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"We shall not force a family's grief upon the public merely to accelerate a courier," the Earl said.

"I am grateful," Elizabeth answered. "I wish Prince Albrecht to know the truth, but I would not have him greeted in his own house by a rumour repeated before breakfast."

The countess regarded her warmly. "That is a wise restraint, my dear. Rank gives people many opportunities to be spoken of without their consent. It does not oblige you to cooperate."

After her visitor left, Elizabeth copied Dorothea's words into her notebook. She imagined a mother at a writing table, describing three children whose quarrels were gentle and whose futures still seemed secure. It was a small glimpse, but it belonged to Minna before the world went wrong. Elizabeth treasured it more than any estimate a solicitor might make of family wealth.

In February a packet arrived bearing a foreign seal that none of them recognized. Inside was a formal note from a steward at Falkenried, acknowledging the Earl's inquiry and asking that supporting particulars be provided before the matter could be brought before Prince Albrecht.

"A cautious answer," Saye said.

"Would you have preferred that he announce a lost princess by return of post?" Lady Matlock asked.

"Not at all. I approve of caution when it is not being employed to delay a matter one ought to settle."

"You sound very like your father," Richard observed.

"A deserved compliment," the Earl said.

Elizabeth held the steward's note. There was nothing intimate in its carefully balanced sentences. Yet somewhere at the other end of the correspondence was a man who might remember her mother's first steps and last happy Christmas at home.

"Let us answer him," she said. "Give him whatever proofs we have. If Prince Albrecht wishes to speak with me, he need only ask."

The Earl studied her. "And if he is not convinced?"

"Then I shall still know who loved me," Elizabeth answered. "But I would rather have the truth than a comfortable guess."

After the others had withdrawn, she opened Henry's oldest letter once more. Her father's handwriting was uneven in places where the ink had spread, yet the affection shone through it untouched. He had written that Minna sometimes sat with their infant daughter and sang a song from a childhood she could no longer recall. She never knew why the melody made her cry, but Elizabeth would fall asleep to it before the second verse.

For a long while Elizabeth sat without moving. Her mother had lost a name, a country, and perhaps a family. She had made a home nevertheless. Whatever the Falkenried inquiries uncovered, that much could never be taken from her.

CHAPTER 19

A Brother's Hope

At Falkenried, the winter gardens lay under a white silence that Albrecht von Falkenried had once loved. In childhood he had believed snow an invitation to escape the schoolroom; Friedrich had believed it a reason to inspect the tenants' stores; Minna had believed it an excuse to persuade both her brothers into a battle of snowballs for which she took none of the blame.

Now the gardeners swept the paths, the steward delivered his weekly accounts, and Albrecht found he had grown old enough to distrust the pleasure of remembering.

He was standing before the portrait of his younger sister when the steward brought the letter from England.

"My lord, I think you ought to read this in private," Herr Weiss said.

Albrecht turned. "You look as though the revenue has vanished. Has another of the tenants lost his roof?"

"No, my lord. The letter concerns your sister."

For a moment Albrecht could not understand. He had two sisters-in-law, innumerable cousins, and no living sister. Then the steward placed the document in his hand, and he saw the name Wilhelmine written with a caution that made it more dreadful than any certainty.

He sat before he reached the end.

The letter gave the particulars of a woman found injured in 1789, married to an English naval officer the following year, and deceased in 1799. It spoke of a daughter, now grown, who possessed a locket bearing the dedication of the late Princess Dorothea. An English earl, Lord Matlock, offered documentary evidence and the testimony of Countess von Altenfeld. He asked whether Prince Albrecht would consent to examine the claim.

Albrecht read it a second time. Then a third. The letters trembled in his hand.

"Who sent the first inquiry?" he asked.

"His lordship's correspondent in Hamburg relayed it to me. I did not wish to trouble you upon uncertain information. This second letter contains descriptions and a copy of the marriage entry."