A mosquito landed on her arm, and she swatted it before retracing her steps on the path, passing a weathered plot of gray-and-white gravestones between the trees. Cemeteries usually fascinated her, especially the few words chosen to commemorate an entire life, but there would be no ducking back under the low branches to look at these epitaphs tonight. She swatted another mosquito—she’d be lucky to get back to the farmhouse before she was carried away.
The sky was almost dark by the time she found the pasture and blessed mobile service. No one answered when she phoned the cab company; neither did anyone answer when she knocked for a second time on the farmhouse door. Uber didn’t have drivers in this area, and without a vehicle, she had no choice but to walk.
Unfortunately, the librarian was right about the traffic on Lewes Road. Cars were flying by at top speed, and the only place for pedestrians was a thin sliver of weeds on either side of the road. In the dark. Sighing, she tried the cab company one last time and then dialed Lucas’s number.
“Hello, Quenby,” he answered.
“Did you finish your contracts?”
“Contract work never really ends.”
“But for today?” The sky was completely dark now, but the driveway was partially lit by a floodlight hanging on the barn.
“Close enough,” he said. “Why?”
She took a deep breath, sucking in air along with her pride. “I might need a team member after all.”
Silence.
“And a ride . . .”
She waited for him to tease her, but he didn’t. Instead he asked, “Where are you?”
“Down near Newhaven. I came via train, but I can’t find anyone to drive me back to my inn tonight.”
“I see.” She heard the clicking on his keyboard. “I’m almost two hours away.”
She glanced around at the farmhouse, then out at the busy street. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Why didn’t you rent a car?”
“No one in England wants me to drive on the left-hand side of the road.”
“On the contrary.” She could hear the laughter in his voice now. “It would be amusing.”
“And deadly,” she said. “You said you could help me—”
“I’m glad to drive you back to your inn. And I can take you around tomorrow as well, if you’d like.”
With Mr. Knight’s money, she supposed she could hire a driver, but it would be much easier to have Lucas’s help, at least in the area of transportation.
She gave him the address to the farm. Then she climbed up to sit on the low limb of a tree.
Checking her e-mail, she found one from the clerk she’d met two days ago in Maidstone. The woman had found evacuee records in their archives from the end of 1940 and discovered the Terrells’ name on the list. The name of their evacuee was simply Girl. The log said that the girl had been billeted with the Terrells in October 1940. And she’d left Mulberry Lane in March 1941 to transition to another home. In Canada.
Quenby powered off her screen. It was the same record Lucas had given her when he turned over Mr. Knight’s file. Like Lucas said, previous investigators followed this lead to Canada, but approximately seven thousand British children had been evacuated to Canada during the war. They found no trace of a German girl hidden among them.
If Brigitte didn’t come to the Mill House with Olivia, did someone adopt her in Canada? Or perhaps something happened to her ship traveling there? Mr. Knight’s file contained an article about a ship being torpedoed on its voyage across the Atlantic. The passenger manifest didn’t list a Brigitte or an unnamed evacuee girl, but something could have happened on another ship.
It seemed unlikely that Olivia would have kept in contact with a child who only stayed at their house for a few months during the war, especially if Brigitte moved on before Olivia left Breydon Court. Perhaps someone else near Breydon Court would know what happened to Brigitte. A teacher or a friend. If the Mill House was a dead end, perhaps Lucas could take her back to Breydon Court tomorrow to continue the search.
Gravel crackled under tires on the driveway, and Quenby looked up to see the glow of headlamps creeping toward her from the far side of the house. A red tractor parked in a nearby shed, and then a man crossed the driveway before entering the farmhouse.
She hopped out of the tree and moved toward the front door to let him know she was waiting on his property. And ask him if he knew the location of the Mill House.
The man answered seconds after she rang the bell. He was about ten years older than her and had a chestnut-colored beard trimmed above the collar of his T-shirt. With a glance over her shoulder, he searched the driveway for her vehicle.
“I was on the public footpath behind your house,” she explained. “My ride’s not here yet—”
“Always glad to have company.” His gaze fell to her mud-coated trainers. Then they wandered much too slowly back up to her face as if she were a portrait at an exhibition. Or a pint of beer. “I can drive you into town.”
She thought briefly about calling Lucas, telling him there was no need to come, but a cacophony of warning sirens blared in her mind. Lucas could tease all he liked. He might annoy her, but he wasn’t creepy. Jury was out on the man before her.
“No thanks.” She took a step back. “My friend will be here soon.”
The sooner, the better.