Minutes later I heard someone knocking. I expected it to be Jack, out for his customary walk with Brock. But it was Merle.
“He’s gone to London,” she said, as I put the kettle on to boil. “He would have been taking the men you picked up, but that’ll have to wait until they’re well enough to travel.” She sat down on one of the apple boxes. “He’ll have to report back on what happened, though. It’ll help the SOE to plan your next mission.”
I nodded. In the euphoria of getting back to my little sanctuary alive, I’d forgotten that I’d be going to France again when the moon had waxed and waned.
She asked me what it had been like, rowing a boatload of wounded men out to sea.
“If I’d known about it in advance, I don’t think I could have done it,” I said. “But there wasn’t time to think. That was a blessing, really.”
“Well, you were incredibly plucky.” She took an envelope from her jacket pocket. “This is for you.”
I stared at the name—Ariel—in bold black type. “What is it?”
“Your wages,” she replied. “They don’t expect you to do this kind of work for nothing.” She smiled as I tore open the flap. “I thought we might go shopping in Falmouth together when the children are back at school. There’s not much to spend your money on—but we might be able to buy some dress fabric. There’s a sewing machine up at the house.”
I emptied the contents of the envelope into my hand. It felt so strange to have money. I turned the coins over. They had the image of King George on one side and pictures of a ship, a bird, and a flower on the other. The notes were the same color as my skirt: mauve with a thread of silver running through them. The idea of going into a shop, of choosing cloth to make into a dress, was intoxicating. But the thought of it set off a tidal wave of guilt.
“What’s the matter?” Merle asked. “You don’t look very pleased.”
How could I explain the feeling? It would be difficult for anyone outside the religious life to comprehend—that adjusting to life in the material world was something like shaking off an addiction. “I’m just trying to get used to the idea of having money of my own,” I said. “I’m a bit afraid of it, to be honest.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry—I’ll be there to make sure you don’t blow it all in one go! Shall we go on Friday?”
Before I could answer, Ned and Louis burst through the door. Merle had sent them to play on the beach while she came in to see me. Ned was covered in sand. Even his hair had sand in it.
“Oh, Ned!” Merle stood up. “What on earth have you been doing?”
“I be dead.” He rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes, blinking as more sand fell from his eyebrows. “Louis says.”
“Louis! Did you bury him? Is that why he’s in such a mess?”
Louis hung his head. “He was being naughty, Mum. He said he didn’t want to live with us anymore—he wants to live here with Miss Alice.”
Merle’s eyes went to the ceiling. “He does, does he? And I suppose he came out with that all on his own—nothing to do with you teasing him?”
“It was his fault,” Louis muttered. “He threw a dead crab at me. I threw it back, and he started to cry, the big baby. Look—he’s crying again: because he knows it’s true!”
Merle cast an exasperated look at me. “What a pair! What would you do with them?”
“Let me clean Ned up,” I said. “He can stay here for his tea, too, if that’ll help. I can bring him back later, when they’ve both had a chance to cool down.”
“Would you like that, Ned?” Merle asked.
He gave a loud sniff and a violent nod.
When the others had gone, I heated up some water and gave Ned a bath in the metal tub that hung behind the door in the bathroom. I’d often washed patients at the mission hospital, but I’d never given anyone a proper bath. I was worried about the soap going in his eyes and making him cry again, but he was very good. He didn’t make a whimper—even when I poured water over his head to get the last of the sand out of his hair. His brown curls stuck to his skin like the slick fur of a seal, parting over his ears. When I went to rub him dry, I noticed a small hole at the top of his left ear, as if someone had stuck a needle through the skin.
“Louis hasn’t been hurting you, has he?” I asked.
His hand went to the place my fingers were examining. His face told me that he was unaware of anything being amiss there. “He did kick me,” he said. “Not on my head—on my leg.”