said Fitz. ‘Although she was still coughing this morning.’
‘She’ll have that cough a while,’ said Jeanne. ‘But she is certainly over the worst of it now.’
Fitz lifted the pot from the heat. ‘I suppose that means I will be able to go home soon.’
‘Yes. It probably does,’ said Jeanne, taking the pot from Fitz and scooping porridge into the waiting bowls lined up on the table.
A knock at the door interrupted the conversation. Fitz grabbed two bowls from the table and quickly went upstairs and into the bedroom. ‘Shh. You have to be very quiet now,’ she whispered to Yvette. ‘Sit very still and don’t make a sound.’
Fitz listened to Jeanne opening the door. ‘Oh, Madame Cussac. What can I do for you?’
‘I was wondering if everything was all right?’ came the visitor’s voice. Madame Cussac sounded maybe the same sort of age as Jeanne, and Fitz wondered how friendly the two women were.
‘Everything is fine, thank you,’ replied Jeanne. ‘And I trust you are well?’
‘Pfft. As well as anyone can be,’ she replied. ‘I saw the doctor visited you. Have you been ill?’
Fitz wondered how anyone would be able to see Jeanne’s cottage from the village. Maybe there was another house nearby where Madame Cussac lived.
‘One of the children has a cough, that’s all,’ replied Jeanne. ‘Thank you for your concern.’
Fitz noted the lack of warmth between the two women and the thought made her nervous. She adjusted her idea that they were friends.
‘They must be ill if you’ve had the doctor here,’ continued the woman. ‘Which child was it?’
‘Monique,’ replied Jeanne. ‘She’s much better now, thank you.’
‘Monique? And I thought I saw her out collecting eggs from the farm yesterday.’
‘It must have been her sister you saw,’ replied Jeanne.
A creak of the floorboards in the hallway, had Fitz looking up. Monique had come from her room and was obviously listening to the conversation, too. She looked across the landing at Fitz and Yvette. Fitz put her finger to her mouth.
‘I was sure it was your older daughter,’ persisted Madame Cussac.
At that moment, Yvette coughed. She tried to smother it with her hand, but it was too late. She coughed again and then a third time.
