âLet not poor Nellie starveâ?â said Amelia.
âJust like King Charles, Miss Kennerley, except,â he said drily, âthat you may wish to take more note of what your great-aunt wanted than the Kingâs friends and relations did. I understand that, in fact, King Charlesâ poor Nellie did starve.â
âAnd if I donât?â asked Amelia curiously.
âThat,â said the solicitor, âis a matter entirely between you and your conscience.â
âI see.â
âI must also advise you that you can, of course, decline to act at all if you so wish.â
âIt being a free country.â Amelia looked James Puckle straight in the eye and said: âDo we know why Great-Aunt Octavia left her money in this way to a woman whose name she didnât know and I mustnât mention?â
âOh, yes, Miss Kennerley,â responded the solicitor. âThatâs no problem. You see, she was her daughter.â
âBut her daughter Perpetua died â¦â
âNot Perpetua,â James Puckle said. âShe had had another baby before she married your motherâs uncle â¦â
EIGHT
Weaving her tail like a plume in the air
âAnd Phoebe,â Amelia gulped, laying a copy of the birth certificate which James Puckle had given her on the kitchen table for her stepmother to see, âdo you know, Great-Aunt Octaviaâs left a pathetic message for me to give to her daughter when â if â I find her. And in her Will sheâs left a candle â thatâs all â for someone called Kate. Isnât it all so sad?â
Dr Plantin nodded.
âTo think sheâs wanted to see her so badly all those years â¦â said Amelia.
Phoebe Plantin plonked her large lady doctorâs handbag firmly on the kitchen floor, pulled up a chair to the table, and examined the document. âA female child,â she read aloud, âborn December 15th, 1940. Motherâs surname Harquil-Grasset â¦â
âGo on,â urged Amelia.
âFather unknown,â said Phoebe.
âWhen I find her,â said Amelia a little unsteadily, âIâm to tell her how sorry she was to have inflicted the tache â James Puckle says thatâs an old Scots word meaning mark â the tache of bastardy on her but she only did what she thought was right at the time.â
âNobody can do more,â commented Phoebe Plantin sagely. âI donât know about her surname but she gave her enough Christian names, didnât she?â
âErica Hester Goudy,â quoted Amelia. âI know, but James Puckle says she might not have kept them when she was adopted Sheâs just as likely to be called something like Mary Smith now.â
âBorn in a nursing home in London,â observed Dr Plantin, still regarding the birth certificate minutely, âand while there was a war on.â
âShe probably told them she was a war widow,â said Amelia.
âShouldnât be surprised,â said Phoebe Plantin, who had ceased to be surprised long ago. âAnd arranged for flowers to be sent to herself, I expect. Itâs been done before. Not that that sort of nursing home would ask questions, anyway.â
âBut, look,â Amelia pointed at a line on the birth certificate, âshe did put her own occupation down.â
âBiological chemist â¦â said the older woman thoughtfully. âShe must have been pretty bright to go in for that before the last war.â
âSheâs left some money to her old college,â said Amelia. âItâs in the Will.â
âThought of everything, hasnât she?â
âAnyway,â said Amelia, turning to give something on the stove her attention, âitâs all different now â having a baby adopted, I mean. Wasnât there an Act of Parliament or something whereby an adopted child can now find out about its real