Kate looked at her incredulously.
“The children are waiting, Miss Ledbetter.” Anne Dawlish grabbed the older woman by the arm and tugged her away before she could start singing entirely apocryphal medieval funeral songs.
“I think that’s her way of showing sympathy,” murmured Emmie.
“We have a cook and a scullery maid,” said Fran unsteadily. “I don’t think they’ll be kneeling by my mother’s corpse with candles. Corpse. Mother. I can’t believe— She’s been poorly for so long—we thought her illness was . . . a sort of hobby.”
Kate and Emmie exchanged alarmed looks.
“Here.” Emmie grabbed up Fran’s coffee cup from the table. “Oh dear, I wish we had some sugar. Sugar is meant to be good for shock.”
“Sherry,” said Alice, turning with sudden decision for the door of the barrack. “What you need is sherry. I have some in my trunk. For medicinal purposes. If this isn’t a medicinal purpose, I don’t know what is.”
“No—no—” Fran waved her arms futilely at them both. “The last thing I need is spirits at eight in the morning! Or your whole sugar ration. And aren’t you supposed to be at the dispensary?”
Alice bit her lip, looking back over her shoulder as though unsure what to do. “Miss Mills and Dr. Pruyn have already gone. They won’t miss me for a bit. They’ll probably be glad I’m not there. I’m always dropping the bandages.”
“What can we do?” Kate asked quietly.
Fran put her hands to her temples. “A train. I’ll need to take the train to Paris. My aunt will need bucking up. They’ve kept house together since my father died. And there’ll be practical matters to be dealt with. How long do you think it will take to get passage out?”
“I think you need to wait six weeks before they let you go,” said Margaret Cooper. Emmie had forgotten she was there, she had been standing so quietly. “Someone mentioned it to me in Paris—I think it’s so they can make sure you’re not taking home unauthorized information from the war zone.”
“Six weeks? But the funeral . . . Oh heavens, what am I saying? I’ll miss the funeral either way. And Freddie—Freddie is over here too. Poor mother. We never imagined . . .”
“Maybe they’ll let you go sooner since it’s a bereavement,” suggested Liza.
Fran shook her head. “I doubt it. And if so, they shouldn’t. I could be faking it, for all they know. No, I’ll wait my time. Maybe they’ll let me see Freddie. . . .” She turned her head so they couldn’t see her lip wobble, saying in a falsely energetic voice, “He’s younger. He’ll need me.”
“Well, I think you should go at once,” said Maud, even though no one had asked her. “Come along, Liza. We’re meant to be stacking boxes.”
“Do you think we ought to send flowers?” Emmie heard Liza whisper as she followed Maud out the door.
“Where would we send flowers? To the second barrack from the left?”
“I just thought that we ought to do something. . . .” The door thumped shut, cutting off their voices.
Fran buried her head in her hands, choking on a laugh. “I can’t say I’ll miss them, but I’ll miss you. I’ll miss all of you. I’ll even miss that hideous Ford truck.”
“Only on a downgrade.” Kate reached out, not quite touching her. “I’m so sorry, Fran.”
“It comes to us all, I suppose.” Fran managed a crooked smile. “I’m sure my mother is feeling terribly vindicated.”
“I can go up to Paris with you until you sail,” offered Alice with sudden resolve. “I’ve got to run Dr. Pruyn and Miss Mills on their rounds, but then I’ll come back and go with you. We can catch an afternoon train from Noyon.”
“We’ll be down two chauffeurs that way.” Fran winced. “I mean, you’ll be down two chauffeurs. Won’t Mrs. Rutherford object?”
Alice hunched her shoulders. “You shouldn’t have to be alone in Paris while you wait out your six weeks.”
“Thank you. I won’t say no to that.” Fran blinked rapidly. “I need to tell Mrs. Rutherford. And I’ll need to pack. . . .”
“I’ll help you pack,” Emmie said quickly, feeling like she ought to do something. “You don’t need to worry about a thing; just let the rest of us take care of you.”
“I’m not an invalid,” Fran protested. “Mother was the invalid.”