Ophelia Night
Almost Gone
CHAPTER SIX
A frightened scream from Ella jerked Cassie back to her present situation. Looking across the road, she saw to her horror that Marc had climbed through the split-pole fence and was feeding handfuls of grass to a growing herd that now included five hairy, gray, mud-encrusted donkeys. They flattened their ears and nipped each other as they crowded him.
Ella screamed again as one of the donkeys barged into Marc, knocking him flat on his back.
“Come out!” Cassie shouted, sprinting across the road. She leaned through the fence and grabbed the back of his shirt, dragging him away before he could be trampled. Did the child have a death wish? His shirt was soaked and filthy, and she hadn’t brought a spare. Luckily the sun was still shining, although she could see clouds gathering in the west.
When she gave Marc his chocolate, he stuffed the entire bar into his mouth, his cheeks bulging. He laughed, spitting bits of it onto the ground, before racing ahead with Antoinette.
Ella pushed her chocolate away and began crying loudly.
Cassie picked the young girl up again.
“What’s wrong? Are you not hungry?” she asked.
“No. I’m missing Mama,” she sobbed.
Cassie hugged her tight, feeling Ella’s cheek warm against her own.
“I’m sorry, Ella. I’m so sorry. I only just heard about it. You must miss her terribly.”
“I wish Papa would tell me where she went,” Ella lamented.
“But…” Cassie was at a loss for words. The shopkeeper had clearly said that Diane Dubois had died. Why did Ella think otherwise?
“What did your Papa say to you?” she asked carefully.
“He told me she went away. He wouldn’t say where. He just said she left. Why did she go? I want her to come back!” Ella pressed her head into Cassie’s shoulder, sobbing her heart out.
Cassie’s head was spinning. Ella would have been four at the time, and would surely have understood what death meant. There would have been a chance to mourn, and a funeral service. Or perhaps there hadn’t been.
Her mind boggled at the alternative; that Pierre had deliberately lied to Ella about his wife’s death.
“Ella, don’t be sad,” she said, rubbing her shoulders gently. “Sometimes people leave and they don’t come back.” She thought of Jacqui, wondering again if she would ever find out what had really happened to her. Not knowing was terrible. Death, though tragic, was at least final.
Cassie could only imagine the agony Ella must have endured, believing that her own mother had abandoned her without a word. No wonder she had nightmares. She needed to find out the real story, in case there was more to it. Asking Pierre directly would be too intimidating, and she wouldn’t feel comfortable mentioning the subject unless he brought it up himself. Perhaps the other children would tell her their version, if she asked at the right time. That might be the best place to start.
Antoinette and Marc were waiting at a fork in the road. Finally, Cassie saw the woods ahead. Antoinette had underestimated the distance; they must have walked at least three miles, and the nursery was the last building she had seen. The road had become a narrow lane, its paving cracked and broken, the hedges bushy and wild.
“You and Ella can go down that path,” Antoinette advised, pointing to an overgrown track. “It’s a shortcut.”
Grateful for any shorter route, she headed down the narrow path, pushing her way through a profusion of leafy bushes.
Halfway, the skin on her arms started to burn so painfully that she cried out, thinking she’d been stung by a swarm of wasps. Looking down, she saw a swollen rash had broken out all over her skin, wherever the leaves had brushed her. And then Ella screamed.
“My knee is stinging!”
Her skin was swelling into hives, the welts deep red against her soft, pale flesh.
Cassie ducked too late, and a leafy branch lashed across her face. Immediately the stinging spread and she yelled in alarm.
From beyond, she heard Antoinette’s shrill, excited laughter.
“Bury your head in my shoulder,” Cassie commanded, wrapping her arms tightly around the young girl. Taking a deep breath, she barged along the path, shoving blindly through the stinging leaves until she burst out into a clearing.
Antoinette was screaming in glee, doubled over a fallen tree trunk, and Marc was following suit, infected by her mirth. Neither of them seemed to care about Ella’s outraged tears.
“You knew there was poison ivy there!” Cassie accused as she lowered Ella to the ground.
“Stinging nettles,” Antoinette corrected her, before bursting into renewed peals of mirth. There was no kindness in the sound—the laughter was utterly cruel. This child was showing her true colors and she was without mercy.
Cassie’s surge of rage surprised her. For a moment her only desire was to slap Antoinette’s smug, giggling face as hard as she could. The force of her anger was frightening. She actually stepped forward, raising her hand, before sanity prevailed and she lowered it quickly, appalled by what she had nearly done.
She turned away, opened her backpack, and rummaged for the only bottle of water. She rubbed some over Ella’s knee and the rest over her own skin, hoping it would soothe the burning, but every time she touched the swelling, it seemed to make it worse. She looked around to see if there was a tap nearby, or a water fountain, where she could run cold water over the painful rash.
But there was nothing. These woods were not the family-friendly destination she’d expected. There were no benches, no notice boards. No garbage cans, no taps or fountains, no well-maintained paths. There was only ancient, dark forest, with massive beech, fir, and spruce trees looming out of tangled undergrowth.
“We need to go home now,” she said.
“No,” Marc argued. “I want to explore.”
“This is not a safe place for exploring. There’s not even a proper path. And it’s too dark. You should put your jacket on now or you’ll catch a cold.”
“Catch a cold, catch me!” With a mischievous expression, the boy darted away, weaving swiftly through the trees.
“Damn it!” Cassie plunged after him, gritting her teeth as sharp twigs tore at her inflamed skin. He was smaller and faster than her, and his laughter taunted her as he dove through the undergrowth.
“Marc, come back!” she called.
But her words only seemed to spur him on. She followed doggedly, hoping he would either get tired or decide to abandon the game.
She finally caught up when he stopped to catch his breath, kicking at pine cones. She grasped his arm firmly before he could run again.
“This is not a game. See, there’s a ravine ahead.” The ground sloped steeply down and she could hear flowing water.
“Let’s go back now. It’s time to go home.”
“I don’t want to go home,” Marc grumbled, dragging his feet as he followed her.
Nor do I, Cassie thought, feeling sudden sympathy for him.
But when they arrived back in the clearing, Antoinette was the only one there. She was sitting on a folded jacket, braiding her hair over her shoulder.
“Where’s your sister?” Cassie asked.
Antoinette glanced up, seemingly unconcerned.
“She saw a bird just after you left, and wanted to have a closer look. I don’t know where she went after that.”
Cassie stared at Antoinette in horror.
“Why didn’t you go with her?”
“You didn’t tell me to,” Antoinette said, with a cool smile.
Cassie breathed deeply, controlling another surge of rage. Antoinette was right. She should not have abandoned the children without warning them to stay where they were.
“Where did she go? Show me where exactly you last saw her.”
Antoinette pointed. “She went that way.”
“I’m going to look for her.” Cassie kept her voice deliberately calm. “Stay here with Marc. Do not—do not—step out of this clearing or let your brother out of your sight. Understand?”
Antoinette nodded absently, combing her fingers through her hair. Cassie could only hope that she would do as she was told. She walked over to where Antoinette had indicated, and cupped her hands around her mouth.
“Ella?” she shouted as loud as she could. “Ella?”
She waited, hoping to hear an answer or approaching footsteps, but there was no response. All she could hear was the faint rustle of leaves in the strengthening wind.
Could Ella really have gone out of earshot in the time she’d been away? Or had something happened to her?
Panic surged inside her as she headed into the woods at a run.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cassie ran deeper into the forest, weaving through the trees. She yelled Ella’s name, praying that she would hear an answer. Ella could be anywhere; there was no clear path for her to have followed. The woods were dark and creepy, the wind was gusting harder, and the trees seemed to muffle her cries. Ella might have fallen into a ravine, or tripped and knocked her head. She could have been snatched by a vagrant. Anything could have happened to her.
Cassie skidded down mossy tracks and stumbled over roots. Her face was scratched in a hundred places and her throat was raw from shouting.
Eventually, she stopped, gasping for breath. Her sweat felt cold and clammy in the breeze. What should she do now? It was starting to get dark. She couldn’t spend any more time searching or she’d put them all in danger. The nursery was her closest port of call, if it was still open. She could stop there, tell the shopkeeper what had happened, and ask him to phone the police.
It took her ages, and a few wrong turns, to retrace her steps. She prayed that the others would be waiting safe and sound. And she hoped beyond hope that Ella might have found her way back.
But when she reached the clearing, Antoinette was stringing leaves together in a chain, and Marc was curled up on the jackets, fast asleep.
No Ella.
She imagined the storm of anger on their return. Pierre would be justifiably furious. Margot might simply be vicious. Flashlights would shine into the night as the community hunted for a girl who was lost, injured, or worse, as a result of her own negligence. It was her fault and her failure.
The horror of the situation overwhelmed her. She collapsed against a tree and buried her face in her hands, trying desperately to control her sobs.
And then Antoinette said, in a silvery voice, “Ella? You can come out now!”
Cassie looked up, staring in disbelief as Ella clambered from behind a fallen log, brushing leaves from her skirt.
“What…” Her voice was hoarse and shaky. “Where were you?”
Ella smiled happily.
“Antoinette said we were playing hide and seek, and I mustn’t come out when you called, or I would lose. I’m cold now—can I have my jacket?”
Cassie felt bludgeoned by shock. She hadn’t believed anyone could dream up such a scenario out of pure malice.
It wasn’t just the cruelty, but the calculation in her actions that chilled Cassie. What was driving Antoinette to torment her, and how could she stop it from happening in the future? She could expect no support from the parents. Being nice hadn’t worked, and anger would only play right into Antoinette’s hands. Antoinette held all the cards and she knew it.
Now they were heading home unforgivably late after telling nobody where they had gone. The children were muddied, hungry, thirsty, and exhausted. She feared that Antoinette had done more than enough for her to be instantly fired.
It was a long, cold, and uncomfortable walk back to the chateau. Ella insisted on being carried the entire way, and Cassie’s arms had just about given out by the time they reached home. Marc trailed behind, grumbling, too tired to do more than throw an occasional stone at the birds in the hedgerows. Even Antoinette seemed to be taking no pleasure in her victory and trudged along sullenly.
When Cassie knocked on the imposing front door, it was snatched open immediately. Margot faced her, flushed with rage.
“Pierre!” she shouted. “Finally they are home.”
Cassie started to tremble as she heard the angry stomping of feet.
“Where in the name of the devil have you been?” Pierre bellowed. “What irresponsibility is this?”
Cassie swallowed hard.
“Antoinette wanted to go to the woods. So we went for a walk.”
“Antoinette—what? For the whole day? Why the hell did you let her do that, and why did you not obey your instructions?”
“What instructions?” Cowering from his wrath, Cassie longed to run and hide, just as she had done when she was ten years old and her father had gotten into one of his rages. Glancing behind her, she saw the children felt exactly the same. Their stricken, terrified faces gave her the courage she needed to keep facing Pierre, even though her legs were shaking.
“I left a note on your bedroom door.” With an effort, he spoke in a more normal voice. Perhaps he’d noticed the children’s reactions too.
“I didn’t find any note.” Cassie glanced at Antoinette but her eyes were downcast and her shoulders hunched.
“Antoinette was supposed to perform at a piano recital in Paris. A bus arrived to collect her at eight-thirty but she was nowhere to be found. And Marc had soccer practice in town at twelve.”
A cold knot tightened in Cassie’s stomach as she realized how serious the consequences of her actions had been. She’d let Pierre, and others, down in the worst possible way. This day should have been a test of her capabilities in organizing the children’s schedules. Instead, they’d headed off on an unplanned jaunt into the middle of nowhere and missed important activities. If she had been Pierre, she’d have been livid, too.
“I’m so sorry,” she muttered.
She didn’t dare tell Pierre outright how the children had tricked her, even though she was sure he suspected it. If she did, they might end up suffering the brunt of his anger.
A gong sounded from the dining room and Pierre glanced at his watch.
“We will talk about this later. Get them ready for supper now. Quickly, or the food will get cold.”
Quickly was easier said than done. It took over half an hour, and more tears, before Marc and Ella were bathed and in their pajamas. Thankfully, Antoinette was on her best behavior, and Cassie wondered if she was feeling overwhelmed by the consequences of her actions. As for herself, she was numbed after the catastrophe the day had become. Half drenched from bathing the children, she had no time for a shower. She pulled on a dry top and the welts on her arms flared up again.
They trooped disconsolately downstairs.
Pierre and Margot were waiting in the small lounge next door to the dining room. Margot was sipping a glass of wine while Pierre refilled a brandy and soda.
“Finally we are ready to eat,” Margot observed tersely.
Supper was a fish casserole, and Pierre insisted the two older children serve themselves, although he allowed Cassie to help Ella.
“They must learn etiquette at an early age,” he said, and proceeded to instruct them on the correct protocol the whole way through dinner.
“Put your serviette in your lap, Marc. Not crumpled on the floor. And your elbows must stay in; Ella does not want to be poked in the side while you are eating.”
The stew was rich and delicious and Cassie was starving, but Pierre’s haranguing was enough to put anyone off their food. She restricted herself to small, delicate mouthfuls, glancing at Margot to check she was doing things in the correct French way. The children were exhausted, unable to comprehend what their father was saying, and Cassie found herself wishing that Margot would tell Pierre that now was not a good time for nitpicking.
She wondered if dinners had been any different when Diane was alive, and how much the dynamic had changed after Margot’s arrival. Her own mother had kept a firm lid on the conflict in her quiet way, but it had erupted uncontrollably when she had gone. Perhaps Diane had played a similar role.
“Some wine?” To her surprise, Pierre filled her glass with white wine before she could refuse. Perhaps this was protocol, too.
The wine was fragrant and fruity, and after just a few sips she felt the alcohol suffuse her bloodstream, filling her with a sense of well-being and a dangerous relaxation. She put her glass down hurriedly, knowing she couldn’t afford any slip-ups.
“Ella, what are you doing?” Pierre asked, exasperated.
“I’m scratching my knee,” Ella explained.
“Why are you using a spoon?”
“My nails are too short to reach the itch. We walked through nettles,” Ella said proudly. “Antoinette showed Cassie a shortcut. I got stung on my knee. Cassie got stung all over her face and arms. She was crying.”
Margot banged her wineglass down.
“Antoinette! You did that again?”
Cassie blinked, surprised to learn that she’d done it before.
“I…” Antoinette began defiantly, but Margot was unstoppable.
“You are a vicious little beast. All you want to do is cause trouble. You think you are being clever, but you are just a stupid, mean, childish girl.”
Antoinette bit her lip. Margot’s words had cracked her cool shell of composure.
“It’s not her fault,” Cassie found herself saying loudly, wondering too late if the wine had been a bad idea.
“It must be really difficult for her dealing with—” She stopped herself hurriedly, because she’d been about to mention their mother’s death, but Ella believed a different version and she had no idea what the true story was. Now was not the time to ask.
“Dealing with so much change,” she said. “In any case, Antoinette didn’t tell me to take that path. I chose it myself. Ella and I were tired and it looked like a good shortcut.”
She didn’t dare look at Antoinette while she spoke, in case Margot suspected collusion, but she managed to catch Ella’s eye. She gave her a conspiratorial glance, hoping she would understand why Cassie was siding with her sister, and was rewarded with a tiny nod.
Cassie feared that her defense would leave her on even shakier ground, but she had to say something. After all, she knew what it was like growing up in a fractured family where war could erupt at any moment. She understood the importance of an older role model who could offer shelter from the storms. How would she have coped without Jacqui’s strength during the bad times? Antoinette had nobody to stand with her.
“So you are choosing to take her side?” Margot hissed. “Trust me, you will regret doing that, just as I have done. You do not know her like I do.” She pointed a crimson-manicured finger at Antoinette, who started sobbing. “She is just the same as her—”
“Stop it!” Pierre roared. “I will not have arguments at the dinner table—Margot, shut up now, you have said enough.”
Margot leaped to her feet so suddenly her chair overturned with a crash.
“You are telling me to shut up? Then I will go. But don’t think I have not tried to warn you. You will get what you deserve, Pierre.” She marched to the door but then turned back, staring at Cassie with undisguised hatred.
“You will all get what you deserve.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Cassie held her breath as Margot’s angry footsteps retreated down the passage. Glancing around the table, she saw she wasn’t the only one shocked into silence by the blonde woman’s vicious outburst. Marc’s eyes were saucer-wide and his mouth was tightly closed. Ella was sucking her thumb. Antoinette was scowling in wordless fury.
With a muttered oath, Pierre pushed back his chair.
“I’ll deal with it,” he said, striding to the door. “Put the children to bed.”
Relieved to have a job to do, Cassie stood up, glancing at the plates and dishes littering the table. Should she clear the table, or ask the children to help? Tension hung in the air as thick as smoke. She wished for a normal, everyday family activity like washing up to help dissolve it.
Antoinette saw the direction of her gaze.
“Leave everything,” she snapped. “Someone clears up later.”
Forcing cheerfulness into her tone, Cassie said, “Well, then, it’s bedtime.”
“I don’t want to go to bed,” Marc protested, swinging his chair back. As the chair overbalanced he screamed in mock fright, grabbing at the tablecloth. Cassie leaped to his rescue. She was fast enough to stop the chair from falling over, but too late to prevent Marc upsetting two of the glasses and sending a plate crashing to the floor.
“Upstairs,” she ordered, trying to sound stern, but her voice was high and unsteady with exhaustion.
“I want to go outside,” Marc announced, sprinting toward the French doors. Remembering how he’d outrun her in the forest, Cassie dove after him. He’d already unlocked the door by the time she caught up, but she was able to grab him and stop him from opening it. She saw their reflections in the dark glass. The young boy with his rebellious hair and unrepentant expression—and herself. Her fingers clutching his shoulders, eyes wide and anxious, face sheet-white.
Seeing herself in that unexpected moment made her realize how badly she’d failed in her duties so far. It had been a full day since she’d arrived, and not for one minute had she been in charge. She was fooling herself if she thought otherwise. Her expectations of fitting in with the family and being loved, or at least liked, by the children could not have been more unrealistic. They didn’t have a shred of respect for her, and she had no idea how she could change things.
“Bedtime,” she repeated wearily. Keeping her left hand firmly on Marc’s shoulder, she removed the key from the lock. Noticing a hook high on the wall, she reached up and hung it there. She marched Marc upstairs without letting go. Ella trotted alongside and Antoinette trailed despondently behind, slamming her bedroom door without so much as a good night.
“Do you want me to read you a story?” she asked Marc, but he shook his head.
“All right. Into bed, then. You can get up early tomorrow and play with your soldiers if you go to sleep now.”
It was the only incentive she could think of but it seemed to work; or maybe tiredness had finally caught up with the young boy. At any rate, to her relief, he did as she asked. She pulled the duvet up, noticing her hands were trembling from sheer exhaustion. If he made another break for freedom she knew she would burst into tears. She wasn’t convinced that he would stay in bed, but for now, at least, her job was done.
“I want a story.” Ella tugged her arm. “Will you read me one?”
“Of course.” Cassie walked to her bedroom and chose a book from the small selection on the shelf. Ella jumped into bed, bouncing on the mattress with excitement, and Cassie wondered how often she’d been read to in the past, because it didn’t seem to be a customary part of her routine. Although, she supposed, there wasn’t much about Ella’s childhood that had been normal so far.
She read the shortest story she could find, only to have Ella insist on a second one. The words were swimming in front of her eyes by the time she reached the end and closed the book. Looking up, Cassie saw to her relief that the reading had soothed Ella, and she was finally asleep.
She turned off the lamp and closed the door. Walking back down the corridor, she checked on Marc, keeping as quiet as she could. Thankfully, the room was still dark and she could hear soft breathing.
When she opened Antoinette’s door, the light was on. Antoinette was sitting up in bed scribbling notes in a pink-covered book.
“You knock before coming in,” she chastised Cassie. “It is a rule.”
“I’m sorry. I promise I’ll do that from now on,” Cassie apologized. She dreaded that Antoinette would escalate the broken rule into an argument, but instead she turned back to her notebook, writing a few more words before closing it.
“Are you finishing off homework?” Cassie asked, surprised because Antoinette didn’t seem like a person who’d put things off till the last minute. Her room was immaculate. The clothes she’d taken off earlier were folded in the laundry basket, and her school bag, neatly packed, was set under a perfectly tidy white desk.
She wondered whether Antoinette felt as if her life was lacking control, and was trying to exert it in her immediate environment. Or maybe, since the dark-haired girl had made it clear she resented the presence of an au pair, she was trying to prove she didn’t need anyone to take care of her.
“My homework is done. I was writing in my personal diary,” Antoinette told her.
“Do you do that every night?”
“I do it when I am angry.” She placed the lid back on her pen.
“I’m sorry about what happened tonight,” Cassie sympathized, feeling as if she were treading on ice that might shatter at any moment.
“Margot hates me and I hate her,” Antoinette said, her voice trembling slightly.
“No, I don’t think that’s true,” Cassie protested, but Antoinette shook her head.
“It is true. I hate her. I wish she was dead. She’s said things like that before. It makes me so angry I could kill her.”
Cassie stared at her in shock.
It wasn’t only Antoinette’s words, but the calm way she spoke them, that chilled her. She had no idea how she should respond. Was it even normal for a twelve-year-old to have these murderous thoughts? Antoinette should surely be helped to manage this anger by somebody better qualified. A counselor, a psychologist, even a parish priest.
Well, in the absence of anyone competent, she guessed she was the only one available.
Cassie sifted through her own memories, trying to remember what she’d said and done at that age. How she’d reacted and what she’d felt when her own situation had spiraled out of control. Had she ever wanted to kill anybody?
She suddenly remembered one of her dad’s girlfriends, Elaine, a blonde with long red fingernails and a high, shrieking laugh. They’d hated each other on sight. During the six months that Elaine had been on the scene, Cassie had loathed her with a vengeance. She couldn’t remember wishing her dead, but she’d definitely wished her gone.
Probably this was the same thing. Antoinette was being more outspoken, that was all.
“What Margot said wasn’t fair in the least,” Cassie agreed, because it hadn’t been. “But people say things in anger they don’t mean.”
Of course, they also came out with the truth when they were angry but she wasn’t going to go down that road.
“Oh, she meant it,” Antoinette assured her. She was fidgeting with the pen, twisting its lid violently from side to side.
“And Papa always takes her side now. He thinks only of her and never of us. It was different when my mother was alive.”
Cassie nodded sympathetically. This, too, was her experience.
“I know,” she said.
“How do you know?” Antoinette looked up at her curiously.
“My mother died when I was young. My father also brought new girlfriends—er, I mean a new fiancée—into the house. It caused a lot of clashes and hostilities. They disliked me, I disliked them. Luckily I had an older sister.”
Hastily Cassie corrected herself again.
“I have an older sister, Jacqui. She stood up to my dad and helped protect me when there were fights.”
Antoinette nodded in agreement.
“You took my side tonight. Nobody has done that before. Thank you for doing that.”
She stared at Cassie, her eyes wide and blue, and Cassie felt a lump in her throat at the unexpected gratitude.
“That’s what I’m here for,” she said.
“I’m sorry I told you to walk through the nettles.” She glanced at the welts on Cassie’s hands, still swollen and inflamed.
“That’s really no problem. I understand it was just a joke.” Tears were flooding her eyes now as sympathy welled inside her. She hadn’t expected Antoinette to let down her guard. She understood exactly how lonely she must feel, and how vulnerable. It was terrible to think Antoinette had suffered previous verbal abuse from Margot, with nobody there to protect her and her father deliberately siding against her.
Well, she had somebody now—Cassie was in her corner and would support her no matter what it took. The day hadn’t been a complete disaster if it meant she’d managed to get closer to this complex and troubled child.
“Try to sleep now. I am sure things will be better in the morning.”
“I hope so. Good night, Cassie.”
Cassie closed the door, sniffed violently, and wiped her nose on her sleeve. Exhaustion and emotion were getting the better of her. She hurried down the corridor, grabbed her pajamas, and headed for the shower.
When she was standing under the steaming jet of water, she finally allowed her tears to flow.
*
Although the hot water had soothed her emotions, Cassie soon realized it had caused her skin to flare up again. The nettle stings started itching unbearably. She scrubbed herself hard with her towel in an effort to scratch the itch, but only succeeded in spreading it.
After climbing into bed, she found she was so uncomfortable she couldn’t sleep. Her face and arms were throbbing and burning. Scratching offered only temporary relief and actually worsened the pain.
After what seemed like hours of unsuccessfully trying to will herself to sleep, Cassie admitted defeat. She needed something to soothe her skin. The cupboard in the shower room had housed only basic essentials, but she’d seen a large cabinet in the bathroom beyond Ella’s bedroom. Perhaps there would be something there that could help.
She walked quietly to the bathroom and opened the wooden cabinet, relieved to see that it was filled with tubes and bottles. There was bound to be something for allergies. She read the labels, struggling with the complicated French, nervous that applying the wrong remedy might make things even worse.
Calamine lotion. She recognized the color and smell even though the label was unfamiliar. This would soothe her skin.
Pouring some into her cupped hand, Cassie slathered it onto the burns. Immediately she felt cool relief. She replaced the bottle and closed the cabinet.
As she turned to leave, she heard a sound and froze.
It was a rough shout, a muffled scream.
It must be Marc. He’d gotten out of bed and was causing trouble with Ella.
She hurried down the corridor but realized after just a few steps that this side of the house was quiet and the children were asleep.
There it was again—a crash and a thud and another scream.
Cassie froze. Was somebody breaking into the house? Her mind raced as she thought of all the treasures it contained. In the States, she would have locked herself in her room and called the police. But there was no cell signal here, so the best she could do would be to alert Pierre. It sounded as if it was coming from that direction anyway.