Almost Gone. Ophelia Night
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