Amandine Read Free

1931. No records, absolutely no original records or copies of original records pertaining to the child will be filed here. Of course, madame, I cannot speak for the documents already archived in the civil offices in the place where the child was born. I assume there are similar laws about registering births wherever it is that you come from. I cannot be responsible for them.”
    The countess knows that the old nun hopes there will be some slip, some fleeting indication of whence they come. Curious old wench.
    “Nor do I
expect
you to be responsible for them, Mater Paul. Proceed. What about the child herself?”
    “Since neither I nor anyone else here knows of the circumstances of her birth—neither place nor parentage—I shall, perforce, inform her of her ‘invented’ birth, of the sad events that left her an orphan. There will be no physical evidences of her history. No photos or letters that might later be traced or upon which she might attempt verification. Nothing. The child will have no past save a contrivance, a fable.”
    “And who will it be who tells her the
fable
, Mater Paul?”
    “I, of course. I will be the one.”
    “And should your death occur before the time the child can comprehend it, who shall be entrusted to tell the story?”
    “As has been requested, it will be Sister Solange to whom the duty will pass.”
    “Yes. Little Solange. And should I have a change of heart, Mater, should I, some weeks or months or even years hence, have a change of heart and return here to retrieve this child, to take it back—do you understand, Mater?—what shall you do to prevent me or my representatives?”
    “I would do what I do, what we do, should anyone seek, anyone at all seek entry, unwelcomed, into this place. I would see that you were prevented. The authorities would be summoned. The police. The inviolable impedimenta of the curia would be employed, madame. Of that I can assure you. The child shall never be surrendered to you. To anyone. From the moment it was carried through our doors, it became our legal, spiritual ward.”
    “Very good, Mater.”
    The countess looks away from the old nun and gazes about the room as though she’s only just noticed where she is. And why. She sees the terra-cotta tiles of the floor worn and waxed to the same brown as the nun’s robes, the cold white walls, the empty hearth. She is quiet for too long to suit the nun, who wants only the passing of thepromised funds and the woman’s swift departure. From half-downcast eyes, the nun peruses the woman in the fox jacket, thin, silken legs crossed just above the knee, the edges of gray lace garters showing from beneath her skirt.
Yes, women like her don’t have to marry Jesus
.
    “And what assurance do I have, Mater Paul, that the funds which I have in my purse and the subsequent and untraceable funds which shall be transferred to the coffers of the curia,” she asks with a backward tilt of her cloched head, “twice each year until,
until they are deposited no longer
, what assurance do I have that the child will be cared for, educated, raised,
treated
as I have instructed?”
    “You have my word, madame. Just as the funds sent to the curia for the purpose of restoring the apartment for the child and her nurse here in the convent were dispersed and the furnishings acquired from the shops and the
antiquaires
in Montpellier were put into place according to Madame’s wishes, so shall these ‘subsequent’ funds be dispersed according to Madame’s wishes. I repeat,
you have my word.”
    The countess with the soft black eyes smiles for the first time.
    “You’ll forgive me, Mater Paul, but, as much as I shall consider the inexorability of your word, I have also established, shall we call it, a
fail-safe
. Here within these walls, Mater. A person who knows what to look for, what criteria to use in judging the execution of your
word
. This person knows how to
effect
things should effecting be necessary. Even you,