‘Ooh Posy, your house is creepy,’ Mabel had said when I had invited her home for tea. ‘Look at all them pictures of dead people in their old-fashioned costumes! They give me the willies, they do,’ she’d pronounced with a shiver, pointing up at the paintings of Anderson ancestors that lined the stairs. ‘I’d be too scared to leave me room to go to the lavvy at night in case of ghosts.’
‘They’re my relatives from long ago, and I’m sure they would be very friendly if they did come back to say hello,’ I’d said, upset that she didn’t love Admiral House immediately like I did.
Now, as I walked across the hall and along the echoey corridor that led to the kitchen, I didn’t feel frightened at all, even though it was very dark now and Maman, who was probably still asleep upstairs in her bedroom, would never hear me if I screamed.
I knew I was safe here, that nothing bad could ever happen inside the house’s sturdy walls.
I reached to turn on the light in the kitchen, but it didn’t seem to be working, so instead I lit one of the candles that sat on a shelf. I was good at lighting candles, because the electricity at Admiral House, especially since the war, could not be relied upon. I loved their soft, flickering glow that just lit the area you were in and seemed to make even the ugliest person look pretty. Taking the bread Daisy had cut for me earlier – I might be allowed to light candles but I was forbidden to touch sharp knives – I slathered on the butter and jam thickly. Then, with a piece already in my mouth, I took the plate and the candle and went back upstairs to my bedroom to watch the storm.
I sat on my window seat chewing the bread and jam and thinking how Daisy worried about me when she left for her evening off. Especially when Daddy was away.
‘It’s not right for a little girl to be alone in such a big house,’ she’d mutter. I’d explain that I wasn’t alone because Maman was here too and besides, I wasn’t ‘little’ as I was seven, which was quite big.
‘Hmph!’ she’d reply as she took off her apron and hung it on the hook on the back of the kitchen door. ‘Never mind what she says, you go and wake your mum if you need her.’
‘I will,’ I always said, but of course, I never did, not even when I’d been sick on the floor once and my tummy had hurt really badly. I knew Maman would get cross if I woke her up because she needed her sleep. In any case, I didn’t mind being alone, because since Daddy had gone to the war, I was used to it. Besides, there was the whole collection of the Encyclopaedia Britannica from the library to read. I had finished the first two volumes, but I had another twenty-two to go, which I reckoned would take me until I was a grown-up.
Tonight, without electricity, it was too dark to read and the candle was now only a stub, so I watched the skies instead, trying not to think about Daddy going away or tears might start falling from my eyes as fast as the raindrops that were beating on the window.
As I looked out, a sudden flash of red caught my eye in the top corner of the pane.
‘Oh! It’s a butterfly! A Red Admiral!’
I stood up on the window seat and saw that the poor thing was doing its best to shelter from the storm by nestling underneath the window frame. I had to rescue it, so I very carefully opened the latch on the top pane and reached my hand outside. Even though it wasn’t moving, it took me a while to clasp it between my forefinger and thumb because I didn’t want to damage its fragile wings, which were firmly closed and very wet and slippery.
‘Got you,’ I whispered as I carefully drew my hand – which was now soaking wet – back through the window and shut it firmly with my dry hand.
‘Now then, little one,’ I whispered as I studied it sitting in the palm of my hand. ‘I wonder how I dry your wings?’
I thought about how they might dry if they were outside in nature because they must get wet all the time.
‘A warm breeze,’ I said, and began to gently blow my own breath onto them. At first, the butterfly didn’t move, but finally, as I thought I might faint from using so much breath, I watched as the wings fluttered and opened. I had never had a butterfly sitting still on the palm of my hand, so I bent my head and studied the lovely colour and intricate pattern on the top of them.
‘You are a real beauty,’ I told it. ‘Now, you can’t go back outside tonight or you will drown, so why don’t I leave you here on the windowsill so you can see your friends outside and I will set you free tomorrow morning?’
Very gently, I picked up the butterfly with the tips of my fingers and placed it on the windowsill. I watched it for a while, wondering if butterflies slept with their wings open or closed. But by now, my own eyes were closing, so I drew the curtains across the window in order that the tiny creature wouldn’t be tempted to fly into the room and attach itself to the ceiling high above me. I would never be able to reach to get it down again if it did and it might die of hunger or fear in the meantime.
Taking the candle, I walked across the room and climbed into bed, feeling satisfied that I’d managed to save a life and that maybe it was a good omen and Daddy would not get hurt again this time.
‘Goodnight, butterfly. Sleep well until the morning,’ I whispered as I blew the candle out and fell asleep.
When I woke up, I saw shards of light crossing the ceiling from the gaps in the curtains. They were golden today, which meant the sun was already out. Remembering my butterfly, I climbed out of bed and drew back the curtains carefully.
‘Oh!’
I caught my breath as I saw my butterfly, wings closed and lying on one side with its tiny feet in the air. Because the underside of its wings were mostly dark brown, it looked more like a large and very dead moth. Tears sprang to my eyes as I touched it just to check, but it didn’t stir, so I knew its soul was already up in heaven. Maybe I had killed it by not setting it free last night. Daddy always said you had to release them very quickly and even though it hadn’t been in a glass jar, it had been inside. Or maybe it had died of pneumonia or bronchitis because it had got so wet.
I stood there looking at it, and I just knew it was a very bad omen indeed.
Autumn 1944
I liked the moment when summer began to fade into the long dead winter. The mist began to hang across the tops of the trees like huge spiders’ webs and the air smelt woody and rich with fermentation (I’d learnt that word recently when I went to visit the local brewery on a school trip and watched the hops being turned into beer). Maman said she found the English weather depressing, that she wanted to live somewhere where it was sunny and warm all year round. Personally, I thought that would be very boring. Watching the cycle of nature, the invisible magic hands that turned the emerald-green leaves on the beech trees to a shiny bronze colour, was exciting. Or maybe I just lived a very dull life.
And it had been dull since Daddy left. No more parties or people coming to visit, except for Uncle Ralph, who turned up quite a lot with flowers and French cigarettes for Maman and occasionally, chocolate for me. The monotony had at least been broken with the annual August trip down to Cornwall to visit Granny. Usually, Maman would come with me, and Daddy would join us for a few days if he could get leave, but this year, Maman announced I was old enough to go by myself.
‘It is you she wishes to see, Posy, not me. She hates me, she always has done.’
I was sure this wasn’t true, as no one could hate Maman, with her beauty and her lovely singing voice, but the consequence was, I went alone, with a bad-tempered Daisy accompanying me on the long journey there and back.
Granny lived just outside a small village called Blisland, which nestled on the western edge of Bodmin Moor. Although her house was quite big and quite grand, its grey walls and heavy dark furniture always seemed a bit gloomy to me after the light-filled rooms of Admiral House. Outdoors was fun to explore, at least. When Daddy came, we would walk onto the moor to pick samples of the heather and the pretty wildflowers that grew between the gorse.
Sadly, on this visit, Daddy wasn’t there and it rained every day, which meant that outdoors was out o
f bounds. During the long, wet afternoons, Granny taught me to play Patience and we ate a lot of cake, but I was very glad when it was time to leave. When we arrived home, Daisy and I had climbed out of the pony and trap which Benson, our part-time gardener (who was probably one hundred years old) sometimes drove to collect people from the railway station. Leaving Benson and Daisy to bring in the suitcases, I ran into the house in search of Maman. I could hear ‘Blue Moon’ playing from the gramophone in the drawing room and had found Maman and Uncle Ralph dancing together.
‘Posy!’ she’d said, leaving Uncle Ralph’s arms and coming over to hug me. ‘We didn’t hear you arrive.’
‘It was probably the loud music in here, Maman,’ I’d answered, thinking how pretty and happy she looked, with her flushed cheeks and her lovely long hair, which had fallen out of its clip and was making a pale golden trail down her back.
‘We were celebrating, Posy,’ said Uncle Ralph. ‘There’s more good news from France, you see. It looks as though Jerry will soon surrender and the war will be finally over.’
‘Oh, good,’ I replied. ‘That means Daddy will be home soon.’
‘Yes.’
There was a pause before Maman had told me to run along up to my room to wash and change after my long journey. As I did so, I’d truly hoped Uncle Ralph was right and Daddy would be home soon. Since the radio had begun to tell us in the news bulletins about the triumph of D-Day, I had been hoping to see him constantly. It was over three months ago now and he still hadn’t come back, even though Maman had been to visit him when he had short leave, because it was easier. When I queried why he wasn’t home yet when we’d almost won the war, she had shrugged.
‘He is very busy, Posy, and will be home when he is home.’
‘But how do you know he is well? Has he written to you?’
‘Oui, chérie, he has. Be patient. Wars take a long time to end.’
The food shortages were even worse and we were down to our last two chickens, who hadn’t had their necks broken because they were the best egg producers. Even they seemed down in the mouth, though I went to talk to them every day, as Benson said happy chickens produced more eggs. My chatter wasn’t working, because neither Ethel nor Ruby had produced an egg for the past five days.
‘Where are you, Daddy?’ I asked the skies, thinking how wonderful it would be if I suddenly saw a Spitfire appear from between the clouds and there was Daddy, zooming downwards to land on the wide lawns.
November came, and each afternoon after school, I spent my time hunting in the sodden, frost-soaked undergrowth for kindling for the fire Maman and I lit in the morning room in the evening, because it was much smaller to heat than the great big drawing room.
‘Posy, I have been thinking about Christmas,’ Maman said to me one night.
‘Maybe Daddy will be home by then and we can spend it together.’
‘No, he will not be home and I have been invited to London to celebrate with my friends. Of course, it will be far too boring for you being with so many adults, so I have written to your grandmother and she is willing to take you for Christmas.’
‘But I . . .’
‘Posy, please understand that we cannot stay here. The house is freezing, there is no coal for the fires . . .’
‘But we have logs and—’
‘We have no food on our plates, Posy! Your grandmother has lost her help recently and is willing to take Daisy too whilst she finds a local replacement.’
I bit my lip, very close to tears. ‘But what if Daddy comes back to find us gone?’
‘I will write to him and tell him.’
‘He may not get the letter, and besides, I would rather stay here and starve than spend Christmas at Granny’s! I love her, but she is old and the house isn’t my home and—’
‘Enough! I have made up my mind. Remember, Posy, we must all do what we can to survive the last months of this brutal war. At least you will be warm and safe, with food inside you. This is much more than many others across the world who are starving or even dead.’
I had never seen Maman so angry, so even though a torrent of tears was poised behind my eyes and making them ache, I swallowed hard and nodded.
‘Yes, Maman.’
After that, at least Maman seemed to cheer up, even if Daisy and I were walking about the house like pale spectres doomed for the rest of our existence.
‘If I had any choice, I wouldn’t be going,’ Daisy grumbled as she helped me pack my suitcase. ‘But the mistress tells me she has no money to pay me here, so what can I do? I can’t live on buttons, can I?’
‘I’m sure things will be better when the war is over and Daddy comes back home,’ I told her, comforting myself at the same time.
‘Well, they can’t get any worse than they’ve been. Things have come to a pretty pass here and that’s for sure,’ Daisy replied darkly. ‘I’ve half a mind that she’s getting us both out of the way, so that she can . . .’
‘She can what?’ I asked her.
‘Never you mind, young lady, but the sooner your dad is home, the better.’
As the house was being shut up for the next month, Daisy went to work on cleaning every single inch of it.
‘But why are you cleaning it if no one’s going to be here?’ I asked her.
‘Enough of your questions, Miss Posy, and help me with these instead,’ she said, picking up a pile of white sheets and flapping them open like big white sails. Together we spread them over all the beds and the furniture in the twenty-six rooms of the house, until it looked like a large family of ghosts had moved in.
Once the school holidays began, I took out my coloured pencils and my pad of clean white paper sheets and drew what I could find from the garden. It was quite hard because everything was dead. One chilly December day, I took my magnifying glass into the garden. It hadn’t snowed yet, but there was a shiny white frost on all the holly bushes, and I took off my mittens so I could hold the lens to see the stems properly. Daddy had taught me exactly where to look to find the pupae of the Holly Blue butterfly.
As I did so, I saw the door of the Folly open and Daisy came out, her face flushed and her arms full of cleaning supplies.
‘Miss Posy, what are you doing out here without your mittens on?’ she scolded me. ‘Put them back on, you’ll get frostbite and your fingers will drop off.’ With that, she stalked off to the house, and I looked at the door of the Folly, which hadn’t quite swung shut behind her. Before I could think better of it, I slipped inside, and the door creaked shut behind me.
It was very dark, but my eyes soon got used to it, and I could make out the shapes of the cricket stumps and croquet hoops that Daddy kept in here as well as the locked gun cupboard that he had told me never to open. I glanced up at the stairs that led to Daddy’s room and stood there in an agony of indecision. If Daisy had left the downstairs door unlocked, maybe the one to Daddy’s private room was still open too. I wanted to see the inside of it so, so badly . . .
Eventually, curiousity won, and I tripped up the stairs that turned round and round quickly before Daisy returned. When I reached the top, I put my hand to the knob of the big oak door and twisted it. Daisy clearly hadn’t locked it, because it opened, and one step later, there I was in Daddy’s secret office.
It smelt of polish, and light illuminated the circular walls that surrounded the windows Daisy had just cleaned. On the wall directly in front of me hung what must be an entire extended family of Red Admiral butterflies. They were lined up in rows of four behind glass enclosed by a gilt frame.
As I took a step closer, I was confused, because I wondered how the butterflies could stay so still, and what they had found to eat inside their glass prison.
Then I saw the heads of the pins that stuck them to the backing. I glanced at the other walls and saw that they too were covered with the butterflies we’d caught over the years.
With a groan of horror, I turned and pelted down the steps and out into the garden. Seeing Daisy approach
ing from the house, I turned and ran around the back of the Folly and into the woodland that surrounded it. When I was far enough away, I sank down onto the roots of a big oak tree, gulping in breath.
‘They’re dead! They’re dead! They’re dead! How could he have lied to me?’ I shouted in between sobs.
I stayed in the woods a very long time, until I heard Daisy calling for me. I only wished I could ask Daddy why he’d killed them when they were so beautiful, and then hung them up like trophies so he could look up and see their deadness on the walls.
Well, I couldn’t ask, because he wasn’t here, but I had to trust and believe there was a very good reason for the murders in our butterfly kingdom.
As I stood and began to walk slowly back to the house, I couldn’t think of a single one. All I knew was that I never wanted to set foot in the Folly again.
Chapter 1
Posy was in the kitchen garden picking some carrots when she heard her mobile ringing from the depths of her Barbour. Pulling it out of her pocket, she answered it.
‘Hello, Mum. I didn’t wake you, did I?’
‘Goodness no, and besides, even if you had, it’s lovely to hear from you. How are you, Nick?’
‘I’m good, Mum.’
‘And how is Perth?’ Posy enquired, standing up and wandering through the garden and into the kitchen.
‘Just starting to hot up as England begins to cool down. How are things with you?’
‘I’m fine. Nothing much changes around here, as you know.’
‘Listen, I’m calling to let you know that I’m coming back to England later this month.’
‘Oh Nick! How wonderful. After all these years.’
‘Ten, actually,’ her son confirmed. ‘It’s about time I came home, don’t you think?’
‘I do indeed. I’m over the moon, darling. You know how much I miss you.’
The Butterfly Room Page 3
