For the first time since the café, Luc smiled—and the tension I’d been feeling in my chest eased.
“Monsieur LeBlanc said he will have his son bring up extra blankets and pillows,” Luc said. “I will sleep on the floor.”
“You can’t sleep on the floor,” I told him.
“Of course I can. I grew up in much worse conditions.”
It was another reference to his childhood. Did I take advantage of his comment and ask him to tell me about his past? Would he want to talk about it?
I opened my mouth to ask, but someone cleared their throat behind us, and I turned to find a teenage boy holding a stack of blankets and pillows. He stared at Luc as if seeing Zeus on Mount Olympus.
“Merci,” Grace said as she took the items and then stepped between the boy and Luc. She gently closed the door, making the room feel much smaller.
“Hope and I will share the bed, and Luc can sleep on the floor,” Grace said, her efficient, no-nonsense voice filling the room. “We will ask the proprietor to tell us as soon as another room opens.”
She set the blankets and pillows on the bed and placed her bag next to them. After taking off her hat and gloves, she surveyed the room.
Luc and I watched her. She was taking charge, as she often did, and it was hard not to turn to her.
“There isn’t a lot of space,” she said with a nod, “but there’s enough for a pallet here in the corner near the window.” She picked up the blankets and walked over to where Luc was standing. He moved aside, and she began to layer the blankets on the floor.
“I believe one or two of those are for you and Hope,” he said, his voice quiet. “The one on the bed is threadbare.”
“We’ll have each other to keep warm,” she insisted without looking at him. “We’re used to sharing a bed.”
He took one of the blankets off the floor and handed it to her. “I insist.”
She paused as their gazes met. Finally, she took the blanket and nodded, then went back to our bed to spread it out.
At least they were talking to each other. Kind of.
All I wanted was to go to sleep. Tomorrow I would test-fly the Blériot aeroplane, and then we could ship it to Dover, where I would make my flight. The sooner it was done, the better.
The only trouble was that I would have to endure an entire day in Salem before I would be back in Hardelot to fly. A difficult day of hard work, Susannah’s constant whining, and the growing tension with the witch-hunt.
A knock at the door startled me.
Grace motioned for me to stay where I was and opened the door. It was Mr. LeBlanc.
“Pardon,” he said in a thick French accent. “I have news about the weather.”
Luc stepped forward and spoke in his native language. When the conversation ended, he turned to me with frustration and defeat on his face. “I asked Mr. LeBlanc to get the weather forecast—and it is not good. A storm is moving in, and they expect several days of wind and rain.”
“What does that mean?” Grace asked.
“It means we will be here for a long time before Hope can test-fly the Blériot aeroplane. A week, perhaps, but it must be done. She cannot fly over the Channel without being familiar with the aeroplane.”
“If it takes a week, then it takes a week,” Grace said. “We will still have plenty of time to get to theTitanic.”
Luc let out a sigh. “The other bad news is that the hotel is full until after Easter. There will not be another room available unless someone leaves early.”
“It will be cozy,” Grace conceded as she tried to assure him. “But we can make do.”
Despite her optimism, my disappointment mounted.
I had to get over the Channel as soon as possible. The future of Mama and Daddy’s orphanage depended upon it—and J. B. Thurston could not win.
9
