leant back and grinned, his argument complete.
“If both of the children are with her, yes. But if a woman goes to the big house to feed the little Duc, do you think her own baby may go too? No, her own child must stay in the village, fed on whatever can be found. Such children do not thrive. My cousin’s baby died of a fever, which he could not fight because he was so weak, after she went as wet nurse to the château. She needed the money for her other children. It was a big price to pay, I will not ask it of anyone. I am sorry to speak thus to you.”
“I did not know.” Daniel was silent now, his eyes troubled. He knew he had been fed by a nurse, in fact he remembered her with affection, as she had also fed his younger sisters. Now he wondered how her own babies had fared.
As the last rays of sun slid away from the house there was a little wail from the crib and Eloise struggled to her feet. She lifted the baby and carried her indoors, to feed and clean her. Daniel called one of the servants and asked for a glass of wine. When it came, he sipped it slowly, wondering what he could do for Eloise to lift her spirits. Half way down the glass he had an idea. As his mind worked on it he began to sing softly under his breath. By the time dinner was announced the plan was formed and he explained it with great excitement.
“A picnic!” exclaimed his mother, looking for a moment just like a little girl. “Where to?”
“The beach at Soulac. It is very lovely.” He smiled at Eloise and she smiled back. It was very lovely to the two of them, as it was where Daniel had taken her, very daringly, on horseback to ask her to become his wife and where, an hour later, she had agreed. It had taken an hour for her to recover from the surprise of being asked to marry into the château, even a château as small as Merillac.
“I would like to see the beach,” said Catherine, Daniel’s youngest sister. “The sea must be bigger than the Garonne, is it?”
“Of course it is, silly. You have been to the beach, we all have,” Charlotte said, as she helped herself to more bread and began pulling it into tiny pieces, “you just do not remember as you are far too young. Maybe your brain is not fully grown yet.”
Catherine stuck out her tongue at her sister. “I’m ten, not a baby. Stop pretending I’m a baby.”
“You were a baby when you were born. I remember it very well.”
“And I remember you as a baby very well too, Charlotte,” Daniel said, “It is a condition most of us recover from. Stop teasing Catherine and tell her what you remember about the beach.”
“The beach is very inconvenient,” Madame deVrac was grumbling again. “All that sand. And it can be windy.”
“I agree,” said Jotin. “Think of somewhere other than the beach. I do not think you will like it as much as you think, now that the baby is with you.”
“The beach is special to us, Mother. I think we will like the beach. And on the way we can stop at the Church of Notre-Dame. They say that this year a priest has set up a shrine beside it and is saying Mass for the pilgrims who pass. Like in the old days, before the sand swallowed the church.”
“Like I said, too much sand. My mother always talked of the people who came looking for work when their town was overcome by the sand. I was only a child at the time, but I well remember the stories. The houses filled with it.” Madame deVrac shuddered, but then brightened. “But a priest, you say? Saying pilgrim Masses? That would be something to see. Are there many pilgrims still?”
“I am not sure, Madame. There should be, it is still on the route to Compostela. We will have to go and see. We will bring two carts, and rugs and musicians. Then we can dance!”
Eloise’s eyes shone. A dance on the beach. She loved to dance and with Daniel it was so special, they had first noticed each other at the dance in the village. Of course, they should have paid no attention to each other, she should have looked at the ordinary boys, not at