“It’s just that there were more Orleans children than only you. This is why I ask.”
“We’ve discussed only our family of three.”
“Right,” the captain said. “Well, I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve done some research these last few days, and I’ve learned a bit more about... about your early life. From Abbott’s stash, if you can believe it.”
Dani dropped the broom. The handle hit the floor with a clatter.
“Tell me,” she said. “Please tell me.”
“So what I’ve learned is, in 1803, a woman called Princess Elise Allard d’Orleans of France married a man formerly employed by St. James’s Palace. I believe this woman, Princess Elise, may be a sister. To you.Yoursister.”
Dani’s heart stopped. “My sister?”
“Yes. An older sister. Elise d’Orleans. Princess Elise.”
“And you believe her to be my sister because of the surname?” She was inundated by emotions—hope, and doubt, and loneliness, and love. She stood in a deluge of these feelings with no protection. If she’d learned nothing this week, it was not to get carried away. “The Orleans surname,” she prompted, “it matches to mine?”
“Well, the name, the date, her unexplained time in St. James’s Palace. She’s thirteen years older than you, so she would’ve been fifteen when you entered exile at the age of two. I’m only guessing here, but it would have probably been more difficult for someone like her to disappear to a backwater village with surrogates. She had already debuted in the French court; she had been out in Paris society. Unlike yours, her exile was probably spent in plain view, but under the protection of Queen Charlotte’s court.
“The man she married is called Killian Crewes,” he went on. “He’s the son of an earl, but a second son, not the heir, and he made his living inside St. James’s Palace, working for King George as sort of diplomatic security. One can assume Princess Elise d’Orleans met this man during his years of service to the king. They were married in Spain but returned to England after the wedding. That would have been ten years ago.”
Dani could but stare. She held her hands away from her body, fingers wide, like she was feeling her way through a dark hallway at night.
“Elise,”she repeated.
He crossed to a window and looked out. “I could be wrong, of course. She could be some other relation, but my instinct is to believe she is your sister. She appears to have been alone in the palace—no other Orleans family with her.”
“Elise...”Dani repeated, listening to the two rhyming syllables, the longs.She looked at him. “It is familiar to me.”
“Princess Danielle.” There was a sad note of warning in his voice.
“I know, I know, it’s implausible—impossible, even—but I’ve never encountered anyone called ‘Elise.’ I’ve never read a character called ‘Elise’ in a book or heard of anyone called ‘Elise’ in life. And yet, it has this familiarity to it. Like a known smell that brings on a rush of memories. When you say it, when I repeat it in my head, I feel...goodness? I feel something bright and lovely?”
With no warning, fresh tears sprang to her eyes, a burning mist followed by a silent stream. Dani dropped her face in her hands and wept. There was no help for it. She thought there were no tears left to give, but now she cried and cried.
At last, he went to her. She barely heard his footsteps, but then he was there, wrapping her in his arms. He pressed his lips to the top of her head.
“I don’t know why I’m crying,” she said brokenly. “This is— This is progress. There is potential. If I—” She looked up. “The sound of this name...Elise...touches something so deep inside. There is a sort of... echo in my mind when I say it. I can barely hear it, but I do hear something—something important.”
More tears came, and she burrowed deeper against him, pushing her face into his shoulder. She grabbed the lapels of his coat and squeezed. He pulled her tightly, whispering,Shhh...
“Do you regret being told?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Oh no. I’m so very grateful. But could wefindthis woman? ‘Elise d’Orleans’?” She lifted her head to look at him. “Whether she’s a relative or a...” another sob “. . . sister—if she shares my name, I would endeavor to locate her. Has she remained in England, do you think? Perhaps you could appeal to the Prince Regent? If she lived inside St. James’s Palace, if her husband was employed by the king, perhaps Prince George knows what became of her?”
The captain cleared his throat. “We can endeavor to find her. I’ve already begun, actually. Before I sought you out, I hired an investigator to learn more about the Orleans family. His report is not yet in, but eventually he’ll send word.”
“But how did you discover—?”
“Abbott,” he answered. “As I’ve said. His careful cataloging of the newspapers in the Eastwell’s library has proved very useful indeed. We are fortunate that the previous owner had an interest in London society as well as Roman relics and cricket. The old baron subscribed to a gossip rag that was most informative. The wedding of Elise Allard d’Orleans to Mr. Killian Crewes was featured in a small column in theMorning Chroniclecirca 1803. Before that, I found a few stray references to a ‘Princess Elise d’Orleans.’ She was one of many courtiers at various royal functions hosted by Queen Charlotte. After the piece about her wedding, she’s not discussed again; but her husband’s name is mentioned occasionally in the business pages. He’s no longer a palace equerry, but an investor. He buys derelict properties and refurbishes them to be resold or leased. Assuming Princess Elise is still alive—which I have every reason to believe she would be—the couple either live in London or travel there with some frequency. Mr. Crewes’s properties are there.”
“My sister,” she whispered. “Living in London. Did the newspapers describe her? Was there a portrait?”
“There was no portrait. She was only named; there was no mention of how she looked, not even her wardrobe, which is rare for a gossip rag. What I’ve told you is all I know to this point. Vague, I know—but a start. Mr. Crewes’s business has enjoyed considerable success, so it shouldn’t take long for my man to find him.”
Dani stared at him through fresh tears. “Truly?”
He exhaled. “Yes, of course.”
