Her bedroom was painted a warm olive color, and there were white hydrangeas in a large vase on her nightstand. At the foot of her bed were two curtained windows and a case made of ash wood and glass, filled with dozens of trinkets.
She fell back asleep quickly, as if she hadn’t slept in days, and when she woke again, the clock beside her bed blinked 6:45. Her headache was finally gone and she was itching to use her iPad, but she followed the doctor’s orders and took a shower instead.
Lucas tapped on the door an hour later, looking vastly relieved to see her out of bed and ready for the day. He kissed her cheek. “How is your head?”
“A hundred times better.”
“I’m glad.”
“I think I could climb a tree.”
“Not on my watch,” he said before escorting her downstairs to the breakfast room.
With her ban on electronics, she carried the stack of files about Brigitte and the Rickers to review with Lucas over breakfast. Clara already had sausage, grilled tomatoes, and fresh fruit waiting for them along with coffee that she’d roasted in the barn.
Quenby placed her files on the table beside her food and set Princess Adler on top. Then Clara pulled up a chair at their table. “What brings you two to our little village?”
“We’re trying to find someone who might have lived here near the end of World War II,” Quenby explained. “A woman named Brigitte.”
Clara shook her head. “I’ve lived here my entire life, and I’ve never known anyone by that name.”
Quenby reached for the top file, moving the princess to the side of her plate. “I have her picture here.”
Clara examined the photo of the girl with the braids and bow. “I’m afraid I don’t recognize her.”
Quenby returned the picture to the file and placed Princess Adler back on top.
“That’s strange,” Clara said, reaching out to touch the wooden princess.
“What is it?”
“Where did you find this toy?”
“Brigitte’s best friend gave it to me. He made it for her when they were children.”
Clara stood. “Let me show you something.”
They followed her upstairs, to Quenby’s room. Clara moved toward the glass case and opened it, rummaging through the trinkets. Then she pulled something off the top shelf.
When she turned, Quenby and Lucas both gasped. There was a knight in her hand, about three inches tall, carved out of the same wood as Princess Adler.
“Extraordinary,” Lucas said.
Quenby took the knight, rolling it in her hand before passing it along to Lucas. “Where did you get that?”
“Would you believe it was once Hannah Dayne’s toy? I like to think she left it for me.”
Quenby’s and Lucas’s eyes met briefly before they looked back at Clara. “Hannah Dayne, the actress?”
“Yes, except she was known as Hannah Ward when we were children. She lived right outside Rodmell.”
Quenby’s mind raced. She’d only spoken to Hannah once for their interview, over the phone, and when Quenby asked about her own childhood, she’d said it had been a happy one, living with her single mother in a village south of London. “I didn’t realize Ms. Dayne grew up here.”
Clara nodded. “Her parents were killed during the war, but Lily Ward raised her and her sister. After Lily died, the two women left Rodmell and never returned. I found the knight when I helped clean out their home.” She paused. “What was the name again of the woman you’re searching for?”
“Brigitte.”
Clara’s voice trembled. “Hannah’s older sister was named Bridget.”
Quenby glanced at the knight in Lucas’s hand. Could Hannah Dayne be Rosalind’s daughter? Alexander had said that Rosalind left Brigitte and the baby near Rodmell, at the cliffs along the river. Brigitte must have taken the baby to Lily Ward’s house.
Had Hannah followed in her mother’s footsteps as an actress without realizing who her biological mother was? Or had she somehow discovered that Eliza Cain was her mum? Her chosen surname was eerily similar to the one her mother used on stage.
Quenby retrieved the knight from Lucas. “Where did Bridget go?”
“Last I knew, she was going to work as a children’s nurse up in Yorkshire, but that was back in the 1950s. Lily Ward left her house to the girls, but they never returned to claim it.”
Pieces began to click together in Quenby’s mind. The knight. The soft wind. The story of Hannah Dayne.
She looked toward the desk. “I need to look up something on my iPad.”
“I’ll do it for you,” Lucas said.
A bell rang on the floor below, and Clara moved toward the door. “Take the knight when you leave, in case you find either Bridget or Hannah.”
Lucas propped up Quenby’s iPad on the desk and opened her web browser. She told him exactly what to search for, and he began reading off the names of the country homes in Yorkshire. Abram Park. Acklam Hall. Adler House.
Quenby smiled. “Princess Adler.”
“The woman who wanted to fly.”
Lucas continued searching, but there wasn’t anything else about Adler House online. No images or stories or links.
“We can take the plane into Leeds this morning,” he said.