Daughters Of Eden: The Eden Series Book 1

by Bingham, Charlotte

  It was early one afternoon, as she dressed before walking back across the room containing the dreaded barre with its wall of mirrors, that Poppy caught sight of herself, and stopped. Never one to stand and admire her own image, none the less she could not help but be arrested by what she saw. In order to check that her eyes were not deceiving her, she walked slowly on while never taking her eyes from her mirrored image.

  Gone was the old Poppy, the young woman with the terrible posture and the untutored walk, and in her place was the person she was groomed to become – Diona de Donnet – upright, poised, graceful and above all disdainful. She also appeared to have grown a good two or three inches, having worked non stop on what Cissie insisted on calling her internals, as well as doing her very best to improve her posture and carriage. Poppy continued to stare at herself, for the first time becoming convinced that she did indeed seem to have shed her old self and begun to put on a whole new persona. Diona de Donnet was becoming a fact, not a figment of Cissie’s imagination.

  To her further delight, Madame seemed inclined to agree, since when Poppy went to wish her farewell until her next lesson the older woman suddenly embraced her, putting both her hands to Poppy’s cheeks and kissing her most affectionately.

  ‘I had abandoned hope last month,’ she confessed. ‘I was about to wave the white towel. Then I see how hard you try and I also see suddenly there is progress. Then – look! Today! What is it that happened? The miracle we pray for. This wonderful miracle Miss Cissie, and I, Madame Moisewitch, always pray for with our pupils. Pray God that you do all of you what you can, that you make everything you have to do happen as it should, as we want, and that we will all succeed against this terrible evil.’

  When Poppy saw the look in her teacher’s eyes she realised the weight of the responsibility she was carrying. There was no need to ask Madame Moisewitch what she meant. They both knew.

  Billy was living in paradise. Major Folkestone, having taken a shine to the lad, wasted no time in loading all sorts of responsibilities on to his young shoulders, the most important being fire and pane watching. There was actually little risk of fire thanks to the iron military-style discipline imposed on the occupants of Eden Park, but there was a very real risk of enemy planes passing overhead. Even with a total blackout, since the place was now a top security site there was always the chance that someone might betray its whereabouts, with the result that a surprise enemy raid could blow the whole place and its inhabitants to kingdom come.

  Later there would be two heavily camouflaged ack-ack guns positioned strategically in the parklands, but at the moment the only defence came from the soldiers’ rifles. So Billy took his duties very seriously indeed, and when it was his turn to go on watch up on to the roof he dashed, with notebook and pencil in one hand, and binoculars swinging from his neck. There he would sit watching the skies until, weary to the point of collapse, and hardly able to keep awake, he would stumble downstairs again to pass out in his cottage bedroom.

  But Billy was quite alone in his new and exciting boy’s paradise, for certainly no one else living in Eden Park, despite the resolutely cheerful faces they presented to the world, felt anything but dread when they contemplated the future. Outwardly they laughed and joked, and made light of everything, while inwardly they all felt, but never said, that while Chamberlain was in power they did not have a hope of winning. The most common phrase being heard all over England was ‘we will win despite our government’ until the day that Chamberlain resigned, and Winston Churchill became Prime Minister, at which point, with the warmer weather, the long, bitter winter, so filled with grey despair, seemed at last to be over.

  It had been an especially bitter winter, despite the war’s seeming to have been put on hold for the last months of the old year.

  The Phoney War the newspapers had dubbed it, as if it was all some kind of practical joke, so it was only when Germany invaded Norway and Denmark, and Holland, followed by Belgium and Luxembourg, that everyone suddenly realised that the war – the real war – for which they seemed to have been preparing for so long, was well and truly upon them.

  Everyone at Eden Park listened to Churchill’s speeches on the radio, standing up as they did so, as if standing to sing the National Anthem.

  We shall defend our island home – and outlive the menace of tyranny, Marjorie would repeat to herself as she went about her work, fortified by the power of the words and the profound confidence of the man speaking them.

  ‘We shall defend our island home …’ she would repeat out loud in the evenings as they were making ready for bed, loud enough for Billy to hear and immediately finish what was now their motto.

  ‘And outlive the menace of tyranny!’ the call would echo back to the room where Kate and Marjorie were climbing gratefully into their warm beds.

  ‘Not that I know much about tyranny,’ Marjorie said to Kate one night. ‘At least I know a bit – having been to Mrs Reid’s school. If Hitler’s anything like Pet and Uncle Mikey then Billy and I will be out there with every weapon we can lay our hands on if he dares try and set foot on these shores.’

  ‘My father’s a dictator,’ Kate said wistfully, sitting up in her bed and pulling the bedclothes up over her knees. ‘So I know a little about people like Hitler.’

  ‘How’s Robert?’ Marjorie wondered, changing the subject, and she turned round the photograph of Robert that Kate kept by her bed to take another look. ‘He really has got film star looks.’

  ‘Oh yes, he’s a star all right.’ Kate laughed. ‘He doesn’t need to be in films.’

  ‘He’s even more handsome in his naval uniform.’

  ‘Don’t you think everyone looks good in uniform, though, Marjorie? Even Major Folkestone—’

  ‘Who’s not exactly the most good-looking of blokes,’ Marjorie murmured. ‘Kind though he might be.’

  ‘He looks good in his uniform, though.’

  ‘You couldn’t possibly be getting a crush on Major Folkestone, Kate?’ Marjorie teased. ‘Isn’t he a little old for you?’

  ‘I’ll tell you who I have got a crush on,’ Kate said, dropping her voice. ‘Have you seen that man who rides about the place on that big white horse?’

  ‘Grey actually,’ a solemn voice came from the doorway. ‘Horses can’t ever be white. They’re called grey, white horses are grey.’

  ‘Thank you, Billy.’ Marjorie rolled her eyes at Kate and sighed. ‘Now go back to bed.’

  ‘I want to hear about Kate’s crush.’

  ‘Perhaps Kate doesn’t want to tell you.’

  ‘Kate?’ Billy wondered, opening his big brown eyes as wide as he could as he smiled at his beloved.

  ‘It isn’t anyone, Billy,’ Kate said tactfully. ‘I was only teasing. Trying to make Marjorie jealous.’

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘Yes, Billy,’ Marjorie assured him. ‘Now go back to your bed or you’ll be too tired for your watch later.’

  Billy eyed them both, torn between his loyalty to his duties and his early adolescent passion.

  ‘All right,’ he muttered. ‘But I’ll be listening.’

  The two young women chatted about anything and everything until they guessed Billy had fallen fast asleep, before Marjorie closed their bedroom door so they could continue their gossip.

  ‘He’s gorgeous,’ Kate whispered. ‘I haven’t spoken to him, I know nothing about him, but he is so handsome. And he rides beautifully.’

  ‘Maybe you ought to ask him for a game of tennis this weekend. If he plays as well as he rides his horse, you could be in for a drubbing.’

  ‘For once I wouldn’t mind if I didn’t win a single point.’ Kate laughed her deep little laugh and seconds later was fast asleep.

  ‘I’ll believe that when I see it,’ Marjorie murmured.

  Billy got to him first the following morning. After he had finished his stint on watch, he spied the stranger riding back down the hill on the north side of the lake, headed back for the stables. By the time Billy
arrived red-faced and out of breath in the yard the man was taking the tack off his steaming horse.

  ‘Who are you?’ Billy challenged. ‘What are you doing here anyway? This is government property.’

  ‘I know,’ the man said with a sigh. ‘I know that, nipper.’

  ‘So who are you? Who are you anyway?’

  ‘I am Eugene anyway. I am Eugene the Brilliant, nipper – Eugene the Mighty, Eugene the Fierce.’

  He suddenly bent towards Billy and bared his teeth.

  ‘You don’t frighten me,’ Billy told him staunchly.

  ‘I’m delighted to hear it,’ Eugene replied. ‘I terrify the pants off meself. Who are you, come to that?’

  ‘The name’s Billy. That’s who I am.’

  ‘Billy. Billy the Kid perhaps? Or Billy the Goat? Or Billy the Bull?’

  Eugene looked at him, staring hard and making his blue eyes go wide then immediately narrowing them.

  ‘Billy Hendry. And I have a right to be here. I have official tasks given me by the British Army.’

  Eugene tucked his saddle over one arm and saluted Billy with his free hand.

  ‘I have a right to be here too, soldier. My uncle owns this place.’

  Billy frowned at this piece of news, which caught him well on the hop. Eugene did the thing with his eyes once more, and then sauntered off into the tack room. Billy waited for a moment, wondering how to get the best of his new adversary, then decided to follow him into his den. He found the big Irishman striking a match on the sole of his riding boot to light a thin dark cheroot he had clamped between a set of strong white teeth.

  ‘What now, soldier?’ Eugene teased. ‘Come to check me tack’s all clean and orderly?’

  ‘You can’t live here, even if your uncle does own it,’ Billy informed him. ‘The only people allowed here are those with official permission.’

  ‘Jeeze.’ Eugene laughed. ‘Will you listen to the nipper?’ he asked the stable boy who was helping him put away his tack. ‘We’ll have to get him a brown shirt all his own.’

  ‘Why should I need a brown shirt?’ Billy wondered. ‘I don’t like brown.’

  ‘And I don’t like brownshirts,’ Eugene said, over-seriously. Then he put two flattened forefingers under his nose to simulate a moustache and saluted the air. ‘Heil Hitler!’ he said, clicking his heels.

  Billy laughed. ‘Yes, I know, but really. You really shouldn’t be here unless you’re official. Major Folkestone wouldn’t like it, really he wouldn’t.’

  ‘I’m official all right, nipper,’ Eugene said, ruffling Billy’s hair. ‘I couldn’t be more official. Ask old Major Popesnose. He’ll tell you. Tell him you have been speaking to Eugene. To Eugene the Garrulous.’

  Eugene smiled, and hung up his horse’s bridle on a shiny hook for the groom to clean.

  ‘What you think of me old nag?’ he said. ‘Like a ride one day?’

  ‘I ain’t never ridden a horse,’ Billy replied.

  ‘Ain’t you just?’ Eugene laughed, mocking Billy’s cockney very badly. ‘Well then, chief, thah’s a first toime for everythink! Come on – I’ll put you up on him now. I’ll hold on, don’t you worry.’

  Next thing Billy knew he was lifted up in a pair of extremely strong arms, swung through the air, out of the tack room and up on to the horse’s bare back. The horse took no notice whatsoever.

  ‘You’re such a featherweight, nipper – he doesn’t even know you’re up. Come on, I’ll walk you round the yard. Hang on to his mane – you’ll be as safe as a house.’

  Billy couldn’t believe how high up he was, or the lazy power that the horse exuded as he walked around the stable yard, led only on a halter by his master.

  ‘Is this your horse, mister?’

  ‘This is my horse, nipper.’

  ‘But you don’t live here.’

  ‘I live here now, nipper. And where I goes, me horse goes too. I brought him over from Ireland with me. Shipped him to Welsh Wales, then put him on a train here. He’ll travel in anything. Goes to sleep on the train. Lies down in the van and sleeps like a tired hooligan.’

  ‘He’s smashin’,’ Billy said, leaning forward to pat the horse’s neck. ‘I never seen such a smashin’ horse.’

  ‘Love my horse, love me.’ Eugene sighed. ‘We are now friends for life, you and I. And that needs celebrating.’

  He lifted Billy down, let him lead the great horse into his stable, took off the halter, bolted the heavy wood and iron door and nodded to Billy to follow him.

  Billy did as he was told until after a tortuous journey through a labyrinth of underground corridors they emerged into a small wood-panelled room with a fire already alight in the iron grate, three comfortable old leather chairs, a table with a deck of cards scattered all over it and a large half-open cupboard Billy could see was stacked with bottles of drink.

  ‘I imagine what you’ll be wanting, nipper, is a good strong lemonade with a thick head on it. Am I your man?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Billy agreed gratefully. ‘You bet.’

  Eugene unstopped the marble at the neck of a fresh bottle of lemonade, half cleaned a glass on the tail of his hunting shirt, and poured Billy a foaming drink. Then he pulled the cork from a bottle of Guinness with his perfect white teeth and raised the bottle in a toast.

  ‘To us,’ he said solemnly. ‘And all those like us – who are few and very far between. So long live us both.’

  ‘Long live us both,’ Billy echoed, already in awe of his new acquaintance. ‘What is this place? This where you lives, mister?’

  ‘Nope, nipper. This is not where I lives. This is where I drinks. And this is where I gambles.’

  ‘They don’t really know you’re ’ere, do they?’

  ‘Sure they don’t. Not at all,’ Eugene replied, his face very serious now as he tapped the side of his nose. ‘And that’s our secret. Is it not?’

  ‘They must see you on your ’orse.’

  ‘Ah, they do see me on me ’orse. They do – you’re absolutely right. But they think I’m someone else.’

  ‘Someone else? Who?’

  ‘Me uncle. But hush it. Sure you’re the only soul in the world that knows that.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Eugene replied. ‘Most definitely yeah. Now away with yous,’ he went on, when they’d finished their drinks. ‘I have work to do and you must away. Go out that door there, across the yard, in the door opposite, along the corridor and you’ll be back in the kitchen of the main house. And remember – you haven’t seen me.’

  Eugene gave Billy a final wink, one last ruffle of his hair and shooed him out, shutting the door tight behind him.

  From the house Billy made his way to the cottage to catch up on his sleep. As he entered he met Kate and Marjorie just leaving to go back to work after lunch.

  ‘Where have you been, young man?’ Marjorie asked him. ‘We were looking for you. We thought you might be here asleep – but you weren’t.’

  ‘I was busy,’ Billy said loftily. ‘On government business.’

  ‘What sort of government business exactly, Billy?’

  ‘A check-up, if you must know. Just checking on certain people,’ Billy replied, assuming an appropriately mysterious air, and beginning to whistle silently.

  As everyone else was learning their designated task and settling to their work, Marjorie learned what hers was to be.

  Summoned to Major Folkestone’s office, which had been set up in the library on the ground floor, she found the major seated at a desk working his way through a file of papers. Without looking up he asked her to come in and sit down. Marjorie took the chair that had been put at the near side of the desk.

  ‘You might be wondering what you’re doing here,’ Major Folkestone said finally, closing the file and taking off his spectacles. ‘Particularly since most of the rest of the girls are all qualified typists and stenographers and that sort of thing – while you, Miss Hendry, have no particular qualifications whatsoever. At least not perta
ining to the sort of work in hand here. Correct?’

  ‘If you say so, Major Folkestone,’ Marjorie agreed. ‘I was meaning to ask what I could do to help, but never got the chance. Least not so far.’

  ‘Good,’ Major Folkestone replied, getting up to stretch his legs and walking towards one of the floor-length sash windows that afforded a wonderful view of the parkland and lake beyond. ‘Lucky to be here in a way, wouldn’t you agree? Not a bad place to fight a war from. Anyway. Anyway the point is I have a position for you. I don’t know how much you know or don’t know about this sort of work – or let me put it another way.’ He turned from the window to look at her directly. ‘I don’t know whether or not you were aware of what your late aunt did. The sort of work she did. That sort of thing?’

  Marjorie shook her head.

  ‘Other than the fact she had some sort of a job that meant she had to go out at all sorts of odd times, no,’ she replied. ‘I never asked because I thought it was none of my business, and Aunt Hester never told me.’

  ‘Good. Good. I see. Good.’

  ‘Billy thought she might be a spy.’ Marjorie laughed. ‘But you know Billy.’

  Major Folkestone’s eyes opened so wide it was comical. Marjorie bit her lip to stop herself from laughing and looked down at her lap.

  ‘Did he?’ the major spluttered. ‘Did he, by Jove. I see. Yes. I see. Good. Well, little Billy’s got no flies on him, has he?’

  Marjorie looked up now and saw that Major Folkestone was smiling as well.

  ‘That’s exactly what auntie was, as a matter of fact,’ he said. ‘In a manner of speaking. She worked for Intelligence, and dashed good she was too. She has been working for our side for some good long time – since the Twenties, as a matter of fact – and her colleagues thought very highly of her. Very highly indeed.’

  ‘Billy imagined that it wasn’t an accident, that killed Aunt Hester I mean. Billy thought she could have been – well – killed on purpose, because of her work, perhaps.’

  Marjorie knew that she was now pushing her luck, but she felt careless of any repercussions that might come from her curiosity, in a way because she liked to think of Aunt Hester as a heroine, and in another way because she had always imagined that Billy’s seemingly childish suspicions might have some truth.