The marshal dismounted at the gate and spoke with a guard.
He presented his identification and explained that he was conducting an investigation involving an infant believed to have been brought to the estate.
The guard looked uneasy.
Then sent a servant toward the house.
We waited.
The younger woman sat rigidly in the wagon.
Her hands were folded so tightly that her fingers had begun turning pale.
The older woman held her arm.
I stood beside Chester.
After several minutes, a tall man in an expensive coat appeared on the front steps.
He looked toward the marshal.
"What is this about?"
The marshal introduced himself.
The man listened.
Then his expression hardened.
"You're accusing my family of something?"
"No, sir. I'm investigating the circumstances under which a child may have been placed here."
The man's face changed.
"My daughter?"
The younger woman made a quiet sound.
I looked toward her.
She was staring at the house.
The marshal continued.
"We have reason to believe the child's mother may have been falsely told she died."
The wealthy man shook his head.
"That's impossible."
"Why?"
"Because the child's mother died in childbirth. We were told that before the placement."
The marshal remained still.
"Who told you?"
The man hesitated.
Then named the freight agent.
I felt my stomach tighten.
The same company.
The same intermediary.
The marshal asked whether we could speak with the man's wife.
He looked offended.
"This is a private family matter."
The younger woman suddenly stood in the wagon.
Her voice trembled.
"Please."
Everyone turned.
She held the side rail for support.
"I am not here to hurt your child."
The wealthy man stared.
She continued.
"I had a daughter. They told me she died. I only want to know whether she is alive."
He looked toward the marshal.
"Who is this woman?"
The marshal answered quietly.
"Possibly the child's mother."
The man became pale.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he turned toward the house.
"Wait here."
He disappeared inside.
The younger woman sank back onto the bench.
Her breathing became uneven.
The older woman held her.
I approached.
"Easy."
She looked toward me.
"What if he sends us away?"
I glanced toward the house.
"Then the marshal will continue through the legal process."
She swallowed.
"And what if it isn't her?"
I didn't answer immediately.
Then I said, "Then we'll keep searching."
She nodded.
But I could see that she was trying not to hope too much.
A few minutes later, a woman appeared on the front steps.
She was elegantly dressed, with fair skin, auburn hair, and a pale blue gown. Her expression was frightened and confused.