Hartmann returned that night.
Not through the main entrance.
The old gardener admitted him through the kitchen passage shortly after midnight.
Eleanor found him in the chapel.
He stood before the unlit altar with snow melting from his coat.
She closed the door.
“You should not be here.”
“I know.”
“If Matthias finds you-”
“I know.”
She stared at him.
Hartmann looked older than he had a month earlier.
“What have you done?” she asked.
His face changed.
Eleanor felt fear before he spoke.
“What have you done?”
He sat in the first pew.
She remained standing.
Hartmann rubbed both hands over his face.
“The night Felix was born…”
Eleanor stopped breathing properly.
Outside, wind pushed against the chapel windows.
Hartmann looked at the floor.
“Your son did not survive the birth.”
She did not understand the sentence.
Not at first.
Her mind rejected it because there had been no room for it in the previous three years.
“My son is upstairs.”
“No.”
She stared.
Hartmann looked up.
“The child you delivered was stillborn.”
Eleanor stepped backwards until the pew caught behind her knees.
“No.”
“I tried for nearly an hour.”
“No.”
“You had lost too much blood. You were barely conscious.”
“No.”
“Matthias had been drinking downstairs. Your mother had not arrived. The midwife…”
Eleanor grabbed the edge of the pew.
“Stop.”
Hartmann did.
She looked toward the small wooden crucifix above the altar.
Then back at him.
“You put another child in my bed.”
Hartmann closed his eyes.
Eleanor crossed the distance between them and slapped him.
He took it without moving.
She struck him again.
“What did you do?”
“I was afraid.”
“For whom?”
“For you.”
She laughed, a broken, disbelieving sound.
“You stole a child.”
“No.”
“You put a stranger’s baby in my arms and let me believe I had given birth to him.”
“He had been abandoned.”
“That does not make him yours to give away!”
Hartmann stood.
“Eleanor-”
“Do not say my name.”
He stopped.
Her breathing was ragged.
“Where did he come from?”
Hartmann hesitated.
Eleanor’s voice rose.
“WHERE?”
“A charitable lying-in house outside Munich.”
She stared.
“There had been a young woman. A domestic servant. She gave birth two days before you.”
Eleanor went cold.
Hartmann continued.
“She left the child.”
“Why would you know this?”
He looked at her.
Because he already knew the answer would destroy something else.
“Her name was Anna Keller.”
Eleanor shook her head.
Nothing.
Then she remembered.
A maid.
Four years earlier.
Dark hair.
Quiet.
Dismissed suddenly after Matthias accused her of stealing silver.
Eleanor had believed the accusation.
She had given the girl money before she left.
“Anna.”
Hartmann nodded.
Eleanor looked at him.
“Whose child?”
He said nothing.
She stepped closer.
“Whose?”
Hartmann whispered, “Matthias’s.”
Eleanor stared.
The chapel seemed very far away.
“No.”
Hartmann said nothing.
“No.”
“She came to me after he dismissed her.”
“Why?”
“Because she was pregnant.”
Eleanor covered her mouth.
Hartmann continued, reluctantly now.
“She said Matthias knew.”
Eleanor lowered her hand.
“He knew?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“He gave her money.”
“No.”
“He ordered her to leave the district.”
Eleanor turned away.
For three years Matthias had questioned whether she had betrayed him.
The absurdity was so complete it almost became funny.
She did not laugh.
“Felix is his son.”
Hartmann nodded.
“Yes.”
She turned.
“And you knew.”
“Not when I first brought him here.”
“What?”
“I knew Anna’s child had been abandoned. I knew your son had died. I knew Matthias would blame you, or himself, or God. I thought…”
He stopped.
Eleanor stared.
“You thought what?”
“That if there were a living child beside you when you woke, perhaps the truth could wait.”
“For three years?”
Hartmann looked ashamed.
“I kept waiting for a moment that became less cruel.”
“There isn’t one.”
“I know.”
She looked at him.
“The eyes.”
Hartmann closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
“The mark.”
“Yes.”
“You have them too.”
He nodded.
Eleanor’s anger shifted.
Slowly.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Hartmann looked toward the altar.
Then back at her.
“My mother worked at Falken before Matthias was born.”
Eleanor said nothing.
“His father was Johann von Falken.”
She stared.
Hartmann continued.
“I was born in 1847. Johann was not married to Matthias’s mother yet.”
Eleanor understood.
“You are his brother.”
“Half-brother.”
The words settled.
Hartmann gave a humourless smile.
“Not the romantic explanation Matthias has invented.”
Eleanor stared at him.
“The eyes come from his father.”
“Most likely.”
“And the mark?”
“My mother had one nearly identical. So did Johann, according to an old portrait my mother kept.”
Eleanor sank onto the pew.
Hartmann sat several feet away.
For a long time, neither spoke.
Finally Eleanor asked, “Why did you come here?”
Hartmann looked toward the chapel door.
“Because Matthias is sending Felix away tomorrow.”
She turned.
“How do you know?”
“The steward sent word.”
“And now you decide truth is useful.”
Hartmann accepted that.
“Yes.”
She hated him for the answer.
It was also the first honest thing anyone had given her in weeks.
