Kate almost walked right past it at first. There were no oranges. More to the point, there was no glass left in any of the wide French windows. Every single window had been systematically smashed, leaving the building a mere shell of roof and pillars, more open to the air than not. Glass crunched underfoot as they approached. Inside, Kate could see debris, bird droppings, and yet more glass.
“It’s . . . airy,” said Emmie, trying to make the best of it.
“That’s one way to put it,” said Julia.
Kate caught her eye in agreement and then rapidly looked away, appalled to find herself in sympathy with Julia. She hurried after Mrs. Rutherford, hoping the soles of her boots would be up to the amount of glass underfoot. She did not want to have to go to the medical department to have shards drawn out.
Mrs. Rutherford was already inside, tramping blithely around through the wreckage. “We can garage the trucks here during bad weather—this opening should be just large enough to drive them through—and we can have the dispensary here. . . .”
“An open-air dispensary?” Dr. Stringfellow’s eyebrows were even more ironical than usual. “That’s well enough while the weather is fine, but I prefer not to give my patients frostbite.”
“The French authorities have promised us some poilus to hang oilcloth in the windows,” said Mrs. Rutherford airily. “They’ll also clean up this mess and whitewash the walls for us. You’ll see, we’ll be right and tight as rain.”
“Yes, with the rain coming in,” said Maud, not even bothering to whisper.
“What about classes for the children?” asked Miss Dawlish, looking concerned. “Are those to be in here too?”
“We’re to have a portable house for that,” said Mrs. Rutherford triumphantly. “Eventually. Eventually, we’ll have portable houses set up in all the villages for schools and clubhouses. In the meantime—there’s this lovely green field here. And on rainy days, they can come to the Orangerie.”
“With the dispensary,” said Dr. Stringfellow. “And the trucks.”
“You won’t have to hunt them down for medical care,” said Mrs. Rutherford brightly. “Think of the time saved! Besides, the dispensary will only be at Grécourt at certain times. And the trucks will be out all hours, so it scarcely matters, does it? If you’ll follow me through here—watch your step, Miss Cooper!—these are the old cellars. We can use them for storage.”
“We do need storage space,” said Kate, thinking of everything they had dragged along with them, all their plans for a store. Their barracks barely had room for them, much less all the various goods and chattels they intended to sell to the villagers.
Kate followed along after Emmie, her steps slowing as the smell struck her. Something had been rotting here. For a very long time.
Alice Patton held her handkerchief to her nose.
“Oh goodness,” said Emmie, her voice very small. Kate couldn’t bring herself to say anything at all; she was too busy trying not to gag. “What happened here?”
“Germans,” said Mrs. Rutherford succinctly. Her hands were on her hips and she looked distinctly displeased. “Monsieur le Commandant Monin promised me this would all be cleaned up by the time we arrived. The Germans lodged here just before they retreated and made the most terrible mess.”
Indoor latrines, from the look of it. Bunks made of chicken wire, padded with filthy straw, testified to just how many men had been crammed into the underground space. Someone had started a calendar, so many notches to the week. The walls were scrawled with slogans in German.
Miss Dawlish, who spoke the language, turned red and looked away.
“What does it say?” asked Liza.
“I don’t think we want to know,” said Fran Englund.
“I—I don’t know most of the words,” said Miss Dawlish. “I don’t think I want to.”
“They said two hundred men lodged down here,” said Mrs. Rutherford, unperturbed. “Of course, it wasn’t quite this bad before they dynamited the place and parts of the wall and the ceiling came down. It would have been watertight then, at least.”
It certainly wasn’t now. Damp dripped down the walls and seeped from the ceiling. It was cold, terribly, bone-chillingly cold.
“Didn’t you say the villagers have been living in the cellars?” asked Kate incredulously. She supposed it was better than no roof at all, but these were conditions that made the miserable apartment she and her mother had once shared look like a rest cure.