The Secrets of Latimer House

by Jules Wake

  ‘Why?’ asked Evelyn. ‘The train to London only takes fifty minutes from Chalfont and Latimer.’ Evelyn’s eyes shone with mischief. ‘And I’ve got a car.’

  ‘You’ve got a car. Stone me.’ Betty’s eyes looked as if they might pop out of her head. ‘Are you like a lady or something?’

  ‘A something.’ Evelyn’s eyes twinkled. ‘So tell us about the house.’

  ‘It belonged to Lord Chesham. Lovely man but he moved out in 1940 and some Army corps moved in. They left in ’42 and this lot moved in. He lives in another house not far outside the village now but he’s hardly ever here. My Aunt Daisy is his housekeeper. That’s how I know the place. As a kid when his Lordship was up in London I’d have free run of the place while my ma worked in the dairy, and then I…’ She paused, her face tightening. ‘Never thought I’d be living here and getting paid for it. It’s all very exciting. Fancy having to sign the Official Secrets Act. Do you think we’re going to be spies? Like Ilona Massey in International Lady. I loved that film. Basil Rathbone and George Brent were both marvellous.’

  ‘Didn’t the Colonel brief you?’ asked Judith, still reeling from the extraordinary information he’d regaled her with but mindful of the instruction not to reveal what she was to be doing. She knew for a fact that this whirlwind blonde was not going to be translating secret conversations.

  ‘I’m going to be typing. Reports and things. Sounds the same as my last posting, except I wasn’t typing then. Just filing.’ Her mouth twisted mournfully. ‘And that is not going to win the war, is it? At least I’ve moved up in the world. What about you, Lady Evelyn? No disrespect, but this must be a bit of a comedown for you?’

  Evelyn laughed. ‘You have to be joking. My last billet was in a box room with three noisy boys next door, in an end-of-terrace railway cottage. And the most obnoxious commanding officer known to man. The Colonel seemed quite charming.’

  ‘Scary,’ said Betty. ‘He kept saying how important it was not to talk to anyone about what we do here. I’m going to have to make something up for Ma and Jane and…’ She dropped her head. ‘So what time’s dinner? I’m starving.’

  Chapter Eight

  Betty

  Betty stretched, feeling as lazy and cosy as a cat, despite the slightly scratchy cotton sheets. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept so well. It was heaven to be in a bed of her own and in a dorm of only three. At Mill Hill there’d been twenty-four of them arranged head to toe, with standard-issue horsehair pillows and biscuits, the Army mattresses of straw-packed cushions, which she could never get comfortable on. Sleeping on a real mattress again was a proper luxury.

  While the other two women were sleeping she took a minute to peek around the room. Each of them had been given a small set of drawers that just fitted between the beds. The solitary wardrobe had been built into the space at the end of the room on the other side of the door, which meant you couldn’t open the door and the wardrobe at the same time. On the opposite end wall, against which abutted the full length of Evelyn’s bed, was a geometric-shaped bevel-edged mirror hanging from a chain which all three of them would have to share. It would be jolly difficult to do her hair at this distance; she hoped Evelyn wouldn’t mind her stepping right up, next to her bed. She looked enviously at Evelyn’s neat drawer top, tidily laid out. It had a beautifully embroidered vanity set, a silver-framed photograph of a young man, a bottle of perfume and what looked like a Stratton special-edition compact.

  Betty sighed. Her own dresser would soon be covered in an untidy mess of hairnets, bobby pins, an ancient brush with a cracked back that had been her grandmother’s, her one precious Cashmere Bouquet, orchid-red lipstick and a Yardley compact that she’d saved for several weeks to buy. She certainly couldn’t afford Stratton, no matter how much she’d longed for one. Mind you, she didn’t have a silver photo frame either, which she was quite grateful for. After yesterday she wasn’t sure she wanted a picture of Bert by her bed. Who, she wondered, was the man in Evelyn’s picture? Boyfriend? Brother?

  She turned her attention to Judith’s bed. The top of the drawers was barren except for a battered leather envelope handbag. There were no other clues as to Judith’s background or identity. Her suitcase was pushed under the bed and she’d unpacked nothing but her uniform, which went in the wardrobe, and underwear, which had all been hurriedly put into the drawers. Compared to Evelyn, Judith seemed to own almost nothing. The only glimpse into her personality had been a large bundle of gorgeous cherry-red wool and a pair of knitting needles.

  Bored with her perusal of her neighbours and tempted by the sun streaming in through the dormer window, she crept out of bed to look at the view. Although she’d grown up in the Chess Valley and had longed through her teenage years to escape, she had to admit that the river this morning, with the early mist creeping across the meadows, was rather beautiful. Pulling on an old hand-me-down cardigan of her late grandmother’s over her nightie, she took her cigarettes out of her handbag and quietly opened the window, taking a quick peep at Judith, who was sound asleep curled in a ball like a small brown mouse. Betty smiled to herself. What a set-up! Who’d have thought it, here she was with Lady Evelyn, as she already nicknamed her, and Timid Town Mouse.

  Climbing out onto the roof, she took a good lungful of clean, crisp air and acknowledged with a rueful nod that it was a relief to not taste cordite and ash in the air. Despite what she’d told her ma, Mill Hill saw plenty of bombs. Just three weeks ago the barracks had had a near miss. Betty gave a little shudder. Lawks, that one had been a bit too close for comfort. She’d been picking glass out of her hair for days and it started up the nightmares again about Barbara Clarke’s face. Their vivid images had also helped change her mind and made her ask for a transfer nearer to home. If something like that ever happened to her, she’d die. Imagine not being pretty anymore. She’d have asked a lot earlier if she’d realised that she could live in. This was a proper result. Far enough away to keep her independence and close enough to keep an eye on things at home and put an end to her ma’s nagging.

  She inched a cigarette out of the packet and lit up, taking a long slow drag and watching the smoke curl up into the morning sky. There was something to be said for being alone with your thoughts on a quiet morning. It was peaceful here. Her mouth twisted with a wry smile. Gave her time to think, although her thoughts weren’t comfortable ones. Her ma was keen for her to wed Bert and not so long ago it would have seemed like the best option. After all, there weren’t that many choices in the village, but joining the ATS had given her fresh eyes. Meeting lots of other girls and enjoying the company of women had made her start to think differently. She might not be as good as someone like Evelyn but she was worth something. The way Bert treated her, like she was less than him, wasn’t right anymore.

  ‘Morning,’ drawled the proper BBC announcer voice of Lady Evelyn as she shimmied through the window, her slender form encased in the most gorgeous camiknickers and vest that Betty had ever seen.

  ‘Is that real silk?’

  Evelyn grinned. She seemed to do that a lot. ‘Yes. Mummy bought it in Paris before the war. It’s a few seasons old, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Betty gravely, her mouth twitching ever so slightly.

  Evelyn looked at her and threw back her head and laughed. ‘Listen to me. I don’t actually care. That’s Mummy’s thing. She does like to be up to date… Have you got a spare one of those? Mine are in my trunk, which is still in the car. I couldn’t face lugging it up all the stairs yesterday.’

  ‘Sure.’ Betty offered her the pack and matches. They smoked in companionable silence.

  ‘Where do you think the prisoners are?’ asked Evelyn, peering over the battlements.

  ‘What prisoners?’ Betty stared at her.

  Evelyn coloured up and bit her lip. ‘I imagined this was a castle, with the battlements.’

  Betty wasn’t stupid but the other woman looked so uncomfortable, she wasn’t going to press her. In
stead she said, ‘I thought this was a distribution centre. That’s what everyone in the village says. They’re all hoping a few fags or bottles of gin will fall off the back of a lorry on one of the lanes.’

  Evelyn recovered, ignored the question and stubbed out her cigarette. ‘I think we ought to head to breakfast. I’ve got my first briefing this morning.’

  ‘My shift starts at eight.’ Despite her words, her brain was elsewhere. Why had Evelyn clammed up? What was going on at this place? She’d wondered yesterday when she’d signed the Official Secrets Act. What was so secret about sending boxes all over the country? As far as she was concerned it sounded like there was probably going to be a lot of paperwork involved and she hoped she’d be working with some fun people, otherwise this place was going to get old very soon.

  By the time they clambered back through the window, Judith was up and dressed, having used the bathroom down the corridor, which, to their shared delight, seemed to be theirs alone.

  ‘Honest, it’s like staying in a hotel,’ said Betty, thinking of the cold, damp outhouse at home and washing in the tin bath in front of the fire, having to share the water with Ma and Jane.

  Evelyn raised one of her elegant eyebrows. ‘Not The Ritz, I promise you.’

  ‘You’ve stayed at The Ritz? Oh my. How was that? Were the sheets silk? Did you drink champagne?’

  ‘I’ve only had tea in the Palm Court, but it was rather sumptuous.’

  As Betty pestered her for details, she noticed Judith’s face darkening. She might be a timid town mouse but she was also a bit of a misery.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Evelyn, suddenly as alert as a cat spotting prey, her eyes bright and focused.

  They all stilled. Betty’s pulse thundered in her veins and she put her hands up to her face as the drone of plane engines filtered in through the window. Like idiots, all three of them rushed towards the window, doing exactly what they’d been told countless times not to do.

  Skirting the top of the hill, two planes, unmistakably German Junkers, flew across the sky, coming in low and fast, casting ominous shadows on the fields below. Betty’s ATS handbook had taught her how to identify the different planes, both the enemy’s and the RAF’s.

  ‘Get down!’ shouted Evelyn and they all dropped to the floor, hands over their heads, rolling underneath the nearest beds.

  Betty tensed, listening hard, waiting for an explosion; the engine noise was louder now. She held her breath, only gradually easing it out when she absolutely had to. Barbara Clarke’s face, or what was left of it, filled her mind. She squashed her own face into the bare board under the bed, her arms cushioning either side as the musty smell of dust filled her nose.

  The sound of the planes faded away, their persistent whine dulling until finally it was gone. For a moment none of them spoke, all lost in their own thoughts.

  ‘Phew,’ said Evelyn, rising to her feet and dusting down her skirt. ‘Does that happen often here?’

  Judith lifted her chin, her mouth wrinkling. It must be strange, thought Betty, knowing your countrymen were bombing you. She couldn’t begin to imagine how it must feel.

  ‘Annoying visitors,’ said Betty, sounding braver than she felt. ‘Those were heading north-west, away from London. Done their dirty work. We don’t often see planes out this way. They’re usually on their way to London or coming back. Sometimes you see the odd dog fight as the RAF boys see them off. But they’re not interested in us.’ She gave a small laugh. ‘The village doesn’t even know what we’re doing here, so I can’t see how the Germans would know.’

  ‘True,’ said Evelyn, already regaining her equilibrium. Betty envied her poise. ‘I don’t know about you chaps but a brush with adventure always makes me hungry. I’m ravenous.’

  When they went downstairs to breakfast, they went their separate ways. Evelyn turned right at the bottom of the stairs and headed to what Betty knew had been a large drawing room in Lord Chesham’s day, which was now the Officers’ Mess. She and Judith turned back on themselves under the stairs to another set of stairs which certainly didn’t have a fine red-and-gold carpet held in place with brass rods or elaborate carved and polished banisters. Instead the painted brick steps were framed by iron railings on one side and led to the enlisted mess down in the servants’ kitchen. Crossing the familiar red quarry-tiled floor, Betty looked around. ‘My Aunt Daisy used to sit at the head of the table just there,’ she said, pointing to the end of the long battered wooden table, remembering how all the servants used to gather around it at meal times. ‘She was the housekeeper here.’

  Judith eyed her sombrely.

  ‘What?’ asked Betty a little impatiently. She didn’t like the way the other woman made her feel; there was a touch of disapproval in the downward tilt of her mouth. Surely after yesterday on the train, Judith should feel more grateful towards her instead of being so guarded and reserved.

  It took a moment for Judith to respond. ‘It must be pleasant to know you belong.’

  Betty snorted. ‘I don’t belong here. This is a house for posh folk.’

  ‘Yes, but you know the house. You have memories here. You know the people. It’s familiar.’

  ‘Oh, I see what you mean. But it’s also a bit boring. Being stuck in one place all your life.’ She looked up and surprisingly spotted another familiar face. ‘Elsie!’

  ‘Well, hello, young Betty. What are you doing here?’ Elsie beamed at her. Likewise, the Vicar’s sister was the last person Betty expected to see, although she guessed Elsie had had plenty of experience of cooking for large numbers. She was always in charge of the Christmas children’s party in the village hall and the lovely thing about her was that although she did a lot of good, she wasn’t a do-gooder type. Despite being the Vicar’s sister, she wasn’t the least bit holier than thou.

  ‘I thought you were with the ATS up in London? Mill Hill, I heard.’

  ‘I was, but Ma wanted me closer so I managed to get a posting here.’

  Elsie eyed her for a second before her face sharpened and she nodded. ‘Probably a good idea.’

  ‘And what are you doing here?’

  ‘I fancied doing my bit. I wanted to sign up but I couldn’t leave Frank. Poor man wouldn’t cope.’ She rolled dark eyes in her thin, angular face. All arms and legs, thought Betty. When she was younger, she’d likened Elsie to a scarecrow made out of broomsticks. Her sleeves were always too short and showed off a good few inches of skinny wrists, but for all that she was strong in body and character.

  ‘My own fault. I brought it upon myself. But this way I’m not at his beck and call all the time. It’s good for him, even if he is the Vicar.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘And who might you be?’

  ‘Sorry, this is Judith. We’re both starting today.’

  ‘Well, sit yourselves down, grab a cuppa from the pot and I’ll bring you some porridge, and help yourselves to toast. No butter today but there’s jam. Everyone’s a-twitter this morning with the excitement. Don’t see many bombers out this way. I hope those poor buggers in London haven’t copped it too much.’ She shook her head and bustled off.

  They sat down at the end one of the three long trestle tables lining the kitchen, where men and women in a variety of uniforms sat chatting and eating. It looked as if everyone knew each other and they were already in that settled routine of having their own friends and knowing their places. Betty sighed. She hated being the new girl again, having to work out who was friend or foe. At Mill Hill most of the girls had been sound but there were always a couple you had to watch.

  Betty shook the thoughts away. It wouldn’t be long before she’d worked out the pecking order. She reached for a teacup and the pot, noticing that Judith hung back. ‘Want one?’

  Judith nodded, her gaze busily darting around the high whitewashed walls of the room and glancing cautiously at the groups of people dotted along the tables. She really was so very reserved, and then Betty realised, with a jolt of awareness that made her feel guilty, the poor girl was
a long way from home and in an environment that was probably very different from what she was used to.

  ‘This is probably all a bit strange for you? How long have you lived in England?’

  Judith shrugged. ‘It’s a new experience. I’ve been here a while, five years, but,’ Betty saw her visibly swallow, ‘it’s always different. You never quite… I’ve never been in a big house like this before. Or lived in the country.’

  ‘Where did you live?’

  Judith gave her one of those guarded looks before she answered. ‘Berlin.’

  Betty realised that she wasn’t so much timid as reserved.

  ‘Gosh. I’ve never been anywhere except round here and London. I love watching the films set in America. Is it very different here? I can’t imagine travelling to another country. I’d love to one day. It must be so romantic.’

  ‘Betty,’ said Elsie, appearing with two very small bowls of steaming porridge. ‘You do rattle on.’ She sounded unusually sharp and when Betty glanced up she was shaking her head slightly and her eyes were narrowed.

  ‘Oh!’ said Betty and turned to Judith, putting her hand on her arm. Judith flinched. ‘I’m so sorry. What must you think of me? Prattling on about travel. I am an empty head.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Judith stiffly, keeping her head down, focusing on her porridge.

  Elsie gave Betty a chiding glance and disappeared back to the big oven. Now Betty felt even more of an idiot. There was only one thing for it; she kept talking.

  ‘So, are you nervous?’ she asked.

  Judith’s head lifted and there was a touch of contempt in her eyes. ‘No. I’m looking forward to getting started. To helping with the war effort. To make a difference.’

  ‘Yes.’ Betty figured maybe the girl didn’t have that great a command of English. Shifting boxes from one place to another didn’t seem like it was going to help win the war. There were men out there fighting, losing their lives, and here they were responsible for shipping things, but she’d already put her foot in it once with Judith, so she decided that keeping quiet for once might be the best idea.