“That’s wonderful!” Mum’s hands lingered on Eve’s shoulders, caressing them.
“The pay is better, and I feel like I’m doing my bit for the war effort instead of typing invoices all day. Iris works there, too.” She gestured to her new friend, a pretty, black-haired girl who also came from a working-class background. Iris was the pride of her family for escaping the poverty of London’s East End with a good job as a typist. She and Eve sat side by side at the Ministry of Information in an office crammed with clacking, pinging typewriters.
“Iris needed a fourth roommate for the flat she just rented and asked me to move in with her. No more dreary boardinghouses for us! I came to give you my new address and telephone number.”
“You’re doing so well for yourself, Eve,” Mum said, hugging her again. “I’m so proud of you.” The familiar room where Eve once slept looked unchanged. The photograph of Eve’s daddy still sat on the bedside table. Granny Maud’s picture of the Good Shepherd hung on the wall above the bed. Mum owned so little—but then so did Eve. “Let’s go downstairs,” Mum said. “I’ll make tea and we can visit.”
“No, please don’t fuss. We can’t stay long. I’m going with Iris to the East End to visit her grandmother.”
“Granny takes her tea with mounds of sugar,” Iris explained, “and she can never get enough of it, with rationing and all. I take my lot to her whenever I can. I’m getting used to going without,” she finished with a laugh. Her cheerful, generous spirit was one of the reasons Eve liked Iris. She was so unlike serious, moody Audrey.
“That’s very kind of you, Iris,” Mum said. “I’m sure your granny appreciates it.”
“Why are you still in London, Mum?” Eve asked. “The Season is over—if there even is such a thing with the war on. I was hoping you’d be back at Wellingford, by now, where it’s safe.”
“Lady Rosamunde has decided to stay in London. She finds it too boring in the country. All her friends are here.”
“But . . . Audrey is at Wellingford, isn’t she? And Mr. Clarkson?”
“I don’t know where Mr. Clarkson is these days, but Audrey is there, yes.”
“You should quit and go home to the village, Mum. You could easily find work there. I can send you some of my pay every week. They’re saying the Nazis will bomb London any day.”
“So are you leaving London and going where it’s safe?” Mum asked.
Eve looked away. “No. My work is here.” She didn’t say so, but Eve would stay as long as there was hope that Alfie would come to London on leave.
“My work is here too,” Mum said.
“I don’t understand why you’re so loyal to her, Mum. Lady Rosamunde demands so much from you, working all hours of the day and night, yet she doesn’t have an ounce of consideration for you.”
Mum sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. “It isn’t easy to explain, Eve. I suppose . . . I suppose it’s because of what the vicar once said in one of his sermons. He read a Bible passage that said servants should do their work joyfully, as if serving the Lord. Jesus said if we’re ordered to go one mile, we should go two. And I feel sorry for Lady Rosamunde. For all her wealth, she is a sad, lonely woman.”
“It’s her own fault if she is.”
“You’re right. But she gave me a job at a time when I badly needed it to support you. So I’ve always thought that God must have a reason for wanting me to work for her.” Eve shook her head, unable to persuade her. “Don’t worry, Eve,” Mum added. “There’s an Anderson shelter out back where I can go if there’s an air raid. I hope your new apartment has one, too.”
“There’s a public shelter nearby,” Iris said. “We’ll be fine, Mrs. Dawson.”
They spent a few more minutes visiting, but Eve could tell that Iris was eager to get to the East End and home again before the afternoon grew too late and the blackout began. Eve hugged her mum, promising to visit longer the next time, and they left.
London’s East End was a warren of densely packed houses and tenements, yet Eve felt at home among its poor, hardworking people. They were much like the villagers she knew back home. Iris’s grandmother, a tiny, white-haired woman with a bent back and gnarled hands, reminded Eve of Granny Maud. She sat crocheting in the dark cottage where Iris had grown up with her three older brothers, all now off fighting the war. Threadbare furnishings and well-worn possessions filled the tidy room. “Where’s Mum and Dad?” Iris asked.