“You’ll have to paint them. And you’ll need to do it right away. Tomorrow, in fact.”
The thought of splashing ugly black paint on Wellingford’s beautiful mullioned windows pained Audrey. “Yes, I understand. But I’m not sure we can get to it tomorrow. We just received thirty evacuated children today—more than we’d planned for, you see—and it’s been a bit chaotic as they’ve settled in. We’ll do better with the blackout in the future, I promise.” The warden looked so grim and serious that she fought the giddy urge to add, Cross my heart and hope to die.
“We’ve taken in children as well,” the female warden said with a lift of her chin. “And we don’t have servants helping us, do we?”
“Of course. I’m sorry.” Audrey couldn’t have said why she was sorry, but she felt the need to apologize.
“It’s going to be a different sort of war, Miss Clarkson,” the husband added. “We’re all in the fight this time, not just the soldiers. Women and children too. Like it or not, everyone must do his bit for the duration because we have to win. Otherwise . . . well, it’s unthinkable to have Nazis goose-stepping through our village and taking all our food like they’re doing in Poland.”
She thought of Alfie again, enduring the untold horrors of war, and her stomach did a slow turn. “Yes, of course. I do understand. Thank you.”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to fine you for failing to comply,” he said, handing her a piece of paper. “And there will be another fine tomorrow night if you don’t get it done. Good evening, Miss Clarkson.”
She watched the wardens head back to the village, shuffling slowly, heads lowered as they plodded home in the utter darkness. She remembered yelling at the children today and demanding that they obey and knew she would have to become much tougher and braver if she was going to survive the days to come. No matter what, Audrey would make sure Wellingford Hall still stood in all its glory when she welcomed Alfie home from the war.
LONDON, MAY 1940
“Kindly wait for me,” Audrey told the taxi driver. “I won’t be long.” Clouds filled the late-afternoon sky, mirroring her mood as she hurried up the crumbling steps to Eve’s boardinghouse. She searched for a doorbell and, not seeing one, pounded on the front door. Nothing happened. What if Eve didn’t live here anymore? More than four years had passed since Audrey had come here with Eve after King George’s funeral. Please, please, she silently begged. She regretted not staying in touch with her. In spite of their many differences, she still considered Eve her closest friend, the only person who truly knew her without the facade Audrey was required to keep in place.
Voices drifted from inside. She pounded on the door again. The girl who finally opened it looked annoyed. “You don’t have to knock, you know. Just come in.” The tinny sound of a news broadcast echoed in the front room. The girl seemed eager to hurry back to it. “Who are you looking for?” she asked over her shoulder.
“Eve Dawson.”
“In here.” She pointed to the crowded parlor, where girls huddled around the wireless, filling the chairs, the sofa, and every inch of floor space. “Eve, someone’s here for you.”
Eve looked up from the middle of the group and the color drained from her face. “Audrey! What’s wrong? Is it Alfie?” She sprang up and picked her way through the seated girls as gracefully as she’d once hopped from stone to stone to cross the creek. “Have you heard from Alfie?”
“He’s fine as far as I know,” she said when Eve reached the parlor doorway. “He was in Belgium with the BEF the last we heard, but now that they’re in retreat, we have no idea what’s become of him.”
“I haven’t heard, either. He hardly ever writes. And even when he does, he can’t say where he is.”
“Listen, I spoke with my uncle who’s in the House of Lords—”
“Shh!” one of the girls hissed. Audrey drew Eve into the foyer, peering outside to make sure the taxi was still waiting. It was. She needed to hurry while there was still enough light to drive.
“Have you heard what’s happening in France?” Audrey asked.
“Of course! It’s horrible, isn’t it? The Nazis are crushing Europe. We’re the only ones left.”
“I don’t have time to go into all the details, but could you please, please drive me down to the coast in our car? The taxi won’t take me that far. Please, Eve. I’m desperate to help Alfie and the other soldiers, and you know how to drive.”